The Triumph of DIY

The Triumph of DIY
by Eric Hussey at Brownstone Institute

A local headline brought a tear to my eye recently. The warehouse that had been the home of Tormino’s Sash and Glass for decades – a couple of generations – burned in a big fire. Destroyed. 

The warehouse was no longer in use, had a chainlink fence around it to keep intruders out, and still, the thought is that some variety of homeless people probably are responsible for the fire. The building was scheduled to be demolished, so the major issue with the fire was keeping other adjacent structures safe. But, still, it was Tormino’s, for goodness’ sake. And now it’s gone. Visibly gone; gone for real. The old Tormino’s is really, really gone.

I have my own set of fix-it skills. However, I work inside all day with people who come to my office, so I don’t end up at the hardware store a lot. Well…what guy can stay away from a good hardware store for more than a couple of weeks – am I right?

But that’s the point of this: You won’t find an episode of This Old House with me figuring out how to fix things. I still love hardware stores.

The absolute nadir of my tool experience was when the local elementary school reported that our middle daughter seemed to have some sort of developmental issue because she couldn’t tell some teacher the name of the tool in the drawing the teacher showed her – a hammer. The real problem is that I hadn’t had to find a hammer and pound something together in the first 5 years of her life. Maybe that’s an indicator that I was spending too much time in my office?

In those early family years, if I needed to fix something and didn’t have the parts, I usually went to the local Ace Hardware. It was old Ace, not new Ace. I would walk in, looking every bit the college-educated-but-clueless, tool-bereft young homeowner who was now expected to just know how to fix things. The “nice” woman at the desk right next to the door would take one look at me and ask, “Why are you here?” It was probably closer to “Whaddya need?” But the tenor and voicing of the words clearly asked why I thought I had a right to be there. 

I would show her the part that needed replacing, and she would just say, “Go talk to Bob. He’s the one in the overalls.” Bob was tall and remarkably thin, and wore some Mr. Greenjeans (but blue-) jean overalls. I would give him the part. He would assess it in his fingers, then walk over to what had to be 300 small, cryptically-marked drawers on the top shelf. He’d pull open one drawer, reach in without looking, pull out a part, and say, “That should do it.” And, it always did it.

Those owners sold to a new generation. My last purchase from that Ace was a grill at a store-closing closeout price. I liked the price, but it was like watching a friend move away to a new town.

Next up, of course, were the big-box stores; stores 40 times the size of the old Ace with good, hard workers who know their area of the store. But none of them wear coveralls. A few of them assess with their fingers. And even fewer silently lead you somewhere, reach for one thing, give it to you while saying “This should do it,” and then walk off – the walkoff not of arrogance or disdain, but the walkoff of absolute time-tested confidence. Knowledge. Practical knowledge.

Currently, if we can’t get it at the new Ace, the big-box store is next, or we go to Amazon, look at a picture, and hope for the best.

Which brings me back to the loss of Tormino’s Sash and Glass. It was started by lifetime local resident John Tormino in 1950 with a $200 loan and a wood-frame storm door he hammered together on the sidewalk outside his shop. In two years, he was in a real building with a reputation for having anything different and hard to find in the windows and doors.

My personal experience with Tormino’s begins with a broken handle for a slider door. The old Ace was gone, and it was obvious I needed to replace the slider handle – no quick fix. I took the broken handle to the big box and got the clueless response of someone who had never seen such a thing. Thankfully, and probably thanks to good training, rather than brushing me off, he suggested I visit the local hardware supply store. This is the warehouse that serves contractors, workmen, and local hardware stores like the local new Ace; probably not the big-box hardware stores. 

The man at the hardware supply store was cordial, although, again, it was obvious I didn’t belong. The employee took one look at my broken door handle and just pointed toward the west. He said, “Drive two blocks that way, then take a left and you’ll find Tormino’s. If anyone has it, they will have it.”

The Tormino’s name was in my long-term memory. From my youth, I remembered the ads they had on TV. But I had never had the occasion to go into the store. I had driven past it, since I grew up on that side of town, but had never been in. I found it easily enough. The supply store employee’s directions were adequate.

