So I dropped by a garage sale this morning...
The usual assortment of hideous tchochkes (sp?), dishes, clothes that haven't been worn since 1973, etc. I breeze right on past to the actual garage and find the picked over remains of an old fella's workshop.
An empty plane till... a wall hanger for handsaws with a very lonely looking hacksaw and a lot of vacant slots... There were even a few fine wood shavings on the floor, blowing listlessly in the breeze and strangely remeniscent of tumbleweeds. Disappointed that I hadn't gotten there earlier, I rummaged through the sad, tatty remnants. A few files (meh), a Jorgensen handscrew (yoink! $2, but not the point of this story), a pile of cheaply cast "Made in China" C-clamps (pass), and sitting on a shelf above the man's workbench, a crusty looking 1530-A (cha-CHING!).
My hand darted out, claw-like, snatching up the drill. Somehow the Antique Mall dealers, flea-market hooligans, and garage sale regulars had missed this one... All five of the ratchet settings seemed to work, through it took a fair bit of effort to turn the crank through all the gunk coating it. The chuck was all there. Gunk or no gunk, this drill will be mine. OH YES, it will be mine...
But what about the old lady at the cashbox? Surely she had heard my maniacal cackle of glee? Surely she knew what such a treasure was worth? A cold sweat broke out across my brow... get a hold of yourself, man!
I sauntered casually over to her table. An elderly gentleman forked over $50 for the man of the house's mini-lathe and the assembled grandchildren helped him carry it out to his truck. It was just me... and the old lady with the cash box...
"How much for this old drill?" I asked, hoping the desperate tremor in my voice wasn't too noticeable.
She sized me up (tatty, paint-stained jeans, sawdust-covered shoes, sweatshirt -- you gotta dress the part, or at least that's what I hear). "Three dollars," she replied, squinting up at me suspiciously.
Before I could say "deal" the reptilian hind-brain took over... This is a garage sale, man! You're supposed to haggle... "Uh... I dunno, it's pretty rusty. Plus the handle sticks a bit," I add, turning the crank and emphasizing the extra effort needed every quarter turn or so. "I'll give you $2, and another $2 for the clamp."
"Well..." (My heart skips a beat. Now's when her husband, the tool collector will emerge from the kitchen and demand top dollar. Why did you stop to haggle, you fool?) "okay, four dollars for both."
My wallet came out so fast, I'm sure the bills I handed over were singed. I returned to the car, clutching my prize (and the handscrew, which wasn't a bad score either, frankly).
If you've read this far through this thoroughly self-indulgent (though, one hopes, entertaining) narrative, perhaps you can help me with a small problem: I've soaked the mechanism in WD-40; I've scrubbed the sawdust, grease, and cruft from the external gears; I've burned a stick of incense to appease the Mighty Gods of the Rust Hunt (well, not really, but you get the idea...), and the drill still sticks every quarter turn. When you get it going at high speed, it's scarcely noticeable, though still present. But when you turn it gently, the drill stops every quarter turn, no matter what ratchet setting is engaged.
If there are any North Bros. junkees out there with ideas, I'd appreciate some insight. I'd love to put this drill to work. How do I get rid of the sticking problem?
Cheers,
Jon
PS- Hey, I wonder where this downhill slope leads? Eh, who cares, it's littered with rusty old tools and greased with WD-40... I'm gloating about buying a rusty drill that doesn't work properly... Dear God, I've become a Galoot!
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Sticking Yankee
