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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book.


Tell me who's crazy?

Although my sister Dana, and brother in-law Boob Head, only lived on the same street and only a block away from my house, they’d very seldom drop by to visit. Normally if they came by, they would pull up at the curb in front of the house and I’d usually walk out to them. Even later when I was living in the trailer in my back yard, they would pull up to the curb in front of the house and walk around back. But one day out of the blue; Boob Head drove up the dusty ally and pulled into my back yard. The second he pulled into my yard I wondered who may have told him that I had my contraption up and running. He said he was just stopping by to see how I was doing, but I felt differently because it was only a day or two after I first managed to get my system working and at the time was working on installing the marker lights and I had the carrier boom in the upright position.
       I acted as if the truck didn't exist and pointed nothing out to him. He acted as he didn't notice the truck and that it didn't fascinate him in any way. Since it is quit impressive to any man; or person for that matter, I knew he was curious and being nosy, and acting as if he wasn't.
       He said he came by because my family was concerned about me. He said, "Dennis, I came by because the family is worried about you. We're concerned about your mental health. It's going to drive you crazy. We think you should sell your truck and forget about it."
       "What! You're nuts," I told him, "It's going to make me rich and you want me to sell it and forget about it?"
       "They'll drive you crazy."
       "Oh, bullshit!"
       "It's like the Brooklyn Bridge," he said, "Everyone wanted to get in on it, so they drove the guy nuts and the guy ended up in a mental hospital."
       Well needless to say, he didn't discourage me at all. I still wonder who sent him over to my place. I figured he was a real dick-head for coming around trying to tell me shit like that because any real man would have dropped-by and complimented me for my success, but to act as if it shouldn't matter much to me is something that I would have never expected.
       I figured it would be hard to drive me crazy; because I'm smarter than most and that there was no way in hell I would sell my baby I labored on for nine months. Needless to say, I was very proud of myself for creating such a wonderful contraption. I certainly wasn't going to let anyone else take credit for what I had done. Nor was I going to watch someone else drive away with my truck -- or a patent on it for that matter. Joe Blow Painter -- verses rich and famous; not exactly a hard choice to make now is it?
       One thing he did do was open my eyes to just how things were going to turn out. Now days with the greed and jealously in the world, people just don't pat you on the back and tell you that you have done well.
       I can think back on all the years of hearing comments on it and there was only three times I can recall I got anything that I can consider a pat on the back from anyone for my accomplishments. The only one that mattered to me was the one from a mechanic I'd known for several years who works on heavy machinery for the company I painted underground utilities for. He not only indorsed my workmanship on how well it was fabricated, but he even said the little things like: "I like the holes you put in the side -- they're a nice touch."

Since the day when Boob Head came by with his concerns for my mental health, I’ve learned about the guy who designed the Brooklyn Bridge. The real story is that the guy who designed it was killed while surveying the area for it. He was smashed against a piling with a ferry boat they say.
       His son took over the job of building the bridge, but not in the way you might expect. He supervised the construction from a nearby apartment window with the use of binoculars. He seldom went down to the bridge as it was under construction because he realized he'd be killed too. He used his wife and his messenger and many of the work crews credit her for managing and overseeing the work on the bridge. Many of the workers felt she was the one that truly supervised the construction of the bridge.
       On the political side -- the side that my brother in-law was told about was stimulated by the mayor of Brooklyn. The true story was that the mayor wanted the builder of the Brooklyn Bridge to cut corners in an effort to have the bridge completed in time for an up and coming election. Needless to say the builder wouldn't cut corners and as an effort to have him discharged from the job, the mayor tried to say he was mentally ill.
       The people working with him and who knew him best said that mental illness was far from the truth. In fact, he handled the stress of the job very well and out lived most of the people that helped him manage the project.
       Fortunately his father engineered the bridge with seven times the cable strength needed because a supplier for the wire purchased to make the cable, shipped some sub-standard brittle wire. The discovery was made before too much was used and the bridge has survived over the years with some inferior wire in it.

After I got my hydraulics working good enough to use my system for work, but getting out of the truck all the time to unfasten and fasten the binders holding the bed down got old real quick. I was afraid I'd forget about them and find out how much damage could be done with a simple push of a button. So my job was to find some springs to fit inside square tubes I'd planned to use for the rear hold downs. I started out by driving down to Rightway Spring. I was pretty sure he didn't deal in coil springs because I had met with him a few months earlier about putting together better overload springs for the rear of the truck, and didn't recall seeing any coil springs inside the shop.
       He was able to recommend two places in the area where they manufacture coil springs. The closest one was in Kent, but they only made small intricate type springs. The next stop was farther north at Renton Spring.
       Dennis, the sales representative, informed me there was a $250 set-up fee and asked, "How many do you want?" I told him I was working on a proto-type so I only needed two for the time being. He understood the situation and realized the expense was a little more than what was practical for me.
       He said, "We've got a few run-out bins around out back. Why don't you walk out there with me and take a look. You might find something you can use."
       We walked around back and check out the few box type bends that were mounted on a wall on top of each other. In the top bend I found three 20” long springs with 2-inch diameters; and just what I was looking for.
       "Hay, just what the doctor ordered," I said.
       "Go ahead take them, they're yours, I hope they work for you."
       I thought wow, a lucky break and true contribution to my project.
       The springs turned out to be two inches longer than being perfect for what I needed for, but what the heck, the tubes were remnants bought prior to searching for the springs. The springs have a little preload because of the extra length, but they've worked just fine.

