Page 13 - Discover Summer 2023
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Throw It Out!
The days of repairing things are long gone...
By Ken Britske
Those three dirty words: Throw it out. The days repair or repurpose anything that crosses his work
of repairing something are long gone. That wasn’t bench. He is a tinker, one of a dying breed.
the norm a few decades ago, when an item stood
My dad, Ted, a veteran Navy man, was born
a better chance of being repaired by a person,
in 1930, right at the start of the depression. Just
keeping it from taxing our landfills. I refer to that
about everything he was given had been handed
person as a "tinker”. This is someone who has the
down, from his clothes to his toys. Clothes were
time, patience, and some common sense, and is
stitched and patched, and toys were glued and
not afraid to tackle such a repair before disposing
taped. Nothing was discarded. (And why is it
of the item.
that today we pay top dollar for jeans that are
When something breaks or no longer works, already ripped?) His dad Ben was a carpenter by
we say those three dirty words; throw it out! trade, and was quite talented. Most of his hand
Every time those words are angrily uttered, tools were handmade, and many are still in the
preceded by a few choice expletives, a tinker family some 100 years later. When a saw blade
somewhere drops his hammer and screwdriver. became dull, it was sharpened, not discarded and
Very rarely will you hear a tinker let those words replaced with new. Money was in short supply, so
cross his/her lips. He or she will revisit an item what could be repaired was repaired, what could
several times as it gets shuffled around the work repurposed was repurposed. My Grandfather was
shop. If it cannot be repaired or repurposed, he or a tinker also.
she will reluctantly whisper the inevitable: Throw
Gramps could always be found in the basement
it out …
with some new repair or repurposed invention
As spring cleaning begins, many tinkers are on his workbench. His "tinks" would range from
on high alert. Those three dirty words echo from birdhouses to garden statues, or carts to haul
coast to coast. Attics will be emptied, closets ashes, to a sifting bin to sort out un-burned coal
organized, and garages cleaned out. There will clinkers. He was quite a painter, and he would
soon be a gold mine for all tinkers, just sitting on bring his thoughts to life on any canvas on which
the curbs for the taking. The race is on to beat the he could stroke his brush. His canvases, as odd
trash collectors as they haul away so many good as they were, could be both sides of a pull-down
finds. This used to be very common, but tinkers window shade, with a lively floral pattern on one
nowadays are few and far between. In the blink of side, and peaceful winter scenes on the other.
an eye, these old timers will soon be a thing of the Another was a life-size, cross-eyed Santa that he
past. painted on our hunting cabin bedroom wall.
My dad is a tinker, and has been for all of his Today I still consider my dad to be a tinker,
92 years. He now swings his hammer with a little although he does not tinker out of need, but as a
less force, and turns his screw driver with a little hobby. This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have one
less torque, but he always fights back against eye on the trash piles as he travels to a doctor’s
those three words. He will always try his best to appointment. He now fills his winter days sitting
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