If it weren't for bad luck, there'd be no luck at all!
If it weren't for bad luck, there'd be no luck at all!
Getting on with another story, this fellow I knew retired from his job with the government, and not ready to lay down and rust away to nothing, he decided to start up a business of his own. He had always dreamed of getting into the airplane fixing business, and by the time he retired he had earned his aircraft and powerplant ratings. Before long he rented this old beat-up hanger out at the airport and set up shop. He had some basic tools, but couldn't afford any help so he did everything on his own. Not being all that experienced, and lacking any reputation, he did odd jobs here and there, minor things like replacing brake pucks, and such. The first couple of months he didn't make much money, but he had gumption. Then, something big came his way.
The first job he tackled was a beat up old 182 some young fellow had tried to land in a bunch of trees. The youngster survived this landing and being partial to his little ole Cessna he saved up until he thought he had enough to fix up the wreck. His unhappy luck was finding a brand new fixer-up-er of wrecked airplanes. Anyway, this new mechanic was in business. Not much in the way of tools or stock, but lots of energy. Lacking jack-stands and such refinements he improvised. Wheeling the wrecked bird into the middle of the hanger, He found a large coil of rope in one of the sheds and used this to hang the 182 from the rafters. Of course, he had removed the bent wings first. In a couple of days he had the bird in little-bitty pieces, strung all over the hanger. The fellow was something of a whiz at figuring how to take apart and put things together, but, he was the clumsiest person I'd ever met. He couldn't zip his pants and blink at the same time. A real clutz around tools and such. The poor fellow had so many cuts and bruises he looked like a walking Ad for band-aids. It shouldn't have been so much of a surprise to me when the hanger caved in on him.
This is how it happened. Keep in mind the hanging plane and the lack of tools and experience. Well; he had pretty well straighten and fixed the fuselage and was trying to figure out how to reattach the engine. Not having a port-a-crane or such, he resorted to the rope again. Making a big coil he threw the rope up and over a wooden beam. (The same beam that the plane hung from.) Then he tied one end to the engine and proceeded to hoist away. Well; he managed to get it up even with the motor-mounts, but, there he stood, all his weight pulling down on that rope. Looking around for somewhere to tie off the other end of the rope he spotted the handle on the hanger door. Working his was over to the door he slipped the rope end through the handle and tied a good knot. But, no sooner did he let go then the weight of the engine started to pull the door closed.
Now, He knew that the door was a sliding type but figured it was heavy enough to do the job. But his idea didn't pan out and the door started to slide shut. Though this was a bad idea, He wasn't an idiot (at least you wouldn't think so to talk to him) and thinking quick he jammed his foot in front of the sliding door and painfully stopped it. Taking a large screwdriver from his back pocket he wedged it under the door.
Backing off a minute he looked at this jury-rigged setup and decided he needed a rest. Besides, his foot needed tending to. To get a better picture of what's about to happen we need to take a look around this hanger. First, we have an airplane hanging from the rafters on a heavy rope. We have an engine hanging from the same rafter, secured by the rope that is tied off to a sliding door. The wooden rafter is old, as is the entire building. We have an old fool who thinks he has things under control. And, we have the stored potential of gravity waiting to do its thing. It's difficult to continue with this tale without choking back some pitiful memories, but, the story needs to be told.
Well, getting on with this sad tale, this fellow, let's call him Chuck, (since that's his name), slowly gets up energy again to tackle his work. His foot is better but he still limps a bit. Walking back to the door he studies the situation. He's sure the rope will hold steady to the door, but to make double sure he grabs a piece of 2x6 plank and jams it under the door rollers. When he goes back to the hanging engine he sees it swaying gently about two feet lower then where he had first hoisted it. When the door started to slide shut it lowered the rope that much. Well; you know how heavy a 182 engine can be? Too heavy for him to man-handle it into place, right? So, he goes back to the tied off rope at the door and carefully unties it. Putting his back into it he sweats as he slowly pulls the engine up even with the motor mounts. Again, he ties it off to the door handle. Now he rolls his tool chest over and under the work area. A fortunate move on his part, because it saved his life later.
It was at this stage of the game that another fellow happened by. He was an elderly retired commercial pilot, out for an afternoon stroll, and it was his habit to walk by the airport hangers, peeking in at the happenings. Our mechanic was wrestling with the engine and had managed to slip the back two motor-mount bolts into place. He was trying to align the front two holes so he could slip in these bolts, but the engine hung about ½" to low. He was grunting and cussing a bit when the old fellow stopped to watch.
'How's it going?'
the elder man said.
Looking out the doorway to where the voice came from he said;
'Oh, it could be better! - - - - - - say old timer, would you find me a piece of wood to use for a pry bar?'
he asked of the bystander.
Well, the newcomer was only too eager to give the poor man a helping hand so saying 'Sure thing!' he looked around for something to hand the mechanic. As you already guessed, he spied that short piece of plank wedged under the door, and he grabbed it. Yanking it out he fell backwards, out the door. Lucky for him, or he probably would have got kilt. The trap was sprung. The loosened door still had enough tension on it that it shot forwards, jumping the track. Now it had nothing to hold it upright but the rope. Of course, the heavy tug of the rope pulled the door inward and it slowly slammed onto the hanger floor, making a loud 'whomp' and raised all kinds of dust. And of course it pulled the attached rope with it, yanking the engine up towards the rafters. Remember now, the engine is bolted to the fuselage with two bolts, so it goes skyward too. This whole shebang crashes into the wooden rafter, making big and little splinters out of it. Then the whole mess comes crashing down, fuselage, engine, rafter pieces, and the roof.
As for our hapless airplane fixer-upper, he was suddenly in the midst of all this falling debris and he dived for the nearest cover, his tool chest. Well that engine made mince-meat of the toolchest when it fell, but the chest took the weight instead of the fellow. He was more-or-less safe, huddled under the edge of the caved-in tool chest. Oh, he did get clobbered with odds and ends of falling and ricocheting pieces of hanger and plane, at first only more cuts and bruises,.but finally a falling plank clobbered him on the head and he mercifully passed out.
As sudden as it happened it ended. The elderly fellow outside was slowly getting to his feet, mouth agape and eyes bugged out. He had trouble believing what he saw. Less than a minute ago a hanger stood there, now nothing but a pile of rubble was in its place, with a great dust ball raising into the air. It reminded him of the atom bomb dust cloud he'd seen in pictures. As other people came rushing up to gawk or see the show the old man managed to blurt out that someone was still in there, 'under all that big pile of stuff.', he said to a big man in coveralls. Well, it took them better than 10 minutes to dig through the mess and find our unlucky mechanic. He was still out, colder then a mackerel, so they hauled him off to the hospital. He finally came to the next day, looking like he'd been in a prize fight and came out the loser. But, as bad as he looked he was in much better shape then that old 182. It was mashed flat-as-a-stove-lid. It would take one heck of a mechanic to ever make it look like an airplane again. The last time I saw him, he and his wife had opened a knitting needle shop in their home, and he's happy as can be. Except for the lawsuits.