Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., February 15, 2025
When I was still very young, starting when I was around 7 years old, my father began teaching me how to interact with the real world, mostly by introducing me to science and its practical applications. I was given toys, if you can accurately call them that, which challenged me to be creative. My father gave me chemistry equipment purchased from the local hardware store, “People’s Hardware”. That store was located between the barber shop where I got my haircuts and the Super Giant grocery store. My dad taking me to get a haircut often included a trip into the hardware store, where I was allowed to buy small jars of chemicals (including sulfur, phew), glass tubing and boiling flasks. As my dad educated me using The Little Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments (now banned), I was eventually allowed to buy an alcohol lamp and denatured alcohol fuel for it.
I recall spending a few evenings with my dad working on chemistry experiments at the large office desk in the basement of our Maryland house. I clearly recall watching him dismantle large carbon-zinc ignition batteries to get the zinc and the carbon rods out of them. Amazingly, he had brought home some hydrochloric acid, which we poured into an empty glass soda bottle along with strips of zinc. We attached a balloon to the top of the soda bottle and watched it fill up with hydrogen gas as the acid reacted with the zinc. Eventually, he tied the balloon closed and let it go. I watched as it floated up and bounced against the ceiling.
My education in electronics began while following my father around the house as he worked on electrical wiring. I asked him how a flashlight worked, and he took the time to build a small project board for me, which I described in a previous story. There was also a model train platform created on a ping-pong table. I remember spending a lot of time wiring the trains and accessories using solid aluminum (arggh) wire with red insulation. I had trouble mastering the fine art of stripping the wire without nicking it or breaking it, so I would go looking for Dad and bring him a pocket knife and the wire. He was always patient and stripped the wire for me, showing me how to do it each time.
When I was a little older, my father bought a home study course in electronics that was published by RCA Institutes – not for himself, but for eight-year-old me. Without being overbearing, he was insistent that I take the course lessons seriously and that I make steady progress. The RCA course included project kits, and together we built a multi-meter and an oscilloscope. Dad also bought Heathkit amateur radio kits, which we assembled together. During the week of 20-hour days when I was feverishly assembling the theatrical lighting control system for my high school, Dad worked right beside me to get the steel rack cabinet ready.
My father was clearly accustomed to being self-sufficient. I watched him make a rotating storage system out of wooden slats and baby food jars, used to store nuts, bolts, washers and nails. He bought a radial-arm saw and made a pen for our dogs, complete with a heater made from two tin cans and a 60-Watt light bulb. When our washing machine had finally seen better days, he removed the timer-switch from it and gave it to me (I still have it). He removed the large AC induction motor and made a custom power saw that could cut rocks, as he had become fascinated with lapidary art. When he realized the limits of our television antenna, he bought an electric antenna rotor and installed it himself. Now we could watch more channels with a clear picture, rotating the antenna to point directly at any chosen TV station’s transmitting tower.
My father was thrifty. I remember a large electric typewriter that he brought home because it had been discarded. He told me it was broken and to leave it alone. One day, when he was away at work, I took that typewriter apart and discovered that the tab key and tab stops mechanism were not working. After studying the problem for several minutes, ten-year-old me decided to risk punishment. I removed the plastic end cap from the steel carriage roller dowel. Using a scrap of two-by-four wood and a sledge hammer, I smacked the end of the carriage roller dowel until the tab mechanism appeared to be properly aligned. I put the typewriter back together. When my father got home, I confessed my disobedience. He was upset, but then he tested the typewriter. He didn’t say much after that. No punishment. I could tell he was secretly glad I had taken the initiative, even if it could have easily ended in a disaster. For many years, I used that typewriter for my homework assignments. I still do not know how to use the proper fingering for the keyboard.
One Christmas, some of the kids in our Maryland neighborhood decided to steal bulbs from our light strings on the bushes in front of our house. We found broken light bulbs out in the street. Dad electrified the light strings with AC voltage passed through a low-wattage light bulb so that if someone touched the strings, they would get a painful (but harmless) shock, and we would get a warning that light bulb theft and destruction was imminent.
This approach to pest control harked back to a time when we lived in Arlington, Virginia. A squirrel had decided to store walnuts and other snacks in the attic of the house, entering through a vent grating at one side of the roof. Dad strategically placed live AC wires connected to a series-wired light bulb amongst the squirrel’s stash. As a five year old kid, I just happened to be outside, and lucky enough to see the high-voltage transformation of a normal tree squirrel into a not-so-proficient flying squirrel, as it rocketed out of the attic vent grating and sailed through the air and into the branches of a tree, falling through a few before finally getting a grip. Mr. The Squirrel abandoned his stash. Many years later, Dad once again used AC high voltage and a series-wired light bulb to interact with nature. This time, he wanted to go fishing. You need bait to go fishing. So the AC hot-wire was connected to a light bulb, and the other side of the bulb to a metal stake hammered into the ground in our backyard. The resident earthworms were clearly disquieted by the resultant tingling sensation, and they virtually flew out of the soil, by the dozens. Amazing.
We went to sacrament meetings on Sunday evenings together, just my father and me. Sometimes, when I became bored, I would kneel on the floor and use the church bench seat as a desk, next to where Dad was attentively sitting. He had a self-winding mechanical wrist watch that I took apart and re-assembled during several such sacrament meetings.
A few times, my dad taught the Sunday School class that I attended. I was always amazed by the clarity and logic he brought to the lessons. If not for those Sunday School classes, I don’t know if I would have ever realized how truly brilliant he was.
Dad did some very practical things not typical of a high-powered successful attorney. He gave me a Kodak Brownie camera when I was too young to care for it properly. I think I dropped the camera at least three times, shattering its black bakelite case. Dad explained that to be repaired properly, the camera must not leak light. He carefully mixed black graphite powder with epoxy glue. He fitted the shattered pieces together with his light-proof adhesive, and the camera worked once again, inspiring my lifelong interest in photography that has been passed down to my children. I remember Dad changing the brake shoes on our blue 1965 Buick station wagon. I sat on the floor of the garage and watched him do the work himself, indistinguishable from an experienced mechanic. I remember him setting heavy wooden fence posts and putting up the fence on his land in Estes Park, Colorado. I remember working with him to put in the plumbing and the air ducts in our house there. Dad always told me that it was important to know how to do many things yourself, to know the whys as well as the hows, and to do everything to the best of your ability. I am very thankful that I had him as my father. Thanks to him and the educational experiences he generously provided for me, I have had a life worth remembering.