Dad was born in 1926 and grew up all through the misery of the Great Depression in rural southern Ohio. He was raised on a farm, one of eleven kids, and left school after the eighth grade to work on the farm and help support his family. He joined the Navy at age 17 in 1943 and sailed away on a Fletcher-class destroyer to fight the Japanese all over the South Pacific. He was discharged in 1946 and came home to work in the Pyro Clay Works mine located just a couple hundred feet from where he slept. A few years later, like so many of that day and that place, he packed his few belongings and moved to Dayton, which at that time was a General Motors boom town.  By the time he and my mom married in 1954, Dad was established with Frigidaire (then a GM division) in Moraine City. He had seen a hell of a lot, had traveled all over the world, and he had already become set in many of his ways.

When I was maybe 10 or 11, Dad decided it was time I learned to do some basic auto maintenance. (We lived in town, and there were no farm chores, not even a vegetable garden. I was already mowing the lawn.) He had, of course, been taught these things by his own father, and he passed them on to me pretty much unadulterated. I learned what a grease gun was and how it worked, and how to use it to lubricate the various front end parts of our car. I learned how to safely jack up the car and remove the front wheels and clean and inspect and repack the front wheel bearings. And of course, I learned how to change the engine oil -- Dad's way.

In those days (the 1960s), the self-contained screw-on oil filters so universal today were a relatively new thing. Not long before, oil filters were just elements that had to be installed inside a permanent steel canister with a big bolt up through the center of it. This technology shift had sorta left Dad in the dust.

The first time I attended oil-changing class, we owned a 1964 Coupe deVille. Dad was a BIG man who liked BIG cars. He had already changed the oil once or twice before my first lesson. He drove the car up on ramps, set the emergency brake, and slid under there. "Son, hand me that 3/4" wrench and slide that drain pan under here." OK, did that. Soon that pan was full with more than a gallon of dirty black warm motor oil. "Son, hand me that filter wrench." I proffered the strap wrench. After a few minutes the cussing started. The old filter wouldn't break loose.

Now what I didn't know at the time was that the last time Dad had changed the Caddy's oil, he had put the new can filter on using the strap wrench to tighten it. Any of you reading this who is practiced in the art of automotive maintenance knows that can filters must be installed only finger tight, else they will bond to the engine block with the permanency of a bead weld. Dad didn't know that. Of course, at the time, I didn't know either.

"Son, hand me that biggest screwdriver and the ball-peen hammer." By this time, Dad had levered so hard on the strap wrench that the steel can filter had collapsed and the strap wrench was useless. His game plan was to drive the screwdriver through the can and use the screwdriver to torque the can off the block. If my memory serves, this stratagem brought success that first time. But of course, Dad put the new filter on with a firm twist of that strap wrench, and when oil change time rolled around again, we had the same problem.

The next time, the screwdriver trick didn't work -- he actually tore most of the can off the head of the filter, as you might do with a can opener, except not nearly as neatly. "Son, hand me that cold chisel." Cuss, cuss. Wham, wham. After about an hour, Dad emerged from under that Caddy victorious, mangled can filter head in his hand, his shirt and pants covered with dirt and oil. By that time I was pretty sure I never wanted to get a job changing engine oil in cars.

After a couple of encore performances over the next year or so, Dad had an epiphany as he lay, hammer in one hand and cold chisel in the other, sweating and filthy under the new car (a 1966 Buick Electra 225). He crawled out from under that big deuce-and-a-quarter, grabbed an old 1" Western Auto brand 1/2" drive socket from the toolbox, and we jumped into Mom's little car and drove to the welding shop down by the river. Dad asked the man if he had any 1/4" hardened steel rod, and would he please weld a chunk of that rod on two opposite locations along the outside of that 1" socket. Dad's idea was to make a tool that could be used -- after the filter can was crushed with a strap wrench and cut away with a big screwdriver and a ball-peen hammer -- to grip the filter head. The pins were meant to fit into the oil passage holes, which were only accessible after the can and the filter guts had been mangled off the head by brute force. But that tool would save the labor and misery of lying under the car with a heavy hammer, pounding on a cold chisel to try to torque the head loose.

I am proud that I still have the tool that Dad had made that day. (It actually worked, by the way.) Here's a photo.



