Yes, there’s still a market for scrap iron, er, scrap metal

by Pat Laster

CORRECTION/ CLARIFICATION about an item in last week’s post. My uncle from Oak Ridge reminded me that I should have said “Interstate Forty is 284 miles long IN ARKANSAS.”
New blooms since last week: a blue double African violet from a plant I started with a leaf, a red epesia (sometimes called a trailing violet) that loves food and sunlight, a yellow canna and several red naked-lady lilies along the back circle drive.
An unusual happening: a scrap iron monger/collector came by one day last week. In this day and age? “There’s still a market for scrap iron?” I asked.
“Got any old washing-machines or water heaters that need hauling off?” In fact, I DID have a water heater in the basement.
Shades of the 1940s! As a child, I remember collecting scrap iron for the war effort.
“Time’s is hard,” he said, waving his hands. “I ain’t no criminal,” he assured me, as I still stood behind the storm door.
“Meet me around back,” I said, and I dashed to retrieve my housecoat, which I snapped all the way down (It was time for a nap, so I was dressed in p.j. bottoms and a tee shirt).
We met at the back; I asked his name, where he lived and where he took his load. A backwoodsman (well-enough-fed, it looked like) doing enough business to own an electric metal cutter and a low-sided trailer hitched behind his old-model, windshield-cracked black truck.
We never made it to the basement. I allowed him to take down the temporary barrier at the old driveway made of concrete blocks and landscape timbers so he could drive close to the shed. (Since he drove out the other side of the yard, he forgot to put the barrier back.)
He mentioned he knew one of my Pelton cousins and said he’d always loved this house.
“Built in 1932,” I said. And he nodded.
From the shed porch and the southwest corner of the back yard hidden by privet and honeysuckle, we gathered up a storm/screen door, a HEAVY cafeteria-sized folding table, an old grill, a swing set from Kid Billy’s childhood, a vent pipe from the now-defunct gas water heater, a crippled wheelbarrow, a rusty spring for a baby crib and a child’s lawn chair with rotted webbing.
It was early afternoon and sunny. He puffed and blew and said something about a glass of ice. I dutifully went in while he loaded his unused, but-plugged-in-just-in-case, metal cutter, and found a large Styrofoam cup. I filled it with both ice and water, and took it out, handed it to him—Heath, he said, like the candy bar.
Profuse thanks from both of us ensued. “When is the best time to come by?” he asked, and I told him. His last words were, “Call me.”
Scrap iron collectors. What used to be old is new again? Maybe not.
Online information shows that ABC Salvage on Stagecoach Road in Little Rock has been in business since 1985 with an annual revenue from $5-10 million and employs a staff of from 10-19. Searching further, I learned that many world countries deal in scrap metals.
Are there scrap metal collectors in your town? Ferret them out if you have stuff lying around. It will help others as well as yourself. #