Connecting Rod Ch. 01-02

I wandered into the shop, looking at the tools and equipment. Nothing like an army shop, but then the army didn't appear to worry about budgets. They got the best and plenty of it. This was a whole different story. Again, I was struck by the difference between the two employees. The older man was organized and efficient. He worked quietly on his own, not pausing to see who the stranger was.

The woman, approximately my age, was curious. She stopped in the middle of the lube job she was doing and walked over to me.

"Something I can do for you, mister?"

"Naw ... just lookin' around."

"Nothin' much to see here," she said idly as she walked back to the lube rack.

I watched her for a few minutes, wondering just how much she knew and if she could be counted on to do a job properly. Women weren't usually found in service bays. And her appearance? I would never allow her to look like that in my shop. The man was more the image I was looking for.

I walked into the office. The old man looked up from his magazine and blinked.

"Somethin' else you need, son?"

"Some information. I understand this station is for sale."

"Yeah. For the right price."

"How come you're sellin'?"

"Gittin' old. I'm about wore out and just want to go down to Arizona and retire. Got a brother and sister-in-law down there waiting for me."

"You don't seem to be overrun with customers."

"Not today, but ... it comes and goes. There's enough to get by. We ain't up on the interstate like them other fancy stations. We're a local service kind of place."

"I'd like to bring a business associate along with me tomorrow and go over the place. That OK with you? You can check me out with Ted Reynolds if you like."

"If Ted sez it's OK, then it's OK. Jes' gimme your name and phone number. I'll let you know when we can meet. I suppose you'll want to see the books?"

"Yep. My mother will be with me. She's my accountant," I grinned.

"Well then, I guess I won't be slippin' anything by you, will I?"

"I wouldn't try. She's good and she's thorough."

"Where you bin boy? You know anything about this business?"

"Not much ... yet. I was in the army motor pool for nearly eight years. I ran my folk's ranch for a couple more. I know machines and I know about runnin' a business. I guess I can learn this one too."

"Yeah ... I 'spect you can. Well, here's hopin' we can make a deal," he smiled, extending his hand. "I'm Bart Towsley."

"Bart ... I'm Rod Williams. I'll see you tomorrow if you can arrange it."

"I'm pretty sure I can. I'll call you. I suppose you'll wanna to talk to my people too?"

"Yeah. I think so. That's all part of the deal, I figure."

"You can't run the place by yourself. I think you'll be surprised at what those two can do. Long as you ain't prejudiced or anythin'."

I looked at him, wondering just what he meant.

"Aw ... you'll find out tomorrow. See you then."

Mom and I were early arriving at the station. I wanted her to see just what we had in front of us. I had already warned her that we would be spending both time and money getting the station brought up to acceptable standards, much less my even more ambitious standard.

What surprised me was that mother wasn't discouraged. She wasn't happy and she wasn't kidding herself about what it could take to put the place in order, but she said she didn't see anything except the shop floor that didn't look like it could be repaired, painted or cleaned. She would leave it to me to determine the state of the equipment and the shop in general.

Stumpy Jorgensen arrived at the appointed hour and we walked over to my truck to talk before going in to see Bart.

"What do you think?" Stumpy asked, acknowledging both of us.

I nodded to Mom.

"It's filthy and I wouldn't want to touch it without gloves on, but most of what I see is fixable. It doesn't look like anybody cleans anything as far as I can tell. But, with lots of elbow grease, some paint, new fixtures in the washrooms, it can be saved."

Stumpy nodded and turned to me.

"I don't think the shop floor can be saved. We're going to have to grind it down and resurface it, at least. That isn't cheap and it'll mean a few days we won't be able to do any other inside work. But ... I don't see any option. The rest of the equipment looks pretty standard. It badly needs some organization. I don't know how that girl finds anything on that work bench. There's tools everywhere. At least the guy keeps his stuff organized. He looks pretty good, just on sight."

"So, now it's a matter of figuring out what it's going to cost to do all this. At least you'll get a tax break on everything you do, including your time and closing the station, if you have to," Stumpy said optimistically.

"Can I keep the staff on to do some of the work and still deduct that as part of the cost?" I asked.

"Yep. That's legit."

"Well then I guess it's a matter of looking at the books," I suggested as the three of us began to move toward the office.

We walked into the office and Bart immediately stood to acknowledge my mother and Stumpy.

"Howdy, Stumpy. How you been keepin'?"

"Fine, Bart. You?"

"Not bad for an old fart," he laughed. "Ooops ... sorry ma'am."

Mom smiled and waved her hand in dismissal.

I interrupted. "Bart, this is my mother, Eleanor Williams."

"Howdy, ma'am. Nice to meet you. I hear you're the brains of the outfit," the old man grinned.

"Not hardly. Rod's pretty sharp, so don't underestimate him," she warned with a slight smile.

"I'll be sure not to. The books are right here," he said, passing a large ledger to her. It looked like it had served the business since the beginning of time. Worn and grease-stained, it barely held together at its binding.

"Why don't you sit at this desk, Mrs. Williams?" Bart offered.

Mom smiled, nodded her thanks, and sat down. She opened the ledger carefully at the most recent entries and began her review.

"Who does your audit, Bart?" Stumpy asked the old man.

"Ain't had one in some time, Stumpy. Mike Childress did the last one, but that was ... maybe ... three years back. I'd have to look."

"Was ARCO OK with that?" I asked.

"I guess so. Ted never said nothin'. I figured you might want one if it came time to sellin'."

"You figured right," Stumpy grinned. "You might as well call Mike. You're goin' to need one sooner or later."

Bart nodded and shrugged.

"You mind if I talk to your people?" I asked.

