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Technical What kind of electric system does a 1949 mercury have?

Discussion in 'The Hokey Ass Message Board' started by adrienne2242, Dec 22, 2017.

  1. adrienne2242
    Joined: Dec 18, 2017
    Posts: 1


    STARTED TO REALIZE, OVER THE LAST YEAR AND A HALF, my son and I had been having problems. The signs were slight but they had been collecting. At first I barely noticed them I was too busy. That was, as I think back on it, a huge portion of the issue.

    Although Sam did not need to hurt my feelings, it was obvious he preferred spending time with his mum, his babysitter, his two sisters, his friends, the risk-loving child next door, the border collie two doors--anybody but me. Before that year, he had brought home a drawing from first grade. Entitled "My Family," the image showed four figures of various sizes, each of genially beaming. There was only one problem: We've got five people in our family. "I believe maybe you are in another one"
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    I was finding it harder and harder to speak with my son. How was it possible, I believed, I could feel awkward about Sam? I could remember seven years before, bundled up between my wife and me, gorgeous in his infant's moody indignity.

    Looking down to his crib, I had understood one reason weddings had been such tribal events. The families intuited their features will wind up mashed together in the faces of prospective grandchildren. My mom and my wife's father, warmly collusive throughout our marriage, today fulfilled up permanently in Sam's eyebrow; my dad confessed me at a friendly glance out of his coastal tomb; my sister-in-law's bottom lip pursed up in aggravation against my great-grandmother's upper lip. Somewhere in that checkerboard of features, also, were glimmers of his face: a teen sealed in his area, a school boy hobbling on taped crutches, a brand new father, a farmer, a fighter, a diplomat, a bond salesman, a retired carpet retailer, an Oscar winner for Best Animated Short. Whatever made him joyful: This was my sole fantasy for him.

    BUT AS SAM GOT OLDER, I did not know what to talk about with him. More frequently than not, I discovered my posture defensive, my voice too high and thin. I could not tell him "I love you" with no shuffling like a hayseed.

    In the morning I walked Sam into school. "So," I would say, "what's on the roster for now?"

    He did not understand roster. Why did I use words like that about him?

    He glanced at me, with absorbed without remark the false notice. "I really don't understand.

    Our walks were, for the most part, silent, before I kissed him fumblingly about the forehead, then he would run up the steps into school.

    Was this how I would wind up lodged in his memory? "My dad was similar to the next ghost in A Christmas Carol," the adult Sam would say gloomily into his wife.

    Once I wasn't locked in my office, I was outside looking for work, or traveling on behalf of this or that job, scrambling toward a near future so easeful it would yield me ... time with my family.

    Was I missed that horribly? What exactly did fathers do, precisely? In my experience, fathers often received abnormal acclaim for seemingly minimal exertion--bouncing a child in their shoulders or remembering to put socks in a baby in subzero weather.

    At precisely the same time, I could sense father-lessness once I came across it in different people.

    Before Sam was born, I had given myself a solemn lecture full of clumsy double negatives: You may never discuss with your son significant topics. You may never reveal yourself to him. You may never have him. Then I had breached all these commandments.

    Perhaps I was simply communing with my father. My dad was a schoolmaster, a locally celebrated one. Rumors chopped softly around himwhich he was paid a buck per year, he'd been World War II navigator who had flown 23 B-17 missions despite the fact that most soldiers could afford only three, even if they arrived back whatsoever. Number 1 wasn't accurate; number two was, although I stumbled upon the exact details once he expired. Comparatively older (42) if he became a father, he frightened me when I was little. He seemed grumpy, self-absorbed, his thoughts someplace else, although his comedy and goodness were obvious, and also our relationship over the years was adoring, it was shier and more formal than that I would have liked. Early on, I believe he chose with some relief that I "got" him and that he "got" me and portion of that which made our relationship so first-rate was neither of us saw the necessity to create it some more explicit. I accepted this as the natural sequence between fathers and boys, and so a whole life slipped between us. And I grew up with a belief that the most important things in life--exactly what you're feeling, what you thought--were carried by silent case.
    These guys saved the entire world. What else did you need from them?

    It was just like blowing off a pointless red heart to the sky: Dad, I am like you--are not you proud of me?

    I was jammed at the hinge of 2 generations, my dad's and my very own, adhering to and not enjoying elements of the two.

    Then 1 day I was leafing through Sam's schoolwork. His instructor had asked the class to answer five or even six mildly probing questions. Sam had written, "When my dad goes off." He had written, "Spending time with my dad"

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    his week I made a full-frontal attempt to be about more. On Sunday I took Sam into the playground. I had brought along a Wiffle ball along with a plastic sheeting. Setting up shop near a group of dog walkers, I and he snapped the fat ball back and forth several times. "Try to grab it like this, Sam, type of open handed," I predicted. Subsequently, "You wish to give it a little twist, also."

    Little twist? The ball made an unpleasant clap as it struck Sam's brand new glove--the hollow sound of the incorrect myth on the job. No, sports wasn't likely to do the trick. Plus, I can't tell a lie: I was interested in introducing my kids to cultural stuff than that I was in teaching them how to throw a fastball.