Of course, I don't use the tool any more. I was lucky enough to learn more than Dad every knew about things mechanical. And, as you may notice, one of those hardened steel rods has broken off somewhere along the way, which renders the tool useless.

Except for the fact that it reminds me of my dad, and his one-of-a-kind way of approaching things.

Dad left us almost three years ago. After the funeral, we held a family get-together at the home he shared with my mom. The place was crammed with kids and grandkids and great-grandkids and cousins and nieces and nephews and on and on. As I was telling this story to those gathered in the front room, my brother-in-law James got this funny look on his face and sent one of his boys to the toolshed. The boy brought back the tool in the picture. Dad himself had long forgotten what the pins on the socket were for, and the kids and grandkids had been scratching their heads over it for years. As I told the story that apparently no one else had ever heard, James just suddenly knew.

I hope you've enjoyed this tale. Don't bother sending me large cash offers for this one-of-a-kind piece of American ingenuity. It is not for sale at any price.

 

I remember the change over well.  I work as a young pup in my uncle shop in the summer for 4 years.  That way back when young people learned by doing the working.

Quote from: walkstall on July 27, 2014, 07:50:40 PM


I remember the change over well.  I work as a young pup in my uncle shop in the summer for 4 years.  That way back when young people learned by doing the working.

Personally, I loved the cartridge, they were easy to change, and were generally located where you could access it easily.

As to T's point about using a screwdriver, I thought those day were long behind me, that is, until I bought a Kubota diesel engine genset.
The first time I had to change oil, I couldn't get my hand around it because I have large mitts and Toy didn't have the strength to budge it, so I went down and bought the clamp tool, that didn't fit in the housing either.
So back to the auto parts store and bought two more designs including a rubber grip, all a waste of time, it wouldn't come off.
Soooo, out came the proverbial screwdriver and hammer, and in no time, I had a huge mess, but the filter came off.

Now, being the smart guy I am I purchased a filter that could be removed with a special wrench that fit the bottom of the filter like a nut.

All was good.... That is, until I saw oil spraying on the engine.
No prob, I'll just tighten it up. Still leaked, so I tightened it even more, still leaked.
Well, I muscled down on that baby till it quit, and all was good till the next oil change, and just as T described, it was a virtual weld, but I got it off.
I'll never know why it leaked, because it quit leaking after about the 5th oil change.

Quote from: Solar on July 27, 2014, 08:44:42 PMI'll never know why it leaked, because it quit leaking after about the 5th oil change.

Did you make sure you removed the gasket(s) from the old filter(s)?

Quote from: TboneAgain on July 27, 2014, 04:26:53 PM
Dad was born in 1926 and grew up all through the misery of the Great Depression in rural southern Ohio. He was raised on a farm, one of eleven kids, and left school after the eighth grade to work on the farm and help support his family. He joined the Navy at age 17 in 1943 and sailed away on a Fletcher-class destroyer to fight the Japanese all over the South Pacific. He was discharged in 1946 and came home to work in the Pyro Clay Works mine located just a couple hundred feet from where he slept. A few years later, like so many of that day and that place, he packed his few belongings and moved to Dayton, which at that time was a General Motors boom town.  By the time he and my mom married in 1954, Dad was established with Frigidaire (then a GM division) in Moraine City. He had seen a hell of a lot, had traveled all over the world, and he had already become set in many of his ways.

When I was maybe 10 or 11, Dad decided it was time I learned to do some basic auto maintenance. (We lived in town, and there were no farm chores, not even a vegetable garden. I was already mowing the lawn.) He had, of course, been taught these things by his own father, and he passed them on to me pretty much unadulterated. I learned what a grease gun was and how it worked, and how to use it to lubricate the various front end parts of our car. I learned how to safely jack up the car and remove the front wheels and clean and inspect and repack the front wheel bearings. And of course, I learned how to change the engine oil -- Dad's way.

In those days (the 1960s), the self-contained screw-on oil filters so universal today were a relatively new thing. Not long before, oil filters were just elements that had to be installed inside a permanent steel canister with a big bolt up through the center of it. This technology shift had sorta left Dad in the dust.

