B.F.H = Warmth

After reading my earlier post "Get Me A B-F-H" my sister June shared with me another "Phil" story involving a big friggin hammer.   The reason I didn't know of this story was because this happened when I was very young (I am the youngest in my family by at least ten years, a fact I never let my siblings forget) and this story takes place in our old basement. 

I didn't go in the basement as a child, because I thought the very gates of Hades existed down there.  It was dark and musty.  Occasionally I would hear these low growls and moans emanating from that dark abyss.  I swear to God I once heard these moans say "Hammer Jr, I want to eat your braaaiiiinn".  However, after hearing my sister's story I now realize that it wasn't some zombie from Hades hungry for my brain, it was our old fuel oil furnace struggling to start up.

The house I grew up in was built in the 1920s-ish and the furnace was still the original one that came with the house.  So, it was old.  Since my father was really good at keeping mechanical things running, he felt no need to replace the old furnace when it was acting up.  His solution you ask?  Why, a BFH of course.

My sister told me that dad always had a big friggin hammer lying next to the furnace and when it wouldn't fire up he would give it a whack and then it would work for a while.  Nevermind the fact that HE WAS HITTING A FURNACE WITH A HAMMER!  A COMBUSTIBLE FUEL FURNACE!  My sister would hurry outside when she knew dad was going to whack the furnace just in case we needed someone to identify the bodies if something went wrong.  Very smart of her.  The funny thing is that years later, my sister and her husband moved into that house when we left for the farm.  The first thing they replaced?  The old fuel furnace.