A Legend

Dave. Head of the Transfer Station in Niskayuna NY. Yea, it was a dump, but we liked saying the Transfer Station. And that's how we answered the phone in our little shack. Saturdays was when I would work.

Dave in front of our newly decorated
disposal. Lobster bouy's from the keys.
from someone's pool. I was the official Exterior Decorator.

They say people go to the dump to drop off their trash. I can honestly say, it is quite the opposite. Every walk of life visited the transfer station. Some to drop off garbage, yes, but some to look for treasures, and all, to chat with Dave. He was the grandfather of the town. He knew every person that stepped in there, where they lived, when their house was built, how many kids they had and the latest trouble they got into, along with their most recent accomplishments. From riding thier first 2 wheel bike, to entering the National Guard. He knew everyone's extended family and could fill in missing details of their past. He was on a first name basis with congressmen, Firefighters, State Troopers, Principals, CEO's, Detectives and yes, even the 97 year old widow who insisted on driving her car their every saturday.

If one were looking for any item, Dave would find it for them. From an old 1920's Baker Cabinet to a 62 Chevy Grill, from a microwave to a suitcase. If it wasn't in the best condition, he would spend weeks repairing it.

Bird House Admirer 

Dave made everyone feel like he was waiting for them all day to get there. Greeting them with an exhuberant "Howdy!". He would listen to all their stories, gossip, confessions, lastest projects, latest girlfriends. He would listen to the same war stories from veterans, each week, like it was the first time he heard it.

Buster. Every dog got a biscuit.

He would feed the birds every day and repair the collection of scattered birdhouses strategically placed around the area. He would fix clocks. He would fix lawn mowers. He would fix bikes and test them out. He would test out old breadmakers by bringing in ingredients and being the second to try the bread. In case the first person (usually me) died suddenly. We would decorate our shack with  old Christmas lights on the holiday and blare Frank Sinatra Christmas songs from the rigged up stereo system to the old speakers outside the shack.

Workboots in Laundry Basket in Dumpster 

Every week he would have me shave his head with an old electric barbering kit he kept stowed away in the drawer under the old playboy magazines and antique magazines. (I wasn't allowed in that drawer) He always slipped me a 5 after he examined his hair in the cracked Coca Cola mirror.

He taught me how to play horse shoes, how to drive with the right golf club, even if it went in the opposite direction into a town truck, how to use a sander, how to properly fill pot holes. He also taught me great life lessons that were given in an un-presumptuous way so I didn't realize I was learning. but I did.

Every winter late in February, we would start our vegitable seeds in tossed out, glued together flower pots. I watched how he would pull out the stragglers and encourage the strong ones. Come spring, we would transplant them into the big garbage cans outside the shack. Come summer, we would pick our tomatoes and serve them on our hamburgs that we cooked on our salvaged grill.

Gardening with Dave

Dave made working at the dump and visiting the dump a fun life event. No matter how much crap people dropped off there, they always left with something more. And not just more stuff. 

Fun at the Dump

Dave really isn't gone. they say your life continues on through the lives of all the people you've touched. So in my estimation, he will be here for another millenium. 

c.

Dave VanDenburgh
March 1936 - April 2012