I parked on the street (they didn’t really have a parking lot), went in, and immediately I was in Mayberry, expecting Andy and Barney to drop in to say “Howdy.” This time, the desk with the kind lady was in the back of the entryway. Walking in was like walking into a hoarder’s living room. Behind the nice lady were probably 30 cartoons clipped from the newspaper stuck on the wall with thumbtacks. The cumulative message of the cartoons was “You want it when???”

I showed her my broken door handle. She reached for her phone, punched a button, and said, “Bill, can you come to the front?” Bill arrived, took the handle, looked but said nothing, and walked back out the door leading to the warehouse. I waited about 5 uncomfortable minutes at the desk, then Bill came back. He had the door handle in its original clear plastic and cardboard package, but the package had to be duct-taped closed. Real duct tape, too.

I took the handle home, and it worked.

And now they’re gone. 

What’s next? New Ace does have an old guy in the back. No overalls, though. The big-box store has a zillion parts, none guaranteed to fit. They are cordial with returns.

So, do I take a picture of my door handle, send it to AI, and have someone 3D-print it? Maybe Amazon will have an “Upload here” spot for pictures of broken home parts and have the freshly-minted approximation to me by 9 AM tomorrow. 

I hope I’m not giving them ideas.

There are probably a few people out there who still analyze with their fingertips. I know there are still people who know how to “do” things. Thanks to survival on the planet, I now know how to do more things around the house than I used to. An attitude that I can learn how to do things came along with survival on the planet. Maybe add in YouTube for a few things, and there is a lot of learning available. Now, lower voltage electrical and low-pressure plumbing fixes are in my scope of practice. Replacing car taillights. Changing the oil in the snowblower and in the emergency generator. And, replacing doorknobs and handles. Oh – I’ve used a chainsaw and not lost body parts.

Further, I know I have a hammer and I know where it is. I should send my daughter a picture of me holding it.

Notice that I didn’t say I learned these things in school. I worked for my dad in high school and learned many practical things related to what I do now. My staff watches me do some of those practical things I learned, and as a group, they just shake their heads and walk away. I guess there is something to that old guy learning from an even older guy thing.

As far as high school itself goes, I, along with my friends, looked down my nose at the industrial arts/shop kids in high school. Then, during the last week of school, they had a display of their woodworking during the semester. Astonishingly good. Professional. I stopped looking down my nose at people who knew how to do things.

My hope is that in my work area of expertise, I am one of those who can “do” things and “knows” things. In the practical world, “knows” implies “does.” I hope someone remembers me as one of those who knew things and did things, and did those things because he knew things.

Compare that hope with what we’ve been through during the past five years, and probably for untold years before that. That is, lifetime bureaucrats in essence direct, via power-hungry, unbright politicians, the cancellation of our liberties, bankruptcy of our small businesses, and the damaging of our children. 

That imposed-from-above carnage was pretty much unimpeded by courts that supposedly protect us. Those who forced lockdowns in kingly fashion continue to evade responsibility. 

I took a quick look at the leadership of the local health district that supported or at least didn’t obstruct the lockdown demanded by our governor. The health district is heavy on politicians and multiple advanced degrees, but light on practical experience – except for the lone naturopathic physician who maintains a private practice and didn’t support lockdowns. 

Bob at old Ace Hardware acted according to his knowledge base derived from his practical experience, responded to questions, then walked off. In a sense, the health district, government bureaucrats, and politicians acted and then walked off – grossly similar to Bob’s actions at old Ace Hardware. Not quite the same walkoff as Bob, though. 

The bureaucrats and politicians just walked off and dared anyone to complain or even ask for explanations. They are above, and not responsible to the rabble, even if their “fix” caused problems for others. Definitely unlike Bob, I’m not sure they know anything beyond their self-perceived moral superiority and how to project that perception uninvited onto others. 

I can’t help but wonder how we’d do and how we would have done if a guy in coveralls who analyzed with his fingers was in charge of the health district. I guess he’d have to be governor. 

Now, THERE’S an idea that deserves some consideration.

The Triumph of DIY
by Eric Hussey at Brownstone Institute – Daily Economics, Policy, Public Health, Society