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A few days ago as I was using duct tape to make a permanent repair to a string trimmer, it occurred to me that I have never given serious scholarly attention to the topic of hoopie tools.
I have written on hoopie history, migration, culture (if you can call it that), dialect, humor, foods, traditions, anecdotes, sayings, individuals of note and even on the prehistoric geologic forces which created the hollers that hoopies came out of, but to my embarrassment have neglected a discussion of their clever use of tools.
Hoopies are mechanically inclined and naturally frugal because they came from poverty, and usually retain those traits should they become well-off. Hoopies use whatever is at hand to make repairs and accomplish other tasks.
Duct tape is near the top in the hierarchy of hoopie tools, a ranking with giving a hoopie squint at the top, and at the bottom, spit. Spit is underrated and probably should be higher on the list, but I'm not sure what would rank below it. Grass, maybe. Dirt.
I had opted for a conventional solution, namely buying new screws, to effect a repair to a Husqvarna 525 string trimmer whose pull-cord housing kept coming loose. (This model trimmer is the only one my wife Honey will use. We have four of them. She lets me borrow the older ones.)
I had to special-order four screws at a cost of $15 from a Husqvarna dealer, then lost them and had to re-order. When I got them I found the threads in the housing had stripped out. The screws were useless. I had wasted $30.
Shame-faced, I reverted to my hoopie roots (my mother came from Lincoln County, W.Va.) and searched among my vast collections of yard-sale nuts, bolts and screws for something that would hold. Every fastener I tried quickly vibrated out. Finally it dawned on me that I only needed to hold the housing in place, and how I did that would not matter. Two narrow strips of duct tape wrapped around the engine did the trick, and has held beautifully.
For a thing to be on the list of hoopie tools, it must cost little or nothing and be readily available. Cardboard is one. Broom handles are another, a famous example of which is told below.
A couple of years ago, a man named Daun Junkerman contacted me with a story about his stepfather, who he said was a proud hoopie from Tyler County. Serving on an aircraft carrier during the Vietnam War, Daun had asked his wife to find him a certain make and model car for when he came home. By coincidence that same day his stepdad, coming from work at Crucible Steel, had seen that exact car. The owner had recently bought it "down in Hoopie" and willingly sold.
After driving the car for two years, Daun took apart the cooling system and found that a thermostat gasket had been made from corrugated cardboard. "What kind of hoopie deal is this?" he asked his stepdad, who replied, "Well, it worked, didn't it?"
As for spit, you may laugh at the idea of it as a useful tool, but it is invaluable when you desperately need a small amount of liquid lubricant, cleaner or antiseptic. If your mother ever spit-washed your dirty face on the way to church, chances are you're a hoopie. I reserve the honor of heading the list of hoopie tools to the concept of "a hoopie squint." It is not an object. It is a time-saving talent acquired through experience, confidence and upbringing.
A man named Varian, an East Liverpool native residing in Florida, some years ago sent me a snapshot of a man, presumably himself, squinting down the length of a board to assess its straightness. He said he was "giving it a hoopie squint." This ability, he inferred, may be used to estimate an infinity of other values, not only angles, plumb, level, width, length, and I would assume also weight, strength, volume, malleability, viscosity, breaking point, whatever. Using nothing more than his or her brain and eyes, an experienced practitioner will announce his best estimate, often followed by the disclaimer, "Close enough for government work."
The legendary pilot Chuck Yeager, who was in my Uncle Sweetland's graduating class at Lincoln High School, is the greatest hoopie who ever lived. The day before he became first man to break the sound barrier, in the X-1 rocket plane on Oct. 14, 1947, he had fallen off a horse and cracked two ribs. If his superiors had known, he would not have been allowed to fly. An off-base surgeon taped him up and a compatriot helped secure a broom handle to the plane's inside door latch to give Yeager enough leverage to close it. Only a supremely confident hoopie would have had the audacity to do such a thing.
Author Tom Wolfe famously wrote that Chuck Yeager possessed "The Right Stuff." A generation of airline pilots thought so, too, imitating his lazy West Virginia drawl to assure jumpy passengers that they were in good hands.
I will gladly accept hoopie stories and nominations to my list of hoopie tools. Send by email to pacyberguy@gmail.com or in writing in care of this newspaper.