Loose Laces

Time out for repairs...


Right after I began the Charleston job for the last time, I sold the Ford XL and bought a 1972 Dodge pickup. About the same time, Sam bought a gray 1972 Dodge Charger, and it was the car he was driving when he returned to Charleston. I had been wanting a pickup for several years, and the work I was doing putting a den in our basement gave me the excuse to get one. It was a black long-bed with American brand chrome spoke wheels. It was the first year the wide cab came out, and some were available with a Club Cab which was basically a place to put a golf bag behind the seat. Mine didn't have that feature, but had every other option Dodge offered, except for sliding back windows. Not long after I bought it, the fan belt began squealing at times. Once while driving home from Charleston, it became very loud for a while. Next day, I took it to my cousin's husband who owned a service station and did minor auto repairs. We agreed it needed a new belt, as the old one had become sort of crystallized. He went to the the parts store, bought and installed one. The next week was Sam's time to drive the round trip, and I left the truck with Carolyn. When I got back home on Friday evening, she told me the truck tore up and she had the same guy who replaced the belt to replace the water pump. She showed me the old pump, and it's neck was literally broken. The housing around the fan shaft was cracked all the way around. I drove the truck back to work next week, and on Friday and about 40 miles from home, a cloud of steam sprang from the front end. Fortunately, a tramp friend of ours—whom was also the local union's president—came along on his way home from Parkersburg and towed us to a service station in Abingdon, VA. Again it was the water pump housing broken. I paid the station owner $50 in advance for repairs, and we rode on to Sam's house with our buddy, George Sensabaugh.*

On Saturday, I picked the truck up. Sam drove the next week, and meanwhile, the water pump broke once more. Again Carolyn took it to my cousin's husband for repairs, but this time he didn't charge anything, saying it was a defective pump. I drove it back to WV and on back home the next week without a problem.

Early the next week, it broke again. On Saturday, I replaced it myself and drove to Charleston and back without a problem, and Carolyn drove it the next week and all seemed ok. On Sunday when I started it up to return to WV, the clang of a broken water pump hit my ears. I called Sam, and told him to go on without me, I was going to fix it or get rid of it. I went to the junk yard early on Monday, bought a fan and a belt-tensioning idler pulley off an old Plymouth, stopped by The Dodge Boys and bought a factory new pump and belt. I put all that stuff on the 400ci engine, figuring it wouldn't solve the problem. After finishing repairs, I was letting the motor warm up while at the same time examining the parts I'd taken off. I found the culprit. When I first had the squeaky belt replaced, the mechanic had used a pry bar to help him tension the belt. He had put a tiny dent in the idler pulley, one so small it was barely visible. Over time as it jerked the belt each rotation, it caused the water pump neck to stress and eventually break. The used idler pulley took care of the problem and I was in Charleston in time for a late supper.

* Our friend George Sensabaugh was not only a great guy, but had an excellent sense of humor. When he met someone for the first time, he'd reach in his pocket and withdraw a weird looking, flexible and crooked toothpick and start poking at his teeth. Usually people would watch for a minute, and then inquire as to what the toothpick was made of. The biggest grin you ever saw would spread across George's face, and he'd announce that it was a raccoon's dick. And it was, too. He was one of my favorite people I ever met. He died of a heart attack in the late 80s while living in Parkersburg.