The first time I attended oil-changing class, we owned a 1964 Coupe deVille. Dad was a BIG man who liked BIG cars. He had already changed the oil once or twice before my first lesson. He drove the car up on ramps, set the emergency brake, and slid under there. "Son, hand me that 3/4" wrench and slide that drain pan under here." OK, did that. Soon that pan was full with more than a gallon of dirty black warm motor oil. "Son, hand me that filter wrench." I proffered the strap wrench. After a few minutes the cussing started. The old filter wouldn't break loose.

Now what I didn't know at the time was that the last time Dad had changed the Caddy's oil, he had put the new can filter on using the strap wrench to tighten it. Any of you reading this who is practiced in the art of automotive maintenance knows that can filters must be installed only finger tight, else they will bond to the engine block with the permanency of a bead weld. Dad didn't know that. Of course, at the time, I didn't know either.

"Son, hand me that biggest screwdriver and the ball-peen hammer." By this time, Dad had levered so hard on the strap wrench that the steel can filter had collapsed and the strap wrench was useless. His game plan was to drive the screwdriver through the can and use the screwdriver to torque the can off the block. If my memory serves, this stratagem brought success that first time. But of course, Dad put the new filter on with a firm twist of that strap wrench, and when oil change time rolled around again, we had the same problem.

The next time, the screwdriver trick didn't work -- he actually tore most of the can off the head of the filter, as you might do with a can opener, except not nearly as neatly. "Son, hand me that cold chisel." Cuss, cuss. Wham, wham. After about an hour, Dad emerged from under that Caddy victorious, mangled can filter head in his hand, his shirt and pants covered with dirt and oil. By that time I was pretty sure I never wanted to get a job changing engine oil in cars.

After a couple of encore performances over the next year or so, Dad had an epiphany as he lay, hammer in one hand and cold chisel in the other, sweating and filthy under the new car (a 1966 Buick Electra 225). He crawled out from under that big deuce-and-a-quarter, grabbed an old 1" Western Auto brand 1/2" drive socket from the toolbox, and we jumped into Mom's little car and drove to the welding shop down by the river. Dad asked the man if he had any 1/4" hardened steel rod, and would he please weld a chunk of that rod on two opposite locations along the outside of that 1" socket. Dad's idea was to make a tool that could be used -- after the filter can was crushed with a strap wrench and cut away with a big screwdriver and a ball-peen hammer -- to grip the filter head. The pins were meant to fit into the oil passage holes, which were only accessible after the can and the filter guts had been mangled off the head by brute force. But that tool would save the labor and misery of lying under the car with a heavy hammer, pounding on a cold chisel to try to torque the head loose.

I am proud that I still have the tool that Dad had made that day. (It actually worked, by the way.) Here's a photo.



Of course, I don't use the tool any more. I was lucky enough to learn more than Dad every knew about things mechanical. And, as you may notice, one of those hardened steel rods has broken off somewhere along the way, which renders the tool useless.

Except for the fact that it reminds me of my dad, and his one-of-a-kind way of approaching things.

Dad left us almost three years ago. After the funeral, we held a family get-together at the home he shared with my mom. The place was crammed with kids and grandkids and great-grandkids and cousins and nieces and nephews and on and on. As I was telling this story to those gathered in the front room, my brother-in-law James got this funny look on his face and sent one of his boys to the toolshed. The boy brought back the tool in the picture. Dad himself had long forgotten what the pins on the socket were for, and the kids and grandkids had been scratching their heads over it for years. As I told the story that apparently no one else had ever heard, James just suddenly knew.

I hope you've enjoyed this tale. Don't bother sending me large cash offers for this one-of-a-kind piece of American ingenuity. It is not for sale at any price.

Where would we be this day were it not for these wonderful Dads?  Great tale!

Quote from: CG6468 on July 28, 2014, 09:01:57 AM
Did you make sure you removed the gasket(s) from the old filter(s)?

Of course.

My neighbor called me to come help him with his truck, he had lost all the oil in his engine just after changing it.
You guessed it, the old O-ring had stuck to the engine still.

That's awesome T.  It also circles me back to my initial instinct of you, when I asked you about embedded systems.  That's something I sense you would be good at and would find a kick ass application.