I rented a large generator with enough juice for welding the rear hold down tubes on to the carrier. The generator was also needed to run my compressor so I could spray the new finish coat of paint on the carrier. I'd finished welding on the hold down tubes by the time evening darkness approached. I even put a coat of primer on them and planned to take the carrier off the truck the next morning; flip it over and weld the underside of the hold down tubes. And while it was off the truck, I planned to mask off the hydraulic components and put it inside the house so I could apply a new finish coat on it.
       The industrial grade paint I used first time around happened to be some leftover Imron ® polyurethane I'd used on printing presses at the News Tribune. I really like the paint because it withstands harsh degreasing solvents and resists scratches better than most paints I've ever used. Being the second time around and being the true finish coat, I made a special purchase of same kind of paint but in a darker shade of blue I liked better.
       As darkness fell upon the evening, I shut down the large generator and ran my small generator for lighting while I put away my tools. Since I'd never left it out overnight without being covered; I was a little paranoid about leaving my system exposed naked for the night, but I decided to leave the bed off because I was tired and didn't feel like lifting the bed onto the truck, only to have to take it off again first thing in the morning.
       When I was done for the night I turned my generator's gas petcock off to allow the engine to burn the gas out of the carburetor's float bowl. While on the plywood ramp connecting the loading dock to the make-shift porch, I stopped in my tracks. I felt like taking a good look at the wonderful creation I'd labored so hard for. The flood lights began to bounce from bright to dim as the gas ran out of the carburetor. Once the light from flood lights diminished, silence was upon me. I was astonished at how marvellous my system looked in the dim light cast from the propane light inside the trailer. There was enough light cast through the window and doorway to project the incredible sight to my eyes.
       Standing there I found myself astonished just gazing at it and taking in the marvelous sight. I was amazed of impressive it looked. Just looking at it in the dim light, all dressed up with its chains and sprockets; it looked incredibly industrial. I found it difficult to walk inside. I wanted to stay with it and observe it even longer. I can remember the image from that very spot as well as the loving feeling I had for it at the moment. It looked even more impressive than I imagined it in my mind several months earlier. I felt very proud of myself and it worth all the endless hours of hard work and sacrifices I’d put into it. I knew I’d done marvelous job on it.
       About a half hour later, I was inside taking a shower and heard a pounding on the door of my trailer. I opened the bath-room window to find out who it was. It was the police and they informed me that they had received a noise complaint.
       I could tell there were at least three of them, but I couldn't make out their faces because I was looking through the distortion of the windscreen. As I conversed with them, I saw flashlights tracing around the back of my truck. It annoyed me to a great extent because I felt violated of my privacy, I didn't want them out there anymore than they needed to be. Since all things were quiet, I was hoping that if I told them I was in the shower and just wanted to go to bed, they might leave sooner than going out and confronting them on the mater. I feared that if I went outside I might show them how pissed off I was for them coming around to snoop at my invention, I felt I would end up with an infraction for the noise.
       Since then, I’ve wished I would've thrown on some cloths and did something to coerce them away from my truck. At least done something to let them know I didn't appreciate them showing up to invade my privacy. But what could I do? I knew it was the city spying on me and I could only make things worse for myself if I tried to do something about it. They could cost me $250.00 and they knew it.
       I still feel violated to this day from just thinking about them showing up as they did. I only wish they wouldn't have knocked on my door that night. I'd much rather not have known they were there because my soul intimate moment with my invention has been tarnished. The feeling I've receive from the encounter can be compared to a guy having his toddlers naked in their bedroom and having the servants of the law from the City of Tacoma force their way into their room to sneak a peek.
       Because of the experience, I can relate to why Prince Charles wanted to take the first pictures of him with Diane before the media had a chance to. The reason is for personal intimacy, such as the first sight of the mechanicals of my truck finished and naked in the night light. It was something I wanted only me to see. If I would have had a camera I would have taken a picture of it from that very spot as a celebration of its birth. But it was dark and I knew a picture wouldn't captivate the same integrity of the moment that is etched in my brain. What I'm trying to say is that the first sight of it being that far along was heartfelt and wanted to have it as my own..
       It’s very annoying to me that I couldn't even have the precious sight all to myself for just one night. You may think my feelings sound a little foolish, but still to this day, just the thought of what they did can still brings tears to my eyes. I've felt violated because of them. They took something that was very precious to me and I hope reading about the experience can help you understand why I don't even like men even looking my creation. At one time I had even written a small chapter about it called "So you taught me to be and asshole." In it I mention way I feel when I catch men staring at it, I think of them as perverts. I've done more for them than anyone else I know and all I’ve received for the good deed has been the hell I’ve had to go through. I feel they don't deserve to see it because they’ve done nothing to help me. It's the reason I still hide the mechanicals as much as I reasonably can.

I know I should want people to know what they are missing, but the government has it setup to where I can't even disclose my inventions to them. After nine years of it, I feel it's unfair to me and everyone else. Now they have got it to a point where I have to look at video tapes of my inventions to see for myself what I'm missing. That alone only substantiates why I feel others don't deserve to have it.

With three cops showing up, I figure they had to have at least two squad cars for just one noise complaint. Don't you think two or three squad cars and three cops at a little overkill for a noise complaint?
       Don't you think they would have gone to the front door of the house instead of a trailer in the back yard if everything was dark and quiet? Ask yourself if you think they might have been aware of the setup at 6431 South Warner?
       I also wonder if all of them were even cops. I wouldn’t doubt it the mayor sent someone along wearing a police uniform to bring back word upon how my project was doing. Sure, I may be getting a little bit heavy, but questions start to add up when you examine the situation.
       You may think of that night as I do. As a catalyst or another root of the problems the corrupt local government has sent my way. Just think: the police dispatcher must have called out the address to my location. Can you tell me the cops didn't get on the radio and inform everyone in town with a police radio, or a police scanner turned on about the sight they had just seen? Wouldn't you think that would be a good way of sending a lot of heat my way?

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:
Wanna buy a lawyer?

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