    Without being precious about it, I wanted my children to understand about the cities of the planet. I desired them to understand at least one language besides English. I needed them to learn about their ancestry but not be hemmed in by it. I desired them to become street-smart, enchanting, and fearless. I desired them to be kind to other people (they did not need to enjoy them just to be kind to them) and also to respect contradictory points of view. I desired them to become more conversant with classical music, to understand and appreciate jazz, and also to at least give opera a listen. I desired them to understand music's power, just how an older song coming in the radio can freeze you in your tracks and match all of the complexity of the past--a love affair, a long-gone buddy, the walls of a classic bedroom, some time you thought you understood yourself nicely. Would books or movies do this? Not really. And that I needed them to own standards, so they can understand "good" and "good" on those infrequent occasions they came across it, as I was decided they'd.

    1 day it struck us: Why not introduce the kids to the Beatles? In a humorous way, the group seemed tailor-made for children, its universe offering up the dreamy self-containment of any magic youth kingdom. The songs were magic, jolting, strange, electrifying, and, almost 35 years after the band's 1970 split, reluctantly, miraculously undated.

    Over the years I'd recast the decision to introduce the Beatles into the kids as more personal and complex than simply discovering music all five of us can endure listening to inside a vehicle. The Beatles gave us a sidelong means of telling the children about the people we had been, or thought we had been, after. Wasn't I about Sam's era once I purchased my first album, Rubber Soul? Wasn't I excited to receive my father to love the Beatles as far as I did? It was a direct way to allow him to get to know me. I had even sometimes ready the needle to fall on a path I knew he enjoyed--"When I'm 64" or "Lady Madonna"--in the precise instant he came to the area.

    Maggie and I completed our strategy at the start of a heterosexual vacation weekend. We--all five of uswere halfway through a six-hour automobile trip. Somewhere in the midst of Connecticut, Maggie slid the cassette of Abbey Road to the tape player.

    The voice of John Lennon shuddered from the car speakers. By "Come To-gether" into "Her Majesty," Abbey Road serenaded us states.

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    For after the car was silent. No one yelling, or whining, or squabbling.

    It wasn't until he was in bed that night which I noticed Sam was grasping the Abbey Road cassette. "Dad," he said, "you understand when you listen to a song and you can not stop thinking about it" No matter what he did, he could not get the song about the octopus's garden from his head.

    I could not help feeling a strangely entrepreneurial pride.

    My son started firing questions Were the Beatles living? Was Ringo the guy's name? Where did the Beatles reside? Can they have any children? Why were they called after insecrs? Sam listened raptly, his expression shifting just when I let it fall the Beatles broke up in 1970.

    "Just how do you mean they awakened?"

    "They made a decision to stop being the Beatles. To perform other things. For married, have kids, stuff like this."

    The morning after I dug up all my old Beatles records in the loft, and once I told Sam that John Lennon had scared me a little as a child, Sam declared that John gave him the willies somewhat, also. He spent the afternoon listening to Magical Mystery Tour and Help! And that night we leased A Hard Day's Night so Sam could see exactly what the
    Last edited: Jul 22, 2018
  2. 6 volt battery and some wires
    X38 and scrapiron like this.
  3. Cosmo50
    Joined: Sep 8, 2011
    Posts: 145

    from California

    As 36-3window said, its a 6 volt system. Positive ground. Those used heavier gauge wires than 12v systems.
  4. Model A Gomez
    Joined: Aug 26, 2006
    Posts: 1,022

    Model A Gomez

    6 volt positive ground
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  5. squirrel
    Joined: Sep 23, 2004
    Posts: 42,387


    It depends.

    Is the car original, or has someone modified it?
    tubman likes this.
  6. Paul
    Joined: Aug 29, 2002
    Posts: 14,251


    Direct current
  7. Mike VV
    Joined: Sep 28, 2010
    Posts: 1,421

    Mike VV
    from SoCal

    Electrons flowing thru wires.
    And one thing to remember...DO NOT LET THE SMOKE OUT of the wires..!

  8. tubman
    Joined: May 16, 2007
    Posts: 4,059


    "Squirrel" is right. After all of these years, anything can happen. An acquaintance just came into possession of of very nice '50 Ford; paint, upholstery, chrome, everything EXCEPT the electrical system. Someone had attempted to do a 12 volt conversion. None of the lights or gauges worked. The car could be started, but that was the extent of it. You see something like this and think : "How can this happen?". Something like this may be why the O/P posed the question.
  9. I have to ask, what are you trying to do?
  10. Have you ever read the rules for the HAMB??????
  11. Kiwi 4d
    Joined: Sep 16, 2006
    Posts: 2,408

    Kiwi 4d

    Do a polite intro, drop the bold type, then you may get the answer you need.
  12. Alaska Jim
    Joined: Dec 1, 2012
    Posts: 270

    Alaska Jim

    Cosmo, I sent you a Pm

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