Grandpa Maschke

Why does someone decide to pursue a career in engineering? Recent studies confirm what has always been empirically apparent: There’s something in our blood (Matusovich et al. 2010). Most engineers can point to relatives who preceded them in the engineering field. Although none of my elders were technically engineers, as farmers in rural Michigan, they shared the inquisitiveness and do-it-yourself attitude of successful engineers.

I can trace a lot of my interest in engineering to my grandfather. He recently passed away, but he left a legacy that includes five grandchildren, four of whom are engineers. Grandpa lived to 91 and was making plans to climb up his roof and trim back some tree limbs just days before his heart gave out. Like many men of his generation, he was fiercely independent and practical, or so I imagined from his colorful stories. I choose to remember my grandfather’s stories as I perceived them as a child: adventurous, clever, and a little irreverent.

My grandfather was born in Port Hope, Michigan, the son of German immigrants. My great-grandfather had been a blacksmith in the Old World—the precursor to the modern engineer. In his youth, I’m told, my grandfather had a devious streak. Rumor has it that he rewired the alternator in his first Model T so he could run an electric current through the steel body. This feature was used to shocking effect on his older brother.

When World War II broke out, my grandfather enlisted and was sent to the Aleutian Islands. He told of a harrowing voyage across the Bering Strait through stormy weather and rough waters. This fortunately delayed his transport, so he missed the worst of the close combat with the Japanese.

Most of Grandpa’s war stories focused on the ways he and his buddies passed the time in the Alaskan islands. When asked to stand guard over the construction of a new hospital, he secretly walked away with enough of the construction materials to make a small shoe locker. He later sold his wooden box to a commanding officer. The lesson to learn from this story: “Ken, if you’re going to steal, steal the best.” Another night on guard duty, he was asked to watch over the radio room. With only a dictionary, he pioneered the call-in radio show by reading obscure words and seeing if anyone in the company knew their definitions.

Grandpa also knew how to entertain through more conventional means. He was so appreciated for his guitar playing that the officers assumed his musical ability extended to other instruments. After several days sequestered at the far side of camp, however, he finally convinced them that he wouldn’t be able to play reveille on the trumpet. Grandpa was much impressed when I picked up the trumpet and played well enough to make the Michigan Marching Band. My grandfather also auditioned to be in the code-reading group. However, in the end, he found his niche in the motor pool driving egotistical officers around.

After returning from the war, my grandfather found work in one of Detroit’s factories. Eventually the rural life beckoned, and he returned to Bad Axe, Michigan, where he established the farm and built the house I grew up in. Over time, he expanded the old hip-roof barn, building a masonry milking parlor and several new sheds. Grandpa also claimed to have the second-oldest pole barn in the county. It’s the standard for barn design now, but at the time, builders had to make several innovations. The roof rafters, for example, are constructed of 2 × 4s connected with through bolts and split-ring connectors instead of the nailer plates now common. The machinery used to install the metal standing-seam roof mesmerized my grandfather. He was eager to implement new technology on the farm.

For a man whose education stopped at the 8th grade, he maintained a remarkable interest in learning throughout his life. In his late 60s, my grandfather taught himself to play the fiddle. He never used sheet music, preferring to play the music as he remembered it from his childhood. His mechanics were unorthodox, as he had to accommodate for a farming injury to his left hand that deprived some of his fingers of their full range of motion. Even so, he was good enough to command a local following, and his band toured the county, playing hits like “Onesy, Twosy, I Love Yousy.”

My grandfather continued his inquisitive and mechanical ways throughout retirement. He built a new house across the street from the farm, and from there he was my go-to bicycle repair man. Until recently, I hadn’t fully appreciated how lucky I was to grow up working with both my dad and my grandfather on the farm. Together they set a great example of hard work and ingenuity for me. In retrospect, my proclivity for engineering seems obvious. It’s comforting to think that some of my grandfather’s spirit lives on in my career path and interests.