Third Time Is a Charm

by Ed Nelson

  “I find that interesting. Will the attorney’s approach the bench?”

  There followed a whispered conversation which quickly got down to being accompanied by sharp gestures by the Judge and the schools attorneys. A soon disgruntled looking group returned to the schools table. Mine had a barely suppressed grin.

  “Questions have been asked of Mr. Jackson for over two hours now. He has had the correct answer to all them and proved the questioners to be wrong on one instance. I think we have had a fair sample of this young man’s learning. He has demonstrated knowledge I would expect of a graduate student. I also noticed that only ten percent of the questions came from his textbooks, the rest of which no normal student would have been able to answer.’

  “Mr. Jackson by order of this court is graduated from the tenth grade and promoted to the eleventh. Court dismissed.”

  And bang went the gavel.

  As the Judge stood he waved me over.

  He quietly said, “Well done United States Marshal, and Queens Messenger Sir Richard Jackson,” and left the courtroom before I could respond.

  I heaved a sigh of relief. That lasted for two minutes. One of the schools attorneys approached me.

  “Just so you know the rules are being changed so that nine consecutive months must be spent in a grade before you can move on.”

  “Thank you, that makes my next decision easier.”

  He looked at me funny and walked away.

  Dad shook my hand and Mum hugged me. All the kids were there. Denny and Eddie congratulated me and wanted to know if they would have the same exams, if so they had both decided to flunk out. Mum didn’t look to happy at that. As usual she had on her I want to break something face.

  One of the opposing attorneys saw her look and couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

  Mary had the best thought.

  “You should bring whoopee cushions the next time.”

  We headed home. I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Eddie get ready for his first camping trip. I had planned to go with him, but had accepted the invitation to the event at the Argentine Consulate.

  It was fun showing him how to set up his tent. I swear by the time he put on his backpack, with his sleeping bag and tent attached the rig was bigger than him. I did give him a present for his first scouting trip, my official BSA folding pocket knife.

  Dad drove him to the scout building. I tried to help with dinner in the kitchen, but Mrs. Hernandez threw me out. She was muttering something about not enough room to move with a big lummox present.

  I called John Jacobs to have him set up a tee time for me on Sunday. All in all I was like a wet dishrag, a very mellow wet dishrag.

  After sleeping in late on Saturday I spent the morning and afternoon in a rental plane racking up some hours. Just huge lazy circles and a few touch and goes at small airfields.

  I dressed once more in my coat and tails with a white tie for the event at the Argentine Consulate. I didn’t know what to expect. I was glad Judy hadn’t flown out for it, as it was mostly boring. There was one small encounter that got my blood racing.

  I was introduced by my host to a Colonel Frade. As we shook hands he said we had just missed meeting each other when I was last in Argentina. Before letting my hand go he asked if I was planning to visit in the near future. I told him no I wasn’t, he let my hand go after that. I think he broke one of my bones.

  It just became more urgent to have to get all my suits and tuxes modified so I could carry my thirty-eight. Between the KGB and irate fathers I needed it.

  After that I fled to the bar for a Coke. They were serving a beer I had never seen before, ‘Quilmes.’ Apparently it was brewed in Argentina. As the waiter used a church key to open the can I thought of my bottle of Coke at the courthouse.

  There was no can opener, but I was able to open the bottle using a car bumper. What would you do with a can without an opener? I would have to think about that.

  After being thanked profusely by my host for helping his daughter with scouts, I left the event early pleading tiredness. He must have thought I was a wimp. In a way I was, I didn’t want to be in the same room as that Colonel any longer than I had to, besides his daughter wasn’t there.

  Ouch there was a scene, Judy and Dorotea. I was glad my driver was waiting here instead of having to come from Jackson House. As I got into the limo I noticed an old man in a long trench coat. He had one hand under the coat as though he was holding something. I gave a brief wave which was returned. I was so glad to be out of there.

  Sunday was a nice day for golf. John and I hit the links around ten o’clock. At the first tee I thought I would get him. I held out my hand and asked for a long nose. He handed me my driver. He probably figured that was the club needed, no matter what I called it.

  Later on a par five fairway I asked for a bulger. He handed me a fairway wood. He was on to me. I hit close to the green, so he recommended I use a niblick. He confirmed it when he handed me a spoon later on. Just to rub it in he complimented me on using my cleek.

  It was a wonderful golf outing, no course records, just a relaxing day to end the week.

  When I got home Eddie had just returned from his first camping trip. He was a dirty, stinky, happy mess. He jabbered all through dinner telling us about it. The best part he had qualified for his tenderfoot badge.

  Chapter 51

  After my morning workout I still felt like staying outside, so I saddled George and took a long ride. I did come across the young lady who had sprained her ankle a while ago, she thanked me once more. It was apparent we had little in common, so each went our separate way.

  While riding I kept thinking about the beer cans and how to open them without an opener. The can would have to have some sort of opener attached. I wondered if you could do it like the corned beef people did, they had a key soldered to the bottom of the can.

