Nothing Wasted
From seeds to washing machines
Do you recall a neighbor from your childhood? Someone who left a positive impression that you still hold close? To John Michael Flynn, that was Haroldo, for whom there was “nothing wasted.” In this From Our Readers piece, Flynn describes this inventive neighbor.
Cash-and-carry Haroldo’s inventiveness never ceased to amaze. He never bought starter plants. Grew everything from seed. He’d use dump-picked windows to fashion cold frames to protect his seedlings from early frost. He’d glaze in new panes where needed, just as he put new screening into old door frames and he’d stand them in front of his house next to his mail box. Eventually, someone would stop to learn his asking price.
Long before the arrival of the urethane wheel and the spread of California thrashin’, he got us into skateboarding. We lived on a steep hill that dead-ended at a cul de sac. I delivered newspapers, knew everybody on our street. Perfect. To build a skateboard, Haroldo used wood from pallets he hauled from the town dump, cutting lengths before sanding and painting them. Using metal roller-skates also found at the dump, he separated front wheels from rear. He flattened each skate and screwed in the front and rear wheels, gauging a correct distance apart.
Scott, his son, was the first on our street to have a homemade skateboard. An army of kids, we envied him. I couldn’t wait for my turn, but Haroldo refused to make me one. I should make it myself. He guided Scott and me in the use of his hand tools.
Our hill curved a steep hundred yards and we crashed more than once, ripping skin off elbows and knees. Our mothers shouted from front steps we’d “land on our heads and break our skulls open,” but we laughed and argued it was easy to leap to a lawn’s soft landing. The bigger danger was drivers speeding to and home from work.
Then there were Saturday mornings at the dump. Scott and I would fill Haroldo’s station wagon with his and my family’s rubbish, none of it entombed in plastic.
“All gets buried,” Haroldo would say. “That’s why we do these rescue missions.”
Haroldo was ahead of the curve regarding environmental concerns. An eco-warrior before the label existed. We’d sort and sink into an oozing mountain of refuse until our faces and arms stunk of rancid oils and waste, but we always found treasure. Haroldo would repair, repurpose, or repaint whatever we took. We’d pull nails, screws, and hardware out of odd lengths of lumber. We’d straighten the nails and separate them from other dump-picked hardware. Haroldo soaked hinges, hasps, and hand tools in acetone to remove old paint. He’d use vinegar and a wire brush to clean off rust. Anything brass or copper was revered. I never heard the word “recycling.” This was a task, some fun. I got all sorts of parts for bicycles. I learned how to build a bike from scratch. Scott could pull apart and rebuild a lawnmower. He’d eventually build his own mini-bike from dump-picked parts.
Thanks to Haroldo we got our washing machine fixed. Sorting at the dump through abandoned machines in the “white metals” area, we sought other Maytag machines. Once he had all required parts – and this took a few visits – Haroldo got our machine running. For our big family, it meant no more all-day trips to the laundromat. Mom was thrilled. We used that machine for another seven years.
Read more like John Michael Flynn’s memories of his “nothing wasted” neighbor and other contributions from Boomer readers, including nostalgia, essays, and short fiction, in
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