1974-1975

Phil had recently begun work at a Texaco garage located on Granville Street & 64th Ave.
His boss had a friend who operated another Texaco at Oak & 67th. He was looking for staff and

Phil came through for me with a tip to get down there asap.
I was back to driving Mum's '71 Toyota and headed down there after school one day to find an impressive looking garage with big service area and neat overall appearance.
I met Walt Kelley the very serious owner and was put to work and shown
the ropes by another young fellow who I would work many shifts with in the coming weeks.
I remember really liking the look of the green coveralls we were given several pairs of each.

The shifts were only four hours for me to cover the rush hours from 4-7 three days a week with a full shift on Sundays.
I found the place quite refreshing as there were usually three guys on duty at a time to allow me to stay at a particular task such as cleaning the large three bay two car deep shop where brake jobs were a specialty.

On the front-end at rush hours it was very busy due to its Oak Street location.
There were also 3 dump trucks kept on the lot which we fueled and washed several times each week.

The garage was quite a drive from home for me through heavy afternoon traffic and I wasn't getting as many hours as I wanted so I began looking elsewhere.

I didn't have to wait long before an ad appeared in the Vancouver Sun for attendants at various Home Service stations in the city, one near my home located at West 16th and Arbutus. This was the very garage I had longed to work at as a boy of 14.
I showed up on the stated date for interviews and found quite a few candidates milling around in the office area of the immaculately maintained facility.
As I waited I glanced into the three bay shop to see even the shop floor shone with black wax.
I was interviewed by the gruff and burly owner-manager, Don Brown who seemed pleased with my application.

I was notified a few days later to appear at 7 a.m. Saturday for my training shift.
(The station in the photo at left is identical even in pump location to the Arbutus& 16th operation.)

This garage was even better staffed than Kelly's Texaco with at least two on duty at all times and three or four during busy periods.

We had ample time to keep the premises spotless and took pride in the place's appearance.
One of the two mechanics was Australian and proved as all of the Aussies I have yet known to be a friendly and good humoured guy. He brought in some Australian Hot Rod magazines to show me the very different types of cars they had over there.

I absorbed as much as I could from the boys in the shop and assisted wherever I could, carrying out routine tire and maintenance jobs and holding parts being welded or bolted in place.

Early in 1975 the operation was sold to John Barton, the former owner of the UBC Home Service which was being closed down and there was a surplus of bodies on hand.
Several of the guys were let go to make room for the new owner's crew including two mechanics to replace the existing duo.

I recall we then had three guys named "Bruce" on staff as well as two "Daves", three"Johns" including the boss and myself as well as a few others making a quite large roster for an operation of its size.

John was the best boss I had yet known and was very friendly and encouraging.
we received raises soon after he took over and were frequently praised for work well done.
The shop had its own service truck painted in company colours with tow truck style front push bumper and revolving amber roof light.
We used the truck to carry garbage cans down to the dumpster in the back alley as well as to go out on the odd service call.

I once carried out my own call to help a stranded lady and pushed her car about a mile to the garage with her at the wheel of her car, me pushing it with no mishaps through courtesy intersections.

John also allowed me use of the truck to pick up a couple of Mopar big block V8s Phil and I bought from Ralph's Auto Supply.

The new mechanics were a couple of characters.
Bob "Penny" Pentecost was reportedly an ex con and sported jailhouse-style home done ink tattoos on his arms and normally had a hand rolled smoke poking from between his thin lips.

Ted Slater was reminiscent of the Wolf man with wild long black hair, bushy eye brows and beard along with wild, darting eyes.
Both were pleasant to work with and assist in the shop and were full of stories that fascinated me.

I remember Ted once calling to Bob "Pass me the gasket cement that smells like a woman's vagina!"

I was now driving my '64 Mercury Marauder which is one of my all time favourites of the many cars I have owned.

It was heavily damaged one night when I lent it to a co-worker who crashed it in a courtesy intersection and did not pay for the damage.

