Date: Sat, 20 Dec 2014 00:02:27 -0500
Reply-To: David Beierl <dbeierl@ATTGLOBAL.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: David Beierl <dbeierl@ATTGLOBAL.NET>
Subject: Friday Re: Loose stuff inside vans.
In-Reply-To: <D613684A-54EC-4937-BD8E-D80BEDA4122A@shaw.ca>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
At 11:40 AM 12/18/2014, Alistair Bell wrote:
>All the little loose bits and bobs seem to elevate then come back
>down in different locations.
I was a milkman for a few months in southern Maine/New Hampshire in
winter and spring of 1978. In fact I delivered milk on my shortest
of three routes during that severe storm that became known as the
Blizzard of '78 a few miles south of there. It was much worse in
Boston, but quite a storm where I was nonetheless. My dad owned a
small boathouse which he loaded up with head-size rocks so it
wouldn't float away at the height of tide. And my visiting aunt kept
giving me the strangest looks when I stopped in at Dad's house which
was on my route. Ten minutes later I started to strip off in the
bathroom and discovered she'd put a handful of ice cubes down my back.
All of which has exactly nothing to do with my point; I just like to
boast. Point is that H.P. Hood dairy company sold me a clapped-out
old F-500 reefer van with top speed regulated to 45 mph and no
shocks. Literally none, no place even to mount them. Also a brake
line repaired with copper, but again that's another story. Don't do
that! should suffice for now, or "work hardening" for the technically inclined.
I of course was full of beans and speed; and quickly turned the wick
up as much as I could (it was my truck, nothing to stop me, nor
require me to mention it to the company mechanic on tap for
$20/day). And the roads were full of frost heaves. 45 mph turned
out to be just right for the rear axle to launch itself just as the
yoghurt cups had turned over and were descending. They'd hit with a
crunch and split, or the tops come off. Over a few days it would
also start leaks in the bottom corners of the glued-paper cartons,
especially the half-gallon ones. To this day I always check the
corners before buying a carton of dairy-stoffe.
Here in Providence there are a couple of dairy companies that deliver
in the city still. But H.P.Hood saw the writing on the wall for
suburban and rural routes back in the mid-'70s. They fired their
drivers and sold them their own routes back under a carefully
thought-out plan to shift the risk to the drivers. You had to put up
some cash and agree to operate the route for four months. They'd
give you a note for the truck at low interest, maintain a spare
driver and spare truck you could rent separately or together, collect
leads for you, teach you the route, help you get commercial
insurance. You had seven days credit at the loading dock, and you
could keep the truck plugged in there for a dollar a day if you
chose. And if you did it for four months and didn't like it, they'd
buy everything back and run it until they could sell it to someone
else. My three routes had given full employment to three men a
decade before; I covered big chunks of Dover, Stratham, Exeter,
Kittery, Eliot, Berwick, North Berwick, South Berwick. 270
miles, 180 customers, 10 mpg, ten cents a quart gross markup on milk
(but huge on ice cream and seasonal novelties); and as soon as a tiny
restaurant or nursing home grew a fraction Wholesale would swoop in
and beat your price. That stung, and all they had to do was keep
tabs on how many cows (6-gallon cartons) and half-pints and
half-gallons of whipping cream you ordered. But credit where due, I
stabbed with a pin and paid myself $125 per week, and four months
later our reconciliation came out even almost to a dime, including
$250 depreciation on the truck. Not much by the hour, but it was a
living. I saw more sunrises than before or since, and it was comical
how traffic would yield to me**. They did that for another ?decade?
before wrapping up the operation completely.
**And once a man stopped to help me out of a pickle. He must have
driven a delivery van, but he didn't say. You could see straight
back from inside, and everything from straight sideways on the right
through ahead to straight aft on the left. But the only way you
could see the missing quadrant on the right side was to walk over to
that side of the van and peer out the window. I got wedged in a left
entrance onto the Spaulding Turnpike and might be there yet. So if
you see me approaching acute entrances at 90 degrees, that's why.
Yours,
David
| 
