I must not leave Haverstraw without recording one of George's most inspired home improvements. You won't find such an approach outlined on Bob Vila's Show - but that only shows Bob's lack of imagination... It transpired that we had finally to replace some of the main beams under the kitchen of the old house. The originals had become seriously rotted and had to be removed. At this point, Providence delivered unto George a most opportune situation - did he but have the brains and the "balls o' brass" to carry it out...

    I mentioned that the New York Central tracks ran behind his place. Well, down in a meadow a bit further on, the tracks crossed over a small creek - really a rivulet - that sported a miniature timber trestle. Time, of course, had taken its toll too, on the beams in this trestle, and one day a track crew dropped off a load of prime beams and railroad ties preparatory to replacement of the decayed timbers here. This event had not escaped George's eye. Chuck and I were not there at the time - it was a Friday and we were still back at the office. But George was at Haverstraw, and using some of the local "hands" who worked for him from time to time, he tore out all the rotted beams under the kitchen that morning and put in timber cribs to take the load temporarily.

    He also took several strolls that morning down to the meadow to commune with nature and listen to the babbling of the little rivulet as it tumbled merrily along over the stones in its bed... He also took a tape measure and measured the newly-dumped timbers in the pile by the railroad trestle. No one was around. The larks sang in the meadow. God smiled down from heaven and all was well with the world.

    Back below stairs in the Brickmaster's place, however, lights glared harshly in the cellar. Voices called out dimensions in feet and inches above the staccato racket of pneumatic hammers as they cut pockets in the stone foundations.     Chuck and I arrived at dusk. "Hardest part's been done," was our greeting. "Seems like you two dudes never around when there's heavy lifting..." (This wasn't strictly true - but we let it pass). "You guys got to get the Nash fired up..."

    Now the "Nash" sat out in the shed and was a beat-up old relic from another age that they had acquired somewhere (maybe, I think, in a swapping deal). Its distinguishing characteristic was that its transmission was shot in all forward gears - but it could still run in reverse. And it could drag a heavy load..

    The evening's battle plan was simplicity itself: we - Chuck and I - were to back the Nash down through the meadow - taking care to come and go at all different angles and so on when we pulled on and off the road so as not to leave too many obvious signs in the grass of what was about to transpire. Time, prayed-for rain, and the rather incurious natures attributed to the gandy-dancers and track crews when they should eventually show up, were counted on to eliminate any further clues. Arrived at the log pile by the trestle, we were to put the tow chain on only those logs marked with white chalk (!) and then back-up with the timbers as expeditously as possible to the house - posthaste! The timbers were to be dragged into place just so alongside of the house foundation...