  I had a bright idea after getting cleaned up. I called the Mexicali Delight brewery and asked if I could have a tour. I was told they had scheduled tours which I could sign up for. This was one of the few times I used my name and fame. When I explained who I was and that it might get disruptive if I showed up in a crowd, they invited me to come in whenever I wanted.

  I told them to expect me after lunch.

  Another thing that had been on my mind was Christmas. This was Christmas week and I had no idea what to get Mum and Dad. The kids were easy.

  I had picked up a couple camera filters that Denny could use. I had previously called his studio and asked Sam Nielsen what Denny needed. After snooping through his gear Sam gave me recommendations. He was even kind enough to order those I had chosen.

  For Mary, I got a Pony Liner blanket for Misty when it got cold, which was almost never. Also a Fleece lined exercise sheet, and saddle pads, both for English and Western saddles. They were all in a deep green, like British racing green and I had Misty’s and Mary’s name and the Jackson coat of arms embroidered on each piece.

  For Eddie it was an all BSA Christmas. It included the Boy Scout Field Book; he had the Handbook, a compass, a mess kit, a flint fire starter kit, first aid kit, ground cloth, and a canteen. The canteen was the only piece not official Boy Scout. I picked up a World War II surplus army canteen. I know the boys thought these were cool.

  On the way to the brewery I stopped at Nielsen’s because I knew Denny was at home. I settled up on the lens. Next was the tack shop. I put everything in the trunk which already held Eddie’s gifts.

  On one hand it seemed like I was cheap because I had spent less than one hundred dollars on each of my brothers and sister. At the same time we hadn’t been in the money that long and were used to much less for Christmas. Just because we had it, was no reason to throw it around.

  What to get Mum and Dad had deviled me for a while. Then I realized that we had a family membership at the Rivera Country Club and they didn’t play golf. Dad had messed around a little in Bellefontaine but never followed up when we moved to California.


  I bought them matching golf bags white with British racing green trim. I was now thinking of it as Jackson green. The Golf Pro attached Riviera Club tags with their names on them. I also bought each of them a gift certificate for a set of clubs designed for them, plus ten lessons. This would give them something they could do together. It was way over my budget but I didn’t care.

  I had no idea what to get Judy. I called her mother when I knew Judy would be in school. We discussed what would be appropriate at our age and stage in our relationship. I ended up buying her a Cashmere sweater and mailing it to her Mom who would giftwrap it for me.

  There was an old brick church across from my office that was doing gift wrapping for donations. I dropped everything off there to be wrapped and was to pick it all up on my way home.

  When I arrived at the brewery I was introduced to the General Manager. He inquired about what I was interested in. I explained how I had noticed that while there were ways to open glass bottles without an opener that was not the case with a can.

  He disabused me of that notion quickly. He took me to their maintenance shop which had the most jumbled group of equipment I had ever seen and picked up a greasy screwdriver. At least he wiped it off with an orange shop rag. We then went to the filling line. He grabbed a can of beer off the rapidly moving conveyor belt and drove the screwdriver into the top. With beer foaming everywhere he took a large drink.

  “Ah that hits the spot, as you can see you can open them without an opener.”

  “I see.”

  What I saw was half a can of beer wasted on the floor.

  “How does it fill them and put the tops on?”

  He proceeded to show me a filling line that could make you dizzy. They were filling over 100 cans a minute on what he called a carousel filler. The filler had 60 filling heads. A can without a top would be fed onto a platform under the filling head.

  As the can rode around the carousel it would be filled by a tube. The tube went to the bottom of the can and would rise up as the can filled, always remaining just below the surface of the beer. This was called a subsurface fill and prevented the beer from foaming over.

  The newly filled can would then pass onto a conveyer belt which moved the can under a device which dropped the lid on top of the can. The next station would crimp the lid into place. After that they would flow onto an accumulator table lining them up six rows across. A device would push an empty beer case into position. The full cans would be lifted six at a time by a set of vacuum fingers and put into the case. Another machine to the side was taking flat pieces of cardboard and assembling and gluing them together to make the cases.

  The line operators would keep materials fed into the line and clear the line if it jammed up.

  I asked if I could have some of the can shells and lids. He gave me a tube of lids and several cases of can shells. The tube was how they were received from the can manufacturer. They would tear the top off the tube, turn it upside down and pour it in the lid dropping device. I supposed all this equipment had special names, but I just thought of them as their function.

  I thanked the General Manager for his time. I had the forethought to bring publicity photos with me, so spent time in the office signing enough for everyone, including the floor workers.

  On my way home I even remembered to pick up my Christmas gifts, all brightly wrapped. The donation I made must have exceeded expectations from the way they received it. From the careworn look of the place they spent more time on the people they served rather than the building. I made a mental note to have a donation made to them, maybe in Eunice Carpenters name.

  I had the gift cards for Mum and Dad, their golf bags were in my room and would be brought out at the last minute. I had even thought to buy a large bow to put on each of them.

