At one time there were people who thought my grandfather was a technological wizard.
You see, Pap could never make the claim that he'd lived always a stone's throw from where he'd been born, because a war got in the way. During his time abroad, he donated one arm and one eye to the fertility of a German field. Thus barred from making a substantial living as a farmer or coal miner, he became upon his return a self-taught expert in the field of television repair. The one-man business he built raised three children and kept the populations of two counties in prime time, a service that I sometimes think made him a local legend. (When I was teaching at Belmont Tech, I occasionally heard to the effect: "You're Bill Gallagher's granddaughter? The man with one arm? Lord, he used to come fix our TV when I was little!) I can still remember his look the first time he had to ask my brother for help with the TV...the first time that prized knowledge, that had made him a savior to so many, had truly proved obsolete.
He also invented things. He built a mechanized fishing pole he could operate with one hand. Less mechanically, he built a banjo pick to strap to the stump of his arm, so he wouldn't have to give up music. Pap plays the banjo better with one arm than most do with two. If you were to wander into his house some winter's day, you might hear him playing one of my favorites "Cold Frosty Morning," picking in the Scotch-Irish style. It would sound something like this (if this particular player were playing one-armed):
When I think of technology I think of my grandfather, and when I think of home I think of him, who knows every inch of those hills, every plant, animal, and tree--I unite these ideas in one man, yet I have never once thought of "technology" and "home" together without him as mediator. Sometimes I think he is my lens.
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