EB AND JOBIE BRAZELTON

These dear friends helped make my life a joy. They died far too soon. This is a tribute to them both. 12/30/2016

EB AND JOBIE BRAZELTON

EB AND JOBIE BRAZELTON

Eb and Jobie Brazelton were wonderful pals of mine. I met them in 1953 at the site of the Atomic Energy Commission’s wartime plutonium plant at Oak Ridge, Tennessee. My employer, the Foster Wheeler Corporation, sent me there for six weeks in order to broaden my knowledge of large industrial cooling towers. Eb, a Field Superintendent, had the task of repairing a very large tower damaged by exposure to excessively hot water.

I set off for Tennessee at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning in my relatively new ’51 Studebaker. Eb and Jobie met me at my motel and took me to their travel trailer for dinner. I could hardly believe construction folks meandered around the country living in these contrivances. Eb stood six-feet two-inches or so, but he did not seem to mind the trailer’s narrow confines nor did Jobie.

They owned a black Cocker Spaniel named "Character" whose dander made me sneeze without letup. By the second week, he had learned to hole up in the bedroom during my nightly visits.

Eb and Jobie were very compatible. They shared interests from rock hunting to classical music. They both came from Illinois. Eb graduated from a vocational high school where he learned his carpentry and cabinet making skills. Jobie had attended but didn’t graduate from the University of Illinois. A farm girl, she knew all about horses, machinery, and small town rural life. She learned bookkeeping and had other secretarial skills, but chose not to work due to Eb's nomadic construction life. She cooked great dishes, my favorite being Key Lime pie.

After work, we spent many hours listening to their large collection of classical music records, a new experience for me. Until then, I disdained such music. Now I realized how much more sophisticated they were than I, a college graduate but a country bumpkin by comparison.

On weekends they took me sightseeing. We visited many TVA dams and reservoirs, and saw many tourist spots in the Great Smoky Mountains. One Saturday we visited the Atomic Energy Commission museum, which had just opened to the public. One section showed the plutonium manufacturing building. I had seen this windowless building from atop the seventy foot high cooling tower under repair and had wondered about its purpose. Vented fumes drifting upwards from its roof provided the only sign of life within. When first built, all employees had to travel to the site through a maze of underground tunnels as an extra measure of security. The workers did not know the plant’s location.

Foster Wheeler had shipped replacement redwood timbers to the AEC plant on an emergency basis that had not been air seasoned very long. Eb had concocted a clever plan to speed up the repair work. He planned to utilize the water stored in the cooling tower’s basin to float timbers to each section of the tower needing repair. The first one he dropped in promptly sank. We had to drain the water to retrieve the lumber, a costly mishap. It marked the only time I ever knew him to goof up on anything.

In 1954, we were among eight Manhattan based employees who transferred to Arcata, California, to redesign the company's line of cooling towers. During the time we spent there, Eb continuously impressed me with his practical knowledge about construction issues. His design input ideas helped to make our towers easier and less expensive to build. He freehand sketches were better than most engineers could draw using drafting instruments.

One of my fondest memories of Eb involved a trip he had to take from Arcata to some place in Texas. He had never flown before and needed an alcoholic fortification before departing. He loved the experience and afterwards would fly anywhere, anytime, without the need for a drink.

When the Arcata office closed and its personnel transferred San Mateo, the company promoted Eb to Chief Construction Supervisor. He now directed the field crews from headquarters. He and Jobie sold their trailer and moved into a home near our apartment. We socialized a great deal. Eb's two daughters (by his first wife) came for long stays, but they were free spirits and difficult to control. The older one took off with a bad dude, and lived an uproarious life afterwards. The younger one eventually married and had two girls. Things did not work out well for her either, and Eb and Jobie had their hands full trying to help raise the grandchildren.

Eb had many talents. Earlier in life he had owned and operated a photography shop. This past week I uncovered two pictures he had given me. One shows me holding up a salmon that I caught while fishing with him. The other is a framed photograph of Roosevelt Dam he had given to me as a gift not long after I had started working at Salt River Project.

Angie and I attended a pottery class with Eb and Jobie one year while living in San Mateo. I never got past the most rudimentary stage. In no time at all, Eb began turning out all sorts of interesting pieces, and could operate the potter’s wheel better than the instructor.

He made wonderful artistic jewelry using materials gathered on rock hunts. He designed and made numerous turquoise rings, bracelets and other jewelry that were both beautiful and singular.

We felt so sorry for Jobie. She wanted to be a mother, but her pregnancies never lasted more than four or five months, while Angie spawned a new baby almost every year. Jobie became one of our most valued sitters.

After Foster Wheeler sold its cooling tower business, Eb opened a business, manufacturing wood products. Our mutual friend, Fred King, now owned his own printed circuit business. Eb designed and manufactured unique worktables and benches for Fred's shop. A Hewlett-Packard engineer saw them and arranged for his company to purchase similar equipment from Eb. In time, Eb designed and manufactured a host of other products for H-P's chip production facilities and many other Silicon Valley high tech firms. His business flourished.

All during this time, he and Jobie spent much of their free time building a unique home at a reservoir near Morgan Hill. Its windowed living room looked out the lake. Indirect lighting illuminated their extensive collection of Kachina dolls. He hid his hi-fi stereo equipment behind a false bookstand to prevent its theft from their isolated home. The detached garage had sleeping quarters in an upper level in which they stayed during construction of the home.

Eb constructed a private pier at the edge of his property to accommodate his motorboat that he usually docked at the main marina. On one visit, after we had moved to Arizona, he taught my kids how to water ski. Then, he towed me on my maiden ride. I popped up out of the water on my first try, rode around the lake once, and then deliberately fell off in front of his pier, exhilarated and exhausted by my one and only ski ride. Eb's towing skill made this possible. He could have managed to get King Kong up on skis.

Over time, we drifted apart, our contacts limited to Christmas cards and an occasional phone call. On one business trip, I visited them at their nearly completed Morgan Hill house. Jobie shared with me her family history book that contained pictures and articles galore. Her family had lived in Illinois for many generations.

Shortly afterwards, Jobie died. Her death shocked Angie and me. Eb had a difficult time adjusting to her death. He hoped to remain in business, but no longer wanted to work every day. He tried to arrange to have someone operate the business, allowing him time to dream up new products and improve old ones, but things did not work out for him. In time, he sold the business to a trio of men. As luck would have it, they went bankrupt in three years. After all his years of hard work, Eb had nothing tangible to show for it, a very depressing state of affairs.

Sadly, we learned from Eb's former secretary that Eb had died after suffering from Alzheimer's for a couple of years. Neither his daughters nor his granddaughters were attentive to his needs. She had taken care of him during that period. This news devastated us as did the news his heirs had sold the home at Morgan Hill. The good news: someone who knew Eb had bought it.

Their place in Heaven will never match the home they left behind. God is probably gobbling up some Key Lime pie while Eb is busy showing him how to improve things up there. God, you are so lucky to have their company.

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