I could not afford to fix it and had to scavenge the nearly new engine and transmission which I transplanted into a '64 Galaxy exactly as shown.
Luckily the car only cost $300.00 as it had blown head gaskets.
The car was not as perfect as the Marauder, but looked pretty tough and had no problems once the swap was done.

The old car had been sitting possibly for several years,piles of rust covered the ground around it,  but us young fellows had so much faith in our abilities to fix anything we dived into the job once Phil learned it was his for fifty bucks.

The first good news was that we had it running in no time and although the lifters ticked like a diesel engine, the old slant six ran remarkably well after its years of sitting.

We pumped up the tires got it mobile and home to Phil's place without mishap.

Phil's Dad took an interest in it as he had owned one in its day. He insisted on driving it as he worried it was too dilapidated to be safe.

One evening off we went, Mr. Read wearing his slouch hat and grinning at the evident memory of his original Dodge as he rowed the three-speed column shift through the gears and hung on to the oddly shaped steering wheel.
The clutch slipped badly as we ascended Arbutus Street up to West Boulevard and we planned to replace it right away.
Once the new clutch was in the old car was very reliable and we drove it many miles during that summer.

One interesting occurrence happened one day when the Dodge was parked in front of Phil's house on West King Edward and Phil saw a police car pull up and the officer nose around the car.
Thinking the worst Phil went out only to be asked questions about the car on behalf of a movie production company looking for a 1960 Dodge to be used in the movie "Russian Roulette" with George Segal.

For some reason it had to be a '60 Dodge even though when we saw the movie that took place in present day 1975, the car used was an old beater and one year wouldn't have made any difference.

I was finally finished with high school that June and remember the relief at walking out the door-free at last.
I didn't want anything more to do with it and worked my grad night covering for some of the other guys who wanted to attend their ceremonies.

That October after working full time at the garage and on urging of my Mum I signed up at Professional Drivers Centre at the old Boundary Bay Airport for a class 3 drivers course with air brake training.

1971-1974

When I was about 14 I had a strong desire to get into the workforce.
Just the ideas of having a job and responsibility were the driving factors.
The pay cheque was only icing on the cake.
I always studied the help wanted section of the Vancouver Sun looking for something
suitable.

My friend Ken "Stooge" McLennan had a large Sun paper route right in the heart of Vancouver's Shaugnessy Heights area where the city's richest people resided.

I often accompanied him on his rounds and, although the job allowed him access to many beautiful and historic homes, it had definite drawbacks. The main hurdle was that the carrier had to collect each month from every subscriber in order to be paid himself.
This often involved Ken having to chase even these opulent customers for weeks or months at times in order to square the bill.
This wasn't for me and I continued looking.

My first choice of a dream job was to work in a garage where I could develop my love of cars into practical knowledge in repairing and maintaining them.
I visited George Cook, owner of the Home Oil service station located at the corner of West 16'th Avenue and Arbutus, not far from my home on Valley Drive.

George was a hero of mine as he raced stock cars at Langley Speedway where I had seen him several times in past years leading the pack most of the time in his battered 1955 Chev two-door past.
George was a friendly and encouraging fellow when I approached him.
He explained that I had to be 16 to work and he invited me to return then when I would be welcome to join his team.

I was quite discouraged at the thought of having to wait that long to get to work, but kept on looking for something to fill the gap in the meantime.

Finally I read an ad in our local paper, the Kerrisdale Courier for people to deliver catalogues and flyers.
I showed the ad to my Mum who was raising me single handed following my Dad's early death in late 1969.
My Mum was very helpful and encouraging and thought this opportunity was worth a try for me.
She phoned the company listed in the ad and talked to a friendly Greek fellow who explained the operation and wasn't bothered that I was only 14 so long as my Mum was willing to supervise me.
It turned out that the pay per piece was pretty good as well and I had to chance to earn a decent amount if I worked at it.

I was so eager to begin and was thrilled when a big station wagon sagging with its load of Eaton's catalogues arrived one day with my first contract.
I remember looking at the stacked thick catalogues piled in our basement and thinking
this was the start of my becoming an adult.

