Remembering Gerald Metzger

“Be careful. Don’t break it!” he growled.

“The two pieces of pipe aren’t lining up,” I said. “If I put anymore strain on this PVC elbow, I think it’s going to break.”

Gerald Metzger and I were installing new meters in the water association shutoff boxes. Gerald had for many years been the association mechanic. His dad helped found our association and it was officially known as the first registered water association in the United States. As I lay on the ground over the meter box, Gerald stood over me barking orders while staring into the hole.

“I don’t like this, Gerald. The pipe from your house is at a bad angle. If I try lining the mainline fitting up with your pipe, it’s going to snap at the mainline.”

We hadn’t shut off the water to the system, so the full association was charged with sixty pounds of water pressure.

“It won’t break! Just be careful! I should just do it myself.”

“Ok, it’s almost lined up. Almost…”

POW!

“Oh #**#!” he moaned, and he grabbed his forehead and fell backwards onto the ground.

We lost a good man this week. A teddy bear in a grizzly bear’s body. A veteran.  A war hero. Ninety-five years old and still of sound mind.

The Metzger home passed from father to son. It is in northern Ferndale and the same house Gerald died in. Gerald’s dad was a house mover and when Gerald was old enough, he would help him jack up houses, move them down the road and put them on new foundations. His high school years were at the height of World War Two.  Gerald left home before he could graduate. He joined the Army and fought battles in the South Pacific Islands against the Japanese. He survived by using hand to hand combat and the weapons of his fallen comrades. I asked him once if he ever thought about those battles. Staring back at me with a far-away look he replied, “Well, I will tonight!” He was awarded an honorary diploma from Ferndale High School in 2003.

His appearance, depending upon who you asked, was likened to either an elf or a troll. Though he was not a tall man, his whole demeanor was that of a big, tough man. Four things stood out with him that most people remember: 1) His long snow-white beard. I never saw him clean shaven in 35 years. 2) His very large ears. 3) His enormous hands. I have large hands with what my wife calls hot dog fingers, but he could lay his hand over mine and cover it completely. 4) His booming voice. Gerald worked at the same company I work for. He was a mechanic. I was told by other mechanics that while they were working at the waterfront on the pier, Gerald could stand on the beach and yell at the rest of the crew who were on the end of the pier a quarter mile away and be clearly understood. He was at times scary because he had a quick temper and could cuss up a storm while at the same time being a pussy cat.

Toward the end of his life, Gerald had lost his wife and both of his sons. Though he was alone in his house, he was not lonely. He always had dogs in the house. He was well taken care of and loved by the whole Ferndale community who made him honorary grandpa. He was the Fire Commissioner for many years and in his last days, the fire department made sure he was safe. Daily he would sit at the same spot at the bar in the hometown cafe. Very rarely would he pay for a meal because someone would always pick up the tab to honor the old veteran. He could always be seen driving his Model T Ford in the area parades with ribbons hanging from the windshield as he smiled and waved to the kids. And not only was he Grandpa to the kids, he was also Santa as each Christmas he would don his costume and visit different venues giving presents to the kids. He was to me a wonderful man, a mentor and a friend.

Gerald got up from the ground looking for his glasses. When the PVC elbow broke, sixty pounds of water pressure shot past my shoulder and hit him square in the forehead knocking him over.

“I told you not to break it!” he hollered. “Go up to the pump house and shut off the water to the street. I’ll go up with you to get a fitting!”

I hurriedly got the valve key and found the valve in the ground to shut off the water. “Let’s see, right tighty, lefty loosie — or is it the other way around?”  I turned the valve until it stopped. Gerald came out of the pump house with a part.

“Is the water off?”

“It’s a 100% off” I said. We both looked down the road toward his house. A geyser was now shooting out of the meter box, arcing over his house and watering his garden in the back yard.

“You opened the valve 100%, you didn’t close it #**#!  I should have done it myself!” Geyser and geezer are amazingly close in their spellings.

I used to live in fear and dread, worrying about what we would do without this man telling us how to fix the association breakdowns, but last Saturday when I had the chance to sit by his bed and rub his shoulder it felt right to say, “Well done, Soldier. You can go home now.”

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