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Notes from the Service Shop A fictional series by John Reinicke Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Chapter 1 It will probably turn to snow! I was thinking to myself as I drove toward Centerburg. The late November rain was coming down harder and I marveled the wind was strong enough to lift some of the sodden leaves. The few brilliant leaves left on the trees along with the wind borne leaves made for a fireworks explosion against the darkening skies. An occasional rattle of sleet against the windshield furthered my doubt of being out on a day like this. Perhaps there were better things I could do with my Saturday.
My friend Marc had called me on Tuesday to let me know that he had been named executor of an estate and that estate included a building in Centerburg. He had called me because he knew of my interest in old electronics devices and he thought this building had housed a Radio/TV repair shop at one time. The shop had apparently closed in the late 60's and was long gone but he thought the attic might contain some remnants that would be of interest to me. The opportunity to rummage through some dusty old electronics could not be denied and so I was now making my way in the rain. Centerburg is one of those small Midwestern towns that grew up at the end of the last century. A cluster of frame, Victorian buildings surrounding a town square complete with fountain and the various war memorials starting with the Civil War, makes up the heart of the downtown area. The peak of the prosperity has clearly passed, but, since there is no WalMart, the downtown still enjoys a modicum of business activity. The buildings are well maintained and still retain their Victorian appearance. The building Marc had called about was just off the square on High Street. As I turned the car away from the square I made two happy discoveries. First, I could see Marc's car parked in front of the building and, second, there was a parking spot in front of the building, thus reducing my dash through the rain. I parked the car, jumped the puddle at the curb, and ducked into the recess for the front door. Marc was waiting and let me in. The gray light from the large windows on either side of the door did little to improve the appearance of the inside. No lights and slight heat did not help displace the gloom. The front store room was empty except for some paper debris on the floor. The walls were a multicolored collage left as the various store keepers had painted only up to their shelving units. The only positive note was the tin ceiling was in excellent condition and provided a hint of the previous appearance of the building. I thought; This does not look hopeful. Seeing the expression on my face, Marc smiled and pointed to the front window. There, next to the door was a decal of a man running with a Tung Sol tube caddy and the text; Radio Television Repair. I had not seen the sign in my haste to enter. I thanked Marc for meeting me and for the warm greeting. We then walked to the back of the shop. In the back room, along one wall, was an Oak service console like those I had seen in Radio Craft from the 30's. Next to the back door, which opened to the alley behind, were the steps upstairs. The single staircase opened both to the shop and the alley and provided access to the apartments upstairs. The apartments were vacant due modern fire requirements for two staircases. We proceeded up the steps. At one end of the hallway for the apartments was a door with a hasp and a padlock. Marc opened the lock and the door to reveal the stairs to the attic. The layer of dust indicated this was certainly the way not traveled and the lack of footprints in the dust indicated this door had not been opened for a considerable interval. To our amazement the light switch, a rotary affair with exposed wire, was functional as were the lights in the attic. We climbed the steep stairway, each step making a faint scraping sound in the dust. At the top we were confronted with a room that ran the length of the building. The steep slope of the roof made for quite a large room with a window at the front and the back. The rafters were dark with age and returned little light from the bare bulbs in hanging sockets. A couple of the bulbs were the old carbon filament type indicating this was, very likely, original wiring. The rain and sleet on the roof provided the appropriate background sounds for the setting before us. A set of shelves ran down the center of the room and the shelves were full. The steep roof allowed for large piles of stuff to be stored almost to the bottom of the rafters. Aisles ran on either side of the shelves from end to end. Marc handed me a flashlight and we began our exploration.
As we looked Marc explained the owner of the building thought the shop had been called Centerburg Radio Service and had been run by one Clemens Mettmann, a German immigrant, starting in the early 20's. Apparently he was competent and collected a large customer base. By the 50's, ol' Clem had a reputation for honesty and for reasonable repairs and if it ran on electricity he would repair it. In a addition to radios he would repair everything from TV's to toasters. As Marc and I explored the shelves and the piles it was apparent if a customer didn't return to collect the repaired item, ol' Clem would put it up here on a shelf. Since he had been in business a long time, there was an enormous collection starting with the late 20's running into the television era. In addition to unclaimed repair items, there were numerous pieces of test equipment old display items and old signs. As we made our way to the front Marc and I realized some of the items could be valuable. At the front of the building was yet another discovery. Ol' Clem had a small office up here. There was an old roll top desk -- a museum piece itself, several oak filing cabinets, and bookshelves. The bookshelves contained the technical literature that he wasn't using on a regular basis. So here is where the Rider's wound up along with a lot of manufacturers information. The SAM's folders must have been with the modern equipment that was sold with the shop when Clem retired, for they were not in evidence. To this point the enormity of the collection had so overwhelmed Marc and Me that we hadn't even touched anything as if we had encountered a museum. Curiosity overcame the awe and I opened one of the file cabinets. It appeared that in addition to being a good technician, Clem had also been a great chronicler and the file cabinets contained a sort of technical diary, a running commentary on his activities and notes on how he had managed to repair a number of items. So there were folders for components, folders for manufacturers, folders for comments, folders for vendors, and even a folder for repairs on his various personal automobiles. I removed a folder, making note of it's location in the file, dusted off the chair next to the desk with an old rag and sat by the desk, next to the window, to see what was inside. In 1943 parts were in short supply due to the war effort and Clem had been taking extra efforts to repair things that normally would be replaced since the replacements were not available. This situation would be familiar to the modern collector, I thought to myself. This folder showed how to repair potentiometers that were used as volume and tone controls in old radios. It even had some sketches next to the notes. Here are some of his ideas along with some of my comments, all of which may work for the collector.
After noting these hints, I returned the folder to the file cabinet. Marc had been exploring further as I looked over the notes and was quite engrossed in the many items in the attic. I will enjoy reporting on these in later articles.
The collection had proved so interesting to explore, Marc and I lost track of the time, nor did we notice that the sound on the roof had stopped. When we realized how late it had become, knowing we must be on our way, we looked out the window and discovered it had started to get dark and, indeed, it had turned to snow!
CONTACT MARC:
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