"Nope. Help yourself. They both know I'm sellin' out."

"Thanks. Stumpy, you want to stay here with Mom in case she's got any questions?"

"Sure. I'll leave you to the other stuff. That's not my thing."

I walked out into the garage. The presence of three people in Bart's office couldn't have been missed.

Both of them looked up as I walked toward them.

"Hi again," I said to the woman.

"Hi." She was cautious in her greeting.

"My name's Rod Williams. I'm lookin' to buy this station. Don't know if I will or not. Thought I ought to talk to you folks."

"I'm Shelly Dawson. This here's Jurgen Burgmann. He doesn't speak much English."

I looked at the tall, handsome, gray-haired man. I addressed him in German.

"How long have you been in America?"

A very surprised Jurgen looked at me and smiled.

"Almost ten years. I was in a prisoner of war camp in Italy until I was brought back to Germany. There was nothing left of my city ... Dresden. My family is gone."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," I said, then looked quizzically at the man. "Dresden is in the east. How did you get out?"

"Through Czechoslovakia, along the Ohre River and then to Bavaria. I was lucky."

"Yes, you were. How long have you been here in Bellingham?"

"Two years soon. I was staying with family in Chicago, but I needed to make my own way. I could not live on their good wishes. Always I wanted to see the west," he smiled.

"Yeah... I can understand that. Where did you learn your skills?"

"In Chemnitz, near Dresden, before the war. I was an apprentice mechanic for Auto Union. We prepared their race cars."

"Really!" I exclaimed. "You've got to tell me all about that some time. I'll bet it was fascinating."

"Yes. Very exciting. We even had a visit from Goering to our shops. He owned a Horch, among other cars."

I shook my head in envy. This man had seen the golden years of German auto racing. I pulled myself out of my reverie and turned to the girl.

"So, Shelly, how long have you been here?" I asked, reverting to English.

"Going on five years," she answered, still cautious.

"Where did you learn your trade?"

"Here and there. My old man taught me. I used to help him fix stuff. I guess I've got a knack for it. I can read a manual. If Jurgen could speak more English, I'd be a lot better. He knows everything," she said assuredly.

"He's been at it a long time and he's worked in top-class shops. You look to have done pretty good for someone who just watched and learned. What do you do around here?"

"Lube and oil, tires, a muffler now and then, change plugs, filters, clean carbs, timin'. I can weld. I can do a bit of bodywork if need be," she said with a hint of pride.

"Huh. That's quite a lot. That makes you two pretty versatile. Just what a small station like this needs." I was thinking out loud. There was a lot of talent in these two, if they weren't bragging.

"One thing for certain. If I buy this place, it's going to need a top-to-bottom clean up. I'll need your help for that. You'll still be paid, but there are some major items that have to be done right away."

"Like what?" Shelly asked.

"This floor, for one. It's going to have to be completely redone. I've come from a military operation and you could eat off the floors in our shops. I can barely stand to walk on this one. When I'm done, this is going to be the cleanest service station in the state." I turned to Jurgen and repeated some of my remarks in German. The smile on his face spoke volumes. It was definitely something he wanted to hear.

"What will you do with this floor?" Jurgen asked, having understood some of my comments to Shelly.

"We'll probably grind it down and resurface it with high-density concrete," I answered.

"May I suggest epoxy coating for chemical resistance?"

"I thought about that, but it's very slippery," I suggested.

"We had a solution to that. We mixed clean silica sand in the topcoat. It gave the surface a rough texture without interrupting the barrier."

I looked at the man. "That would be worth a try. Do you know how it's done?"

"Yes. We can do it ourselves if we are careful. I have done it before," he said with some confidence.

"Shelly, Jurgen says he can help us resurface the floor with a new process that will resist staining. We will need your help too."

"Sure. I don't like this mess any more than you do. I get upset that nothing's clean and organized. I don't even use the washrooms any more. I know I don't look great, but this is all I've got. All I can afford right now."

"OK ... we're getting ahead of ourselves. I haven't bought this place yet. But if I do, you'll have proper overalls to wear in the shop and there will be a new floor and a proper tool rack. I think you'll find the work environment will be a lot better." I was liking these people more already.

I saw smiles on both their faces. I was feeling good about this station. But I was curious and turned again to Jurgen.

"OK, Jurgen. Just how much English do you understand?"

"Perhaps more than I admit," he confessed in heavily accented English. "I am not very confident, so I say nothing unless I am asked."

"Well, aside from me, I don't know how many other German-speaking people live in Bellingham. I'd say we need to help you work on your English. Shelly can use your help in the shop and I'm sure she'd be willing to join with me and help you with your language." I looked to her for confirmation.

"That sounds like a good trade, Mr. Williams."

"It's Rod. You two should do that anyway, even if I don't buy this place."

"If you don't buy this place, I'm going to be lookin' for another job," Shelly said, shaking her head.

"Why?"

"I can't hack this place much longer. I get depressed just walking in the door each morning. Jurgen and me ... we don't have a lot of choices, but I swear, I can't stay here if things don't get better." She looked as unhappy as she sounded.

"Don't do anything rash, Shelly. At least give me a chance to see if we can make a deal with Bart. I know ARCO wants to see this station improved. They can't do much with Bart because he's one of the original Richfield lease-holders. They could make him fix up the place but I figure he doesn't have the money. That's why I think we can make a deal."

I was right. We could and did make a deal. With the blessing of Ted Reynolds, Stumpy's help, and the support of the bank, I became the new owner of the ARCO service station in downtown Bellingham.

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My thanks to ErikThread for his helpful and skillful editing. Any errors are mine alone.