On a sunny Saturday late Spring morning we loaded Mum's 1971 Toyota Corona sedan to its limit with the books and armed with a handful of address slips covering an area in nearby Kitsilano we headed out.
We unloaded the catalogues on a street corner in the centre of the delivery area and I sent Mum home while I did my work and would walk home afterwards.

The job was finished by the next day and I called George, the distributor to report the completion.
He was overjoyed and promised to drop my pay off with the next job soon.
True to his word I had my cheque for over $50.00 and a stack of flyers which looked like a treat after the heavy catalogues.
The flyers paid less, but were a breeze to deliver.
My new job was going well and I hoped it would continue, but suddenly the calls from George stopped.
It seemed he had gone out of business and that ended my baptism into the labour force.
(The going out of business is a repetitive occurrence to plague me over the next 30 years).

A dry spell ensued for the next nearly 2 years as I filled my time working on a series of derelict sedans my Mum provided for my self-taught mechanicing practice.
I was totally hooked on everything to do with cars.

I read as many automotive magazines as I could get my hands on and spent my school study periods in the Prince of Wales High school library studying the service manuals there.
It was during one of these sessions on an early October 1973 afternoon that I was approached by a fellow student I knew slightly through sharing some classes and brief chats in the halls of the school.

Phil Read was a year ahead of me, but was another car nut which was a rarity in the high brow, class conscious school where it was looked down on anyone with dirt beneath their fingernails.
He, like me absorbed as much knowledge as he could through reading and building car models as I had been doing for years.

It turned out his reason for contacting me was the possibility of a job that had opened up at the Shell garage he worked at located on West 16'th near McDonald, also near my home.
For some reason, Phil had thought of me as a candidate and I immediately and enthusiastically jumped at his offer to introduce me to his boss later that same afternoon.


I arrived after school to meet Phil and noted the crowded lot consisting of a variety of mainly British cars including several Austin minis and a couple of Austin Healey 3000s.
Phil led me into the full and busy three bay shop to an Austin 1100 with its front propped on jack stands where from beneath came loud singing and simultaneous pounding.

Jumping to his feet I was introduced to the short and powerfully-built Englishman sporting a permed hairdo,large broken nose and piercing,mischievous blue eyes.
Wiping his greasy hands onto a shop rag he wrung my hand in a vice-like grip and after a short chat offered me a job explaining a recent vacancy had come up . (I was later to learn the opening had occurred due to my predecessor's staged robbery in which he pocketed the days' take and made up a story of an armed robbery occurring while he worked alone one evening).

Kev instructed Phil to explain my duties and said I was to start the following day at 5 p.m.
Phil began the tour and I met the rest of the crew as we went along.

Also in the shop was John Griffin, the apprentice who, in his early twenties was working on a carburettor on one of the benches while swearing a blue streak. On seeing Phil his wrath turned to my new friend with a vengeance as he hurled insults at him, I was to learn this was John's idea of a sense of humour as Phil laughed it off and moved on to more friendly territory with Dan Watson, the other Brit in the operation who was a tall, lanky fellow with long hair and a very calm and gregarious nature who I came to enjoy working with.

Outside manning the pump island was Myers Munshaw, a very soft-spoken character with a larger "Afro" hairdo than Kev with square framed "Granny" glasses and ever-present joint-like hand rolled smoke dangling from his lips.
My duties were to start work at 5 and run the front-end serving gas customers while cleaning the shop, office , restrooms and do any tire repairs or other jobs I felt comfortable in tackling as a novice 16 year old ready to tackle anything mechanical.
At 10 p.m. closing time we had to ad up the days' income and put it into the floor safe.

My shifts were Monday, Wednesday and Fridays from 5-10 p.m. with alternate Sundays 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. with Phil working one week and me the next.

On Saturday there was a regular crew of Nick Brazier. a friend of Phil's and an older European fellow named "Jado".

