Later, as I kept working on jobs with other sharp contractors, often from the need to make a day’s pay, I saw many times how the flapper game was played, where a small job could be inflated to ten times its size, leading to a nice over-priced deal.

As Buckminster Fuller used to say, referring to the building trades: It’s craft and graft.

“No actually, it’s the flapper. It’s worn out. Need a new one.”

My brother went to the hardware store for that exact problem, with the 4yr-old (call him “A.”) in tow.Didn’t tell him why. Once inside,A. asked why they were there . Bro told told him that the toilet was broken, and he needed to fix it. The kid replied…… “No actually, it’s the flapper. It’s worn out. Need a new one.” Then explained the process. Bro was speechless. A just looks at things, not usually even getting hands on, and can see how they work . I feel like a half-blind monkey with mittens, in comparison.

But while I’ve seen a lot of that, I’ve never really done it myself. Not habitually at least.

He has a big house here in the Connecticut town I live in, which he kind of got roped into buying.

It was built before 1750, and in today’s repair, remodeling, or restoration terms, it’s a nightmare as it stands. It has historical significance in that it was a terminus on the underground railroad before and during the Civil War, though it’s not protected by state landmark status. The basement is full of ghosts. It could be a jewel if restored, but it would be extremely expensive, probably three of four dollars, or more, for every normal dollar spent in today’s work terms.

My friend knows nothing about taking care of houses. Zero. I help keep things together, literally, bartering for help with my acting.

Recently, he came to me, eyes drooping in a hound dog face, and asked for help with the house. He acted as though the roof had caved in.

I asked about the problem.

“Water in the upstairs toilet keeps running after it’s flushed,” he said, staring at the floor. “I had to shut off the line underneath.”

I went upstairs, opened the line, took the top off the tank, flushed it a few times, and could see the rubber flapper wasn’t settling right to seal the drain.

I walked downstairs.

“Well?” my friend said.

“I hate to tell you, Louis: you’re probably going to have to backhoe off the kitchen to get to the main line and maybe trench out to the town sewer hook-up. May be a dead rat somewhere in the pipe. I noticed an awful smell when I flushed. Could be ten or fifteen grand to start.”

He looked at me.

Then I smiled.

“No actually, it’s the flapper. It’s worn out. Need a new one.”

He smiled back, getting the joke.

“So how much will that be?”

“Ten bucks for the kit; and of course, per our usual barter arrangement, I’ll install it. Won’t have to pay the plumber’s $75 minimum.”

And that was that.