The Last Generation That Fixed Stuff

By Mark Morgan

There was a time around Waldron when folks fixed things so often they barely noticed they were doing it.

Nowadays, if something quits working, the first question is usually, “Where can I buy another one?”

Back then, the first question was, “Where’s the duct tape?”

I got to thinking about that the other day after watching somebody throw away something that probably only needed a five-minute repair.

It reminded me how different things used to be.

If a radiator hose split on the way home, you didn’t call roadside assistance and wait three hours for a tow truck. You wrapped that thing tighter than a Christmas present with black electrical tape, secured it with baling wire, poured a little water in the radiator, and pointed the hood toward home.

Was it the proper repair?

Absolutely not.

Did it work?

Usually.

At least long enough.

The old-timers around Scott County could patch together almost anything with a coffee can full of bolts, a crescent wrench, and determination.

Nowadays, a tiny plastic clip breaks under the hood and suddenly you're ordering a ninety-dollar sensor online while watching a twenty-minute YouTube video explaining why the check-engine light is still on.

Seems like the machines got smarter while the repairs got dumber.

Furniture was no different.

When a chair leg got wobbly years ago, somebody grabbed a wood wedge, a little glue, and enough confidence to fix it whether they knew what they were doing or not.

Today, one little fitting strips out on a particle-board kitchen table and the whole thing heads for the dumpster.

The table ain't even old enough to remember who sat around it.

And don't get me started on lawn mowers.

When I was growing up, a dull mower blade wasn't a reason to buy a new mower.

You flipped it over, clamped the blade in a vise, and sharpened it with a hand file until it looked sharp enough to shave a possum.

Now a tiny safety switch wire gets brittle and folks start shopping online before the mower is even cold.

Maybe that's progress.

Maybe not.

The funny thing is, I don't really miss the broken stuff.

I miss the people who knew how to fix it.

Every family had one.

Usually a grandpa.

Sometimes an uncle.

Occasionally a neighbor who could repair anything from a tractor transmission to a toaster using tools that looked older than the courthouse.

They carried knowledge in their heads instead of instruction manuals.

And they weren't afraid to try.

That's the part that's disappearing.

Not the repairs.

The confidence.

Somewhere along the way we became afraid of taking things apart.

Afraid of making mistakes.

Afraid of trying.

The old-timers weren't.

If it was already broken, they figured they couldn't hurt it much worse.

That's a philosophy that fixed a lot more than machinery.

It fixed problems.

It fixed situations.

Sometimes it even fixed people.

Because when you spend enough years repairing things, you learn that most problems aren't hopeless.

Most just need patience.

A little creativity.

And maybe a roll of black electrical tape

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Moral of the Story

The old generation wasn't special because they never had problems.

They were special because they believed almost anything could be fixed.

And truth be told, that's a lesson still worth hanging on to—even if the baling wire finally runs out.