Phil worked with me the first few shifts as there was a lot to learn and a great deal of responsibility for young guys like us, but we took it in stride and handled whatever came along.

If we were in trouble we could call John although we knew we'd face his ridicule, so it had to be valid.
Phil made me aware of the various interesting and eccentric customers we had.

There were a few regular visitors, some friends of Kev's, but the most noteworthy was Ron "Gomer" Pettit who will be covered in depth in another story.

My first day on the job I noticed an adult male dressed in a fully buttoned Levis jacket ride up on a Schwinn-type bicycle.
He stood the bike near the office and entered using very quick movements and removing his wedge shaped green hunting cap smoothed back his well oiled fine blond hair that was combed straight back.

I shook his strong hand and noted the short, sausage-like fingers that squeezed powerfully.
Phil had forewarned me on the proper "etiquette" to use when dealing with Ron and had me somewhat worried on hearing the tales of his violent nature when angered.
He seemed very friendly and quick to laugh as well as being very generous as, soon after our meeting he removed his nearly new jacket to present it to me saying "I don't need it...all for you!"

Ron was suffering from a brain injury sustained as a child leaving him somewhat impaired in a very hard to pinpoint way.
He was "different", but not stupid in any way.

"Gomer" peered through wire-rimmed glasses perched upon his beak-like nose.
He was about 5' 7" and of a sturdy build and, as mentioned moved in a very quick manner and walked at a near-run mostly.

He was in and out many times over the course of an evening and provided good company during slow periods when we would sit in the office listening to his police band radio by the hour drinking free pop from the machine we had the key to.

Kev enjoyed sparring with him in the shop and they would often get into quite intense wrestling matches crashing about against cars and tool chests as they grappled, ending in a draw with a flushed Gomer slicking back his tousled hair, very red in the face from his exertions.
John Griffin, as could be expected teased him mercilessly calling him that "fucking reject Gopher".
Many of our customers were fascinating characters.
Mr. Flynn drove a mid-60s Jeep Wagoneer and had a weird and jerky way of moving that we found highly amusing.
He could always be trusted to inquire what we were using in the spray bottles we washed his windshield with as if it was of vital importance.
After having his Jeep serviced he once complained that the mechanic had "used the steering wheel to wipe the grease off his hands!"

Melvin Place was a Truman Capote-type of fellow who drove an enormous rusted '63 Meteor with the slanted "breezeway" rear window.
He usually was accompanied by a very cheap looking and beat-up lady wearing troweled on makeup and a leopard skin coat.

The car was a frequent fixture in the shop being repaired and cost Mr. Place dearly with its maintenance.
Gunther Paul reminded us of Wolf man Jack the TV and radio DJ and drove a 1970 GTO Judge that he believed to be the fastest car on the road.
Trying to impress us he once drove onto the lot, did a burnout and lost control, narrowly missing the pump island.
We saw his face drained of colour as he slowly drove away.

He often called people "Daddyo" in conversation and was quite a loud character that we got a kick out of.

I learned to drive a standard transmission one evening when he asked me to deliver his wife's Austin 1100 after work without asking me if I was used to driving a stick.
I wasn't concerned when the time came and figured it out as I drove, no doubt chipping a few gear teeth along the way.

Around this time Phil had saved enough money to buy a 1968 Dodge Coronet R/T he had been dreaming of after seeing it parked daily at a construction site near Prince of wales Secondary .
Gunther constantly challenged Phil to a race, but Phil wisely put him off although I seem to remember them having a few short goes while driving on West Broadway.
As winter came extra work in the form of mounting snow tires became a daily happening, making the job more rushed with the other duties we had.
Usually the shop was cleaned up by 7 p.m. and things were quiet.
Gomer would often appear sometimes carrying a bag which might contain donuts or chocolate bars for us.

On entering he would toss the bag at me with his usual "All for you boy!" exclamation.
We learned many skills carrying out lube oil services, tire repairs and mounting in the evenings and on the Sunday shift we worked alone all day.

