The Brotherhood of the Box

(Because of the confidential nature of this blog, please whisper.)

It is not often that it becomes possible to join the Brotherhood. In fact there have been but a few who have attempted and even fewer who have succeeded in joining in the last decade. Not just anyone has what it takes–the skill, the intellect and of course the endurance to pain required to achieve such heights. You will not hear much of the Brotherhood. There are no advertisements, no banners, no TV spots. You will not read about it in the news nor see it mentioned in a resume'. Nevertheless it is very real and you never know who might be a member.

When the sun was sinking behind the Tucson Mountains and the shadows were long, the ordeal began around a solid maple table with only one insert in place. Curious implements adorned the table top which was partially covered with a recent edition of the Wall Street Journal to protect it from the harsh process. Wires, transformers, switches, copper foil, alligator clips, a single 1.5 volt C battery and of course the solid black colored box were placed in a random array within easy reach. Craig was not quite sure if he wanted to proceed. He suspected that the introduction to the Brotherhood would be fraught with trials and challenges. Little did he know. . .


The room was silent except for the occasional click of the alligator clips as they clamped their jagged jaws to the transformer connection points and the battery holder leads. He paused.

"You've got to try it to be sure that you know what goes where," I said as he squirmed uncertainly. "The transformer has 5 connection points. What wire do you think goes where?"

Craig examined the markings on the transformer–120 v, 6.3 v.

"What does it mean?" I questioned him.

It was just a small cube shaped contraption which was heavier than it appeared. He had seen my box before and he knew its awesome effect, but he was still not sure if he wanted to proceed.


"Okay, okay. Just give me a second" he said boldly as he held a bare wire in each hand. The wires were connected to the transformer and thence to the 1.5 volt battery. He had handled batteries like this hundreds of times and he had never felt anything alarming before. "Why should this time be any different?" he thought to himself. He held his breath. "Okay."

I touched one wire to the battery. A tiny spark was barely visible and the sound was not much more than a brief whisper, but the sensation was unmistakable. Craig winced as he let go of the wires in a hurry. "Uuh" he muttered as if he had not intended to say anything.

"Well, does it work?" I queried. "Which connection point is best?"

We laughed as we contemplated trying again.

"How could such a little thing do what it did?" Craig wondered. "Yes it works. It works well," he continued out loud.

He knew that he had the right combination of parts and connections. He had to figure out how to make everything fit into that little black box. Carefully he began soldering and assembling the delicate parts. The switch had to be placed just so. Craig was becoming a master at soldering. It only took a fraction of a second to make the connection secure. Only a daub of solder does the trick.

"Okay, let's try again." I pronounced.

"You do it," Craig said.

"It is not my box," I responded. "You will be the owner. You must be the one to verify that it works." I said as I held onto the bare wire contacts and he gave me a charge.


"Uuh, wo!" he said this time half smiling and half grimacing.

He opened the black box carefully, placing the screws together near the cover. I explained that the copper foil needed to be secured to the sides of the box and the tabs needed to be connected to the wires and the switch. We got out the Dremel tool with the fine grinding wheel and marked the best place for the slots. Steadily he guided the grinder as it cut through the black plastic. At last he glued the foil and attached the wires. Everything was ready.

"Uh oh. Time to test it again before screwing the lid on." I said with a grin.

"It works. We have both tried it already," Craig protested.

"But we don't know if there is some glitch or if something short circuited," I commented. "You'll just have to test it again."

"I don't like it," Craig continued. "I shouldn't have to." After collecting his resolve and taking a deep breath again he held the box. Nothing. Then he moved it again slightly. "Wooah. Yup, it works," he pronounced proudly.



Upon inserting the final screw and tightening it just gently, the box was finished. It looked great. It looked so harmless. It looked just right. The ordeal was over. Craig had succeeded more than his wildest imagination. He had weathered the storm. Only those who make one are ever admitted to this elite fraternity. Only those who complete the task are members and now Craig is one of the elite. Congratulations and welcome to the Brotherhood of the Box.

On the other hand, while Craig was jubilant at his success, I suffered one of the most horrendous experiences the box can inflict--it was at Craig's hand and the effects did not pass until late the next day. (Imagine that, my own son.) Yes indeed, I had the worst hair day of my life that night and all the next day. It was devastating!