Urban dictionary defines jerry-rig as fixing something non working in an unconventional way. Their etymology states that the term was created during World War II, a reference to the Germans who were termed "Jerries" as slang. Allies supposedly came across hastily repaired objects left by the retreating Germans. Hence the admiring, resourceful Yanks invented the term Jerry-rig.
Wikipedia offers a competing derivation; it contends that the phrase's origin is nautical, deriving from jury-rig, a temporary mast erected to replace one carried away. The make shift mast would only survive one day--un jour. Presumably this jour migrated to jury and thence to jury-rig. So the term dates back to sailing ships and predates American adventures in twentieth century war.
I’m not sure about all this; it's pretty shaky web research. Just the kind of “evidence” that I circle in red on student papers. But whatever its historic origins, jerry-rig is a useful expression in life which is so often make-shift.
Despite the term’s condescending connotations of something flimsy and shoddy, these temporary repairs sometimes outlive the original piece of equipment. Such successful jerry-rigging depends upon equipment: wire, duct tape, C-clamps, and an assortment of screws, shims, and sealants. All this in addition to a set of good tools that include a power drill. Jerry-rig operations also benefit from a solid work bench (stationary vise highly recommended). And above all, jerry-rig requires invention.
Jerry-rig is the specialty of my partner, Dennis. Through him I have learned to look differently at the broken objects of daily life. To embrace potential, instead of succumbing to frustration, to visualize the material world working in alternative and unexpected ways. To honor the originality praised by the romantics. Throwing something into the trash or even the Goodwill pile means that you just don’t rise to the challenges of life. It’s not sporting---a rejection of improvisation, imagination, and the unconventional. Going to the mall to buy a replacement means craven capitulation to the commercial (although we always seem to have a sheaf of expired Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons just in case).
Last summer the switch on our tea-kettle cracked and broke off. As you can see here, Dennis' solution was to hold down the internal lever with a chop stick. Presto! The little orange light goes on and soon the water is boiling. English Breakfast tea will steep to its sable brown, caffeine-laden intensity. And no one has been electrocuted. To turn the kettle off, you pull the stick out---and just toss it into a drawer until tomorrow. No trace left to disturb kitchen décor. Of course, to insert the stick properly requires surgical precision. In my early morning, pre-caffeine bleariness, I am neither patient, nor particularly adept with chop sticks. I need a flashlight to poke in the stick at just the right angle.
We are offspring of Depression generations and recall the stories of how homes and lives were held together and very little was thrown away. Our family lore includes tales of the first refrigerator that replaced the old icebox, of sewing machines converted to electricity (my mother had one with an electric pedal), of knives and lawnmowers sharpened annually at the hardware store. Any piece of good metal, wood, or rope was stored and saved. What to do with such bits and pieces? Out of habit we continue to coil wire and wind up rope. We sort screws, nails, and bits of metal in tea tins and jelly jars. We buy duct tape on sale in multiple rolls from teen-aged clerks who pronounce it “duck” tape. (What do they envision with that webbed and quacking metaphor?)
The sturdy workbench in the basement of my house dates from the 1950s. The builder constructed it. Successive owners paneled its back wall with peg board and someone had thoughtfully left a few hooks. Now the wall is now covered with tools. Its dangling shop light has been augmented by old bathroom fluorescent rods also from the 1950s---salvaged and mounted on the beams. Still working but in a new context. Good light is essential for jerry-rig work.
Dennis comes from the rich repair tradition of the mid-twentieth century. His father and grandfather delighted in scavenging for broken equipment. They fixed motors and re-built car engines. Once they wired up a communication system from kitchen to garage so they could work in peace until dinnertime. Dennis even built his first stereo set. I marvel at this energy and precision, this depth of knowledge of the mechanical world. How it can be mobilized in a small emergencies.
My appreciation of jerry-rig has grown in recent years, while energy for re-furnishing the domestic material world around me has declined. I’m increasingly immune to the whole lot of the redecorating enablers---Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel, Williams-Sonoma. Fatigued by their showrooms of coordinated objects. Making do with a jerry-rig is just fine, so long as things collapse at a leisurely pace.
For more essays see East Village Magazine at http://eastvillagemagazine.org/
