Products are no longer meant to last

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Nothing lasts forever anymore

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There’s not much in this throwaway society that is meant to last.

Cars are designed to be increasingly difficult to service and maintain, at least on your own. Seasoned pros tell me that the day of the shade tree mechanic is pretty much dead and gone.

 I had a Ford Econoline van that I bought from John Krestel. There’s a painting around somewhere, perhaps in the Boathouse restaurant that now occupies John’s former place of business that shows it in the background. If somebody spots it let me know.

It had a load of miles on it when it came to me and I drove that thing into the ground. I used it to haul everything from baled hay to illicit kegs of beer.

We all know what a complete washout I am when it comes to things mechanical, but even I could gap the spark plugs, replace a fan belt and change oil.

The only new car I remember my parents owning was a 1956 Monarch. That thing was built like a Swiss vault, in fact that’s my theory concerning 1950s and early ‘60s vehicles. So much equipment was left after the Second World War that the car industry was inundated with steel meant for tanks and landing craft. The result was a vehicle that should have lasted forever if my dad hadn’t been run off the road by a drunk driver, ending up on its roof in Clear Creek. He was tossed into the back seat and escaped through the back window that had popped out whole.

Clothes back in the day were meant to last. Wearing a pair of pre-ripped, stone-washed (whatever the

Heck that means) jeans would have been a disgrace and a waste.

Leather boots and shoes could be re-soled by a cobbler, a trade that seems to have all but faded from existence. There would be a buck to be made, anybody who has spent time in the service or outdoors will tell you the value of a pair of well broken in boots they are loathe to part with.

My son Joe taught me the value of wool. Now I pick up old knit sweaters, good ones, wherever I find them. They last forever and remain warm even when wet. My wife Peggy’s niece Dawn knitted me one years ago and it’s still my go-to in winter.

I love hats (more on that in an upcoming piece). My Dillinger Stetson, made in the late 1950s or early ‘60s, is a favourite. It was given to me by Tucson’s Sherriff Burr, who as a young patrolman was on hand for the bank robber’s capture when the old Congress Hotel caught fire. (See Johnny Depp’s ‘Public Enemies’.)

I have a black cowboy hat worn while working on the Saguaro Vista guest ranch near Tucson and next to it a Bell motorcycle helmet, still perfectly serviceable except for a groove where I skidded down a highway outside Detroit nearly 60 years ago now .

I suppose there are a lot of wives who wonder why we hang on to stuff. In my case, it’s because it either still works well or never goes out of style like my original Tilly hat bought at Budds in Simcoe in 1980 or so and a well worn leather jacket purchased around the same time

Joe loves old tools. When we visit the Backus complex it’s fun to point out some of the hardware donated by my family bearing the initials WLC , standing for William Lawrence Christmas who owned a blacksmith shop in Walsingham for many years.

Not a bad legacy.

gordchristmas@outlook.com