When Water Balloons Changed Everything
Copyright© 2026 by Jackstoryteller
Chapter 9
Monday, June 14
Monday morning arrived with the quiet hum of a new week. I dressed early, ready for our visit to Rubbermaid. Mom was finishing her coffee when I walked in.
“Jim wants to see both of you at nine,” she said. “He’s been shifting papers around all week but hasn’t told me what he’s planning.”
Dad nodded. “We’ll be there.”
Jim Pitts’ office smelled faintly of pencil shavings, blueprint paper, and the endless coffee he drank. Today, though, Jim had an energy Jack hadn’t seen before.
“Come in,” he said, motioning them to sit. “All three of you.”
He tapped the stack of papers on his desk — the same stack he’d been refining all week.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I’m not presenting just the Home & Outdoor line anymore. I’m presenting everything. All four categories.”
He spread the pages across the desk like a winning hand:
Children’s Outdoor Products
Home & Outdoor Storage
Baby Products
Institutional Furniture
“This isn’t a product pitch,” Jim said. “It’s a company‑direction pitch. A multi‑division expansion. Rubbermaid hasn’t seen anything like this since the early fifties.”
Then he turned to Jack.
“Your drawings are the reason I can do it. You didn’t give me products — you gave me categories.”
Warmth and nervous energy spread through my chest.
Jim slid a sheet toward him with the “hero pieces” he needed drawn:
Playhouse
Ride‑On Car
Water Table
Deck Box
Garage Organizer
Booster Seat
Changing Table
Folding Table
Stackable Chair
“I need clean concept art,” Jim said. “Something the Board can understand instantly.”
Jack nodded. “I can do these.”
“Good,” Jim said. “Because I’m taking your work into the biggest proposal of my career.”
On the way home, Dad swung by the office supply store. He spotted a large drawing tablet on an easel in the window.
“For these drawings,” Dad asked, “would the easel help?”
“Yes! Yes it will.”
Back home, I found a rhythm: the small tablet for rough sketches, the large tablet on the easel for finished drawings. I dove into the work immediately.
Dad called Grant Engineering in Cleveland and set an appointment for Tuesday at ten. When he saw how many directions I was being pulled, he started working through the ideas I had been forced to leave on the back burner.
After lunch, Dad wiped his hands on a dish towel.
“Jack, bring your notebook. Let’s look at this coffee machine idea.”
I laid out his sketches — the heating chamber, the water lift tube, the drip basket, the carafe.
Dad studied them carefully.
“First question: Does it solve a real problem?”
I nodded. “Restaurant coffee tastes better because they don’t boil it. They drip it.”
“Second: Is it manufacturable?”
“I think so.”
“Third: What’s the story?”
“People deserve better coffee at home.”
Dad leaned back. “And last ... what are you going to call it?”
I blinked. “Call it?”
“You don’t pitch parts. You pitch a product.”
I looked at the drawings again, seeing them differently now.
“Mr. Coffee,” I said quietly.
Dad smiled. “That’s a good name, Jack.”
I spent another hour refining the drawings, then grabbed my bike to burn off energy. My brothers immediately joined, with Dave outpacing me and taunting me the whole time.
While I cooled down—not sucked air, as Dave insisted—Mrs. Orland waved me over.
Her illuminated Jesus clock needed a new battery. While I replaced it, a recorded devotional message played from her record player.
“It’s not convenient finding the right tracks,” she said.
In the shower afterward, an idea came together:
A small cassette player behind a picture. A shadow-box frame. Halo lighting. Hourly messages triggered by the clock.
A Devotional Clock.
I rushed to my sketchpad.
After supper, I showed his parents the Rubbermaid drawings — clean, confident, professional. Then I revealed the Devotional Clock sketches.
Mom traced the frame. “This is clever.”
Dad nodded. “This looks like something sold on late‑night TV.”
Mom snapped her fingers. “Chad Dawson. He works at WAKN‑TV. I would bet he gets promotional sheets from gadget companies.”