Quote from: taxed on July 30, 2014, 12:50:53 PM
That's awesome T.  It also circles me back to my initial instinct of you, when I asked you about embedded systems.  That's something I sense you would be good at and would find a kick ass application.

Yep, critical thinking in a nutshell.

Quote from: Solar on July 30, 2014, 07:21:01 PM
Yep, critical thinking in a nutshell.

Ha, yes, totally.  Damn, you'd be awesome at it too I just though, since you know a lot about electronics, etc.

There are some smart people on this forum.

Quote from: taxed on July 30, 2014, 07:32:31 PM
Ha, yes, totally.  Damn, you'd be awesome at it too I just though, since you know a lot about electronics, etc.

There are some smart people on this forum.

That's because we aren't a lib forum.

Quote from: Solar on July 27, 2014, 08:44:42 PM
Personally, I loved the cartridge, they were easy to change, and were generally located where you could access it easily.

As to T's point about using a screwdriver, I thought those day were long behind me, that is, until I bought a Kubota diesel engine genset.
The first time I had to change oil, I couldn't get my hand around it because I have large mitts and Toy didn't have the strength to budge it, so I went down and bought the clamp tool, that didn't fit in the housing either.
So back to the auto parts store and bought two more designs including a rubber grip, all a waste of time, it wouldn't come off.
Soooo, out came the proverbial screwdriver and hammer, and in no time, I had a huge mess, but the filter came off.

Now, being the smart guy I am I purchased a filter that could be removed with a special wrench that fit the bottom of the filter like a nut.

All was good.... That is, until I saw oil spraying on the engine.
No prob, I'll just tighten it up. Still leaked, so I tightened it even more, still leaked.
Well, I muscled down on that baby till it quit, and all was good till the next oil change, and just as T described, it was a virtual weld, but I got it off.
I'll never know why it leaked, because it quit leaking after about the 5th oil change.

Here's the tool I like best for removing most oil filters these days.







The spring-loaded jaws will expand to just over 3" diameter and drop down to about 2-1/4" diameter, a very nice range for most modern automotive applications. (Oil filters have been shrinking for years.) The base will accept a 3/8" drive ratchet or extension. I like this tool because I can use it on filters that are tight against obstacles like oilpans and crossmembers. Also, the tool CANNOT be used for tightening filters. It grips only one way -- off.  The old strap wrenches would often fail because they gripped the can filter around the middle, where it's weakest and most prone to crushing. This li'l beauty takes advantage of the rigidity offered by the can's bottom.

I still keep a couple old strap wrenches around, in case I run into one of the big fat filters of yesteryear. But I haven't had cause to use one for a while.

Quote from: Solar on July 30, 2014, 07:38:03 PM
That's because we aren't a lib forum.

The working-male mind of the 30's, 40's, 50's, and 60's was a deft affair, rife with practical agility.  You never knew what you'd find in someone's garage... specific inventions of singular intent. 

And tackle-boxes... Opening one would sometimes be like opening a gleaming treasure-menagerie.   

Quote from: kit saginaw on July 30, 2014, 08:50:42 PM
The working-male mind of the 30's, 40's, 50's, and 60's was a deft affair, rife with practical agility.  You never knew what you'd find in someone's garage... specific inventions of singular intent. 

And tackle-boxes... Opening one would sometimes be like opening a gleaming treasure-menagerie.

I know exactly what you're talking about. Pre-homogenization.

Quote from: TboneAgain on July 30, 2014, 07:47:20 PM
Here's the tool I like best for removing most oil filters these days.







The spring-loaded jaws will expand to just over 3" diameter and drop down to about 2-1/4" diameter, a very nice range for most modern automotive applications. (Oil filters have been shrinking for years.) The base will accept a 3/8" drive ratchet or extension. I like this tool because I can use it on filters that are tight against obstacles like oilpans and crossmembers. Also, the tool CANNOT be used for tightening filters. It grips only one way -- off.  The old strap wrenches would often fail because they gripped the can filter around the middle, where it's weakest and most prone to crushing. This li'l beauty takes advantage of the rigidity offered by the can's bottom.

I still keep a couple old strap wrenches around, in case I run into one of the big fat filters of yesteryear. But I haven't had cause to use one for a while.

Nice,  I wish I'd had one over the last decade, life would have been a lot easier.