Tennessen Farm

OIL SPOUT STORIES

A spout for oil cans that has most likely been obsoleted when metal oil cans were replace by plastic bottles. I suspect that the old metal cans were far more environmentally friendly. Norb

Spout for a can of oil—you would push it into the top of the can. -Dee 

Spout for a can of motor oil. Definitely not OSHA approved.  - Lou

That’s a push in spout for a can of oil – Cindy

Norb and I punched a lot of holes in oil cans working at Frank Dusek's gas station.  It was an all-night station and during the summer when all the tourists were coming up north from Chicago and Milwaukee it could be a zoo.  It probably was the only station open within a 100 miles.  On a holiday weekend there could be 6 or 8 cars parked to get gas and others waiting.  There was no self-service so each had to be filled up by an attendant.  In addition, the windshield had to be cleaned (the bugs on them were numerous) and the oil had to be checked.  Frank wanted us to sell windshield wipers and oil so you would point out to the driver their wipers were getting bad, and their oil was a little low.  The secret to selling oil was to put your finger between the top of the dip stick and the tube that the stick went into.  It would show to be 1/2-quart low, so you may get a sale.  In addition to all that, you had to collect cash or run their credit card through a machine.  You placed a three sheet paper ticket on top of the card in the device, and manually draw a roller (part of the machine) over the ticket.  There were three copies, one for the buyer, one of the station owner, and one the was sent to the credit card company (Standard Oil in this case).  I remember one night I collected $1300 in cash and a bunch more in credit cards.  I think gas was 32 cents per gallon so that was a lot of gas.  Norb can probably add more to this story.

Yes to Dennis’s invitation to add to the story pumping gas at the Standard Oil station in Phillips. First, we worked 12 hour days 7 days a week for $1 per hour. Times would shift from busyness to quiet and nothingness in the dead of night. On one of these nights a family of 5 or 6 limped in at about 2am. I think it was a ’56 Buick with something seriously wrong with the left front wheel, the tire had been reduced to shreds and the wheel was wobbling.  The father did not talk but aside from that he perfectly normal. He really didn’t need to use sign language. It was obvious things were seriously wrong. I do not remember how they were actually able to pull in to our station in the first place. 

I removed the wheel and hub to find the wheel bearing was totally shot. The roller bearings were gone. All that remained was the bearing shaft that was as much as welded to the shaft. Try as I did I could not get it off. I had to use the acetylene torch to cut it off. Only problem with that I had never been trained in on using the torch. But the guy watching me work did not know that. I figured it out, got the bearing shaft off, installed a new bearing, mounted a new tire and had them on their way a couple of hours later.

Then one night when all was quiet, from a distance I heard what sounded like a chain being dragged over the pavement. It was scary and I hoped the noise would go away but it kept getting closer. My mind started racing. Could it be the devil himself?  The noise got closer and closer and it came right through the front door.  A black lab that had pulled one of those metal mounting posts out of the ground and just wanted to stop in for a visit. I tied him up, he made himself comfortable and slept through the night. Norb