  Arriving I placed the gifts under the tree in the family living room. This was our own tree we had put up as a family. The main part of the house had been decorated by a professional team. Tomorrow night was our open house and Mum wanted the place to look good. Our tree was about seven foot tall. The one in the main ballroom was every bit of 15 feet tall.

  Mum and Dads gift cards were in an envelope which I placed prominently on the front center of the tree. I loved the fresh cut smell of pine trees. However, this was overpowered by the delicious odors coming from the kitchen, so of course I had to check them out.

  Mary and Mrs. Hernandez were baking gingerbread men. There was a sheet of them sitting on the counter. A cookie cutter had been used on them, but the excess hadn’t been removed yet. I grabbed one. I got most of the sheet. Apparently the cookie cutter hadn’t been pushed all the way through. Of course this set off cries of outrage from both of the ladies.

  I fled the scene with the incriminating evidence as fast as I could. The evidence tasted pretty darn good. I may have to commit some more criminal acts in the kitchen.

  An odd thought occurred to me. What if you scored the top of a beer can with a cookie cutter but didn’t go all the way through. In theory you should be able to remove the cut out without tearing the whole can. Of course you would have to have some sort of lever to pull on.

  Then there was the question of how deep would the score be, too deep and the beer would open the can if shaken or got hot sitting in a delivery truck, too shallow and it wouldn’t open at all or not without a jagged tear.

  I really wished my workshop was up and running.

  I wondered if by attaching an aluminum pull-ring lever, with a rivet to a pre-scored wedge-shaped tab section of the can top would work. The ring would be riveted to the center of the tab. The tab when pulled off would leave an elongated opening large enough that one opening would simultaneously serve to let the drink flow out while air flowed in.

  The only real question would be could I cut the tab thin enough that it would resist the pressure of the beer under the worst conditions, shaken while warm. While at the same time be easy enough to open by pulling on the tab.

  One thing I had learned from missing out on the electric curling iron that time was of the essence. I called Mr. Goodson at Transportation. He was surprised to hear from me is to say the least as I never was involved with the day to day business.

  I explained that I had another thought I had to pass by a patent attorney as soon as possible. Since he had handled the airfreight container idea he must know who to call.

  He did, rather than getting into a series of call backs he set up what he called a conference call. This was my first experience with one of these. I knew I would be doing more of these in the future. I had read that AT&T was going to make it possible to have a television screen attached to the phone so the people talking to each other could actually see each other. That would be cool. It was supposed to be available in the next year or two, 1963 at the latest.

  Anyway, when I explained what I was thinking of, many questions were asked. I was glad I had thought to take measurements before calling. While the final dimensions and depth of the cut were not absolute requirements, they helped. I gave depths of 25, 50, and 75 percent of the lids .011 inch thickness. The tabs shape was rounded at each end, the drinking end twice as wide as the other end, the air end. The total hole would be 75 percent of the lids top in its longest dimension.

  An engineer joined the conversation and I talked him through what I had in mind. Once he was able to feed back to me what I was thinking, they promised to start the application. In the meantime I was to start prototyping and testing to see if the idea would work. Hopefully, I would know before the application was filed.

  I told them this would be a high priority after Christmas.

  I no sooner hung up the phone and it started ringing. Answering it, “Jackson House,” it turned out to be for me. It was Hank Smith my multi-engine flight instructor. They had scheduled a flight examiner for tomorrow morning.

  The person who was to be examined had an unexplained family emergency, and had to cancel. Hank thought I was ready. Was I interested in taking my check ride at ten o’cl
ock tomorrow morning? I told him yes.

  Immediately after hanging up I said out loud, “What was I thinking?”

  It was close enough to lunch time that I braved going back to the kitchen to see what was being served today. Keeping a close eye on Mrs. Hernandez and her large wooden spoon I found out it was to be cheeseburgers, one of my favorites.

  I then made a tactical error. I turned to leave without backing up from striking distance. It was a quick rap, but it stung. That propelled me out of the room to the sound of laughter and giggles. I tell you kitchens are dangerous places. They should be labeled as hazardous to your health. The State required warning signs on everything else.

  After lunch I drove over to the studio to spend time with Helen Marshall my voice coach. Before that I checked in with the pretty Miss Sperry. She was cleaning a chalk board in a cloud of dust. She immediately handed me two erasers and told me to go outside and bang them together.

  After that chore was done with me almost choking, I had to load fresh chalk in the music staff device. Now that I had been reminded who the teacher and student were I was allowed to talk. I thanked her profusely for her help in not only the oral exam, but her whole efforts in helping me to pass the tenth grade. The third time was the charm.

  She told me that it was the most interesting school year she had gone through. No teaching, just providing materials, proctoring and grading tests then going through court fights. Not your normal year. Then I was not her normal student. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

  If it became the norm, teaching schools would have to add a law degree to their requirements. We both agreed that would never happen as there would probably not be another law suit involving a student in our lifetimes.

  She wanted to know my future plans. I informed her that I would be flying to England the second week in January to take O-Level exams, this would finish me out on high school. I would also check out the A-Levels as they were the same as graduating with distinction, which would help with better universities.