If airplanes are such modern contrivances, why are they always taking me back into the land of used- to- be? My most recent trip was taken in the company of a box-full of parts that used to be my airplane's starter. It was a short trip that refreshed my faith that our species can survive, at least until the next century.

If my engine logbooks are to be believed, the starter was 52 years old when it made its last lethargic attempt to crank the engine. The brushes were worn right down to their holders. I could have ordered a rebuilt starter, but I'm not wired that way.

I sent off for a rebuild kit from one of the aviation parts houses, and in return for a $50 charge on my Mastercard, I got two grease seals, three brass bushings and four commutator brushes. I resurfaced the commutator on the lathe and while I was at it, I made tools to set each of the bushings and grease seals. I have in mind that this won't be the last old starter I rebuild.

The project became more interesting when I found that the mounting pins for the two brushes that carry power into the rotating commutator were loose on their mount plate. The pins are pressed into insulating sleeves, and the pin and sleeve combination is pressed into a hole in the mount plate. Simple enough, but the sleeve had cracked and the pins were ready to fall out.

These pins are specialty items in any starter, and this particular starter was made by Delco 50 years ago. One of my private rages is centered around blister packs, and the new reality that if an item is not in a flashy package with a UPC code, its generally unavailable in any local store. The tools that made these parts, I suspected, were probably melted down to make the machines that make blister packs.

I resigned myself to making new pins from scratch when I was reminded of the Auto Electric shop in Big Flats. Virtually in the shadow of the Consumer Square stores that are filled with aisle after shining aisle of consumable goods, is a shop that fixes things. A plain- looking shop where skillful and resourceful people have earned a reputation for excellence.

When I walked in, a fellow looked up from his workbench and came over. I showed him my problem, and he returned with a bag full of the parts. He knew them by eye and by experience, not by part number. I went into a store, purchased two obscure parts from loose stock and was gone in less time than it would have taken me to get a polite apology from the parts man at a conventional store.

It has been a generation since someone looked around and realized that we had created a throw- away economy. The intervening twenty years seem to have been spent fine- tuning it. The word "consumer" has rapidly transitioned from a verb to a common noun and now seems to have become a title worthy of a crown and robe.

I'm not attending this coronation. I think that the truest affluence, independence, and freedom lies in the hands of the person who can fix things. Consumption is a darkening and downhill road for the mind and the spirit.