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I like Arnold almost as soon as he opens his door and bids me enter. He listens as I introduce myself and tell my story about trying to pump the sand out of my well, and breaking it somehow, and finally dropping the whole works irretrievably down. Before I've finished, he has beckoned me to the kitchen table, placed a beer in front of me, and has sat down opposite with his own beer.

Arnold is a well-seasoned man, in his 80's. He tells me of his wife of many years, who passed away suddenly while sitting at the kitchen table, "right where you're sitting now." He speaks of the many wells he drove or helped drive for folks around here. He speaks of long years working at the taconite works; inhaling asbestos-laden mine dust has given him emphysema and a weak heart. His breathing is indeed labored, but he tells all his stories with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, and with obvious relish.

We've finished our beers. Arnold pauses, and, with the same smile and twinkle, says, "So, you've got a dropped pipe!"

"I'm afraid so. My neighbor tells me that you might have some kind of gadget that could retrieve it?"

"What size is the pipe?"

"I think it's inch-and-a-half."

"It's inch-and-a-quarter," he corrects me, "and what size is the casing?"

"3 inches, inside diameter."

"How far down?"

"The top of the dropped pipe measures about 18 feet down."

He rises. "Well, let's go out to the shop and see what we can find."

Out in his shop, Arnold reaches a length of small diameter pipe down to me, then another. He eyes my little Tercel in the driveway. "I suppose you could tie these onto the roof?"

"Sure. Or just leave the hatch open, and let them hang out a little in the back." He nods his OK.

But I'm puzzled, and the puzzlement obviously shows, for he explains, "These two ten-foot lengths, coupled together, will reach down 18 feet, plus a little bit."

"Uhhh, OK.... But where's the gizmo that I use to grab the dropped pipe?"

"You're going to drive into town and buy two reducers to get you from half-inch female to inch-and-a-quarter female. Thread that onto one end of these half-inch pipes, and you've got yourself a twenty foot long 'gizmo'. Understand?"

"I'm afraid not. How do I get the reducer to thread onto my dropped pipe when it's so far down?"

"You said you've got a 3-inch casing, right?"

"Right."

"Then that pipe doesn't really have much wobble room, does it? Nowhere much to go when you drop that reducer, except to thread onto the reducer when you turn it. Do like I say, and you'll grab that pipe, no problem."

The wonderful simplicity of it finally dawns on me. Seeing that, Arnold's smile widens into a grin.

He goes into his shop, and comes out with a pipe vice.

"Use this to keep the pipe from slipping back down. No more U-bolts." I grin sheepishly, and thank him.

"You're a life-saver, Arnold. What do I owe you?"

Ignoring that question, "You might need somebody to help you pull the pipe up. I'm too old and weak to be of much help. Then, when you get down to the cylinder, bring it and the last section of rod back to me. All you've got is a broken rod, and it always breaks down by the cylinder. I'll rethread or weld the rod, and pack your cylinder with new leathers as well, and you'll be all set." With that, he waves me off, and goes back into the house.