My eyes widened. “He could get the number for Ronco?”
Dad smiled. “If anyone can, it’s him.”
I called Chad. Chad confirmed he had the contact number and invited Jack to stop by the next evening.
I hung up, buzzing with excitement. I pictured the demonstration clearly—the halo glow, the gentle voice, the hourly messages—and fell asleep planning how to make it work.
Tuesday, June 15
I slept fitfully, still embarrassed by Eddie’s bike-race victory. Before I got out of bed, I resolved to start each day with push-ups and sit-ups.
Downstairs, Dad reminded me: “We leave at nine for Grant Engineering. Bring your drawings.”
I led the way into the modern lobby—terrazzo floors, walnut paneling, olive-green vinyl chairs. Mrs. Kline greeted us warmly and sent us back to Mr. Grant’s office.
Mr. Grant stood, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened — an engineer at heart.
He greeted Dad, then turned to me.
“And this must be the young man with the big idea.”
I laid out my sketches and typed notes. Mr. Grant studied them silently, absorbing every detail.
Dad added the business requirements: patent‑level drawings, full application, bill of materials, UL safety ratings, alternate configurations, no infringement, full presentation package.
“Our plan is to license this,” Dad said. “We want airtight protection.”
Mr. Grant nodded. “Then you need functional tolerances.”
I slid forward a typed sheet:
Water temperature: 195–205°F
Soak time: 25–35 seconds
Flow rate: ±5%
Stable water‑to‑grounds ratio
“These tolerances matter,” Mr. Grant said. “We’ll include thermal stability analysis, extraction‑curve review, and tolerance stack‑up.”
“Mr. Grant,” I said. “I envision a snap together assembly. The base and tower as one unit. All of the components either snap into please, slide until a plastic snap holds it in place or, for electric components, connect with quick connections. The outer case will be two pieces; 1 the Fresh water station, 2 the outer shell. Check to see if the quick connectors cost outweigh the assembly costs.”
He promised an estimate within a week.
“You’ve got something here, Jack.”
Back home, two certified‑mail envelopes waited:
Wham‑O’s contract for Splash Pak
Mattel’s contracts for Hot Wheels, mission packs, and the Mission Room concepts for not-yet-named action figure
Dad and I spread everything across the dining room table, marking questions for our lawyer, Mark Walters.
Dad scheduled appointments: Mark tomorrow morning, Jim Pitts Thursday afternoon.
After supper, I visited Chad Dawson, who handed me a slip of paper.
“California’s three hours behind. Call now.”
I went home and dialed.
“Ronco Industries, this is Ron Propeil”
I introduced myself and asked how to submit a sales sheet.
Ron chuckled. “A young man calling? That’s rare.”
He explained he’d be traveling through Ohio on Monday and could spare forty‑five minutes to meet me in person.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Ron promised to call Sunday evening with a time and place.
I hung up, stunned.
“We need a prototype,” I said. “And a tape of devotional messages.”
Dad agreed. “Call Chad.”
Chad answered immediately — and practically shouted when I explained.
“You’re pitching to Ron Propeil? I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Chad arrived and studied my drawings. Then he proposed recording a commercial-style demonstration at the TV station. “If my boss knows he could meet Ron Propeil, I’m sure he’ll let us use the studio for your demo.”
I called Ron again to confirm. He agreed to change his plans and visit the station Sunday afternoon.
Chad and I finalized the plans. Later, I called Vicky and joined her and several neighborhood friends for a walk.
For the first time all day, I relaxed.
Wednesday, June 16
I completed my morning exercises, pleased that they were already getting easier.
Dad dropped the contracts off at Mark’s office.
Later, Dad told me Mark had reviewed the California contracts and flagged the royalty clauses as generous—suspiciously generous.
I finished the Rubbermaid drawings by noon, then spent the afternoon building the Devotional Clock prototype with Dad.
After dinner, restless and bored, I picked up my sketchpad to practice faces and expressions.
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