I remember one cheapskate customer requesting the oil filter being replaced every other oil change. Even at that young age I knew he was nuts trying to save $2.00 at the expense of his engine.

I was looking for a car now that I had a steady job, even if it only paid $2.00 an hour to start.
Gomer had a lady friend who had a decent and very basic 1958 Chevy Biscayne sedan she wanted $120.00 for.
We went over to her place one evening and viewed the plane Jane dark green car wedged into her garage with only inches to spare. There was green paint rubbed off onto the entrance on both sides of the garage.
The car ran very well with its 235 in line 6 with 3-speed column shift manual tranny. Its only option was the radio.

I bought the car and was allowed to keep it in the garage until I had insurance money saved and could take it home. We often visited it in the evening and took it around the block for a spin.

The cost of insurance even in 1973 was over $500.00 me being a male under age 25. Saving that much would take a long time at a monthly income of just over $100.00.
Gomer was a master of manipulation and was soon working on me to trade the Chev for some stuff he had including an old console TV.

As I wasn't getting very far in my savings I finally relented and took the swap to shut him up more than anything.
He had no drivers license as he couldn't read or write, but he wanted his own car again after stating he had owned 35 of them in the past.
His Mum paid to have it insured and I drove him around as his own chauffeur enjoying at least being able to have the Chev on the road finally.

Soon after I sold the car an older gentleman began coming to the station for gas occasionally driving a very handsome maroon and white 1957 Chev Bel air 4-door hardtop with V8 automatic.
I asked Mr. Summers to give me first chance if he decoded to sell it in the near future and he agreed saying he had been considering letting it go recently.
About March of the next year he was in again and said I could have the car for $500.00. I agreed to ask my Mum to help me get a bank loan for it and the insurance which was arranged and I had the car soon after.
The car was well suited to cruising around with several friends on Friday and Saturday nights with the usual stop at the White Spot drive-in on West Broadway.
Our friend and school mate, Geoff Barlow was usually on shift and would appear at the car window dressed in the full uniform complete with cap,pencil tucked behind his ear and change dispenser clinking as he approached.
Sometimes he would arrive with an extra shake or burger refused by a customer due to a mistake. These were quickly dispatched with by us greedy
fellows.

When we had read the menu plastered in large letters on the outer walls of the restaurant, we turned on the car's headlights to signal the "car hop".
The orders were brought out skillfully on long trays, sometimes carried two at a time that were slid across the cars' interior and attached to the window sills.

Condiments such as salt, pepper and vinegar were in glass shakers (sometimes Gomer would swipe them for his Mum). The meals and drinks were in and on china or glass unlike today's disposable containers.
When finished, the headlights were used to summon the car hop who efficiently removed the trays.
the service was always very good and quick.
A few months after buying the '57 I took it to a shop in Burnaby and had it hot rodded for a cost of $1100.00 which today is hard to imagine.
In July of '74 another character appeared on Kev's staff. His name was Bob Mitchell.
One Sunday afternoon when Phil was on shift, Bob was working on a '62 Pontiac he'd bought needing an engine, but still in running order.
As often happened, a congregation of our friends and acquaintances would appear at the garage to hang out.

I came by to see a group of them experimenting on the car by putting gear oil into the engine to see what would transpire.
Soon it was belching a thick cloud of blue smoke as someone roared around the lot in it, revving the hell out of its tired six banger.

Bored by that, they decided to take sledge hammers to the bodywork and began pounding away.
Things were definitely out of control and I left soon after.
The phone rang early the next morning with Kev commanding me to appear along with Phil before school.

On arrival we were both given the sack. Phil tried to explain himself whereby Kev threatened to "Lamp" him if he continued-he didn't want to hear it.
We were forced to silently exit the premises feeling unjustly treated as up until then Kev was usually very pleased with our performances.
Somehow Mitchell became the "fair-haired boy" with Kev from then onwards.
Not too perturbed by our dismissals we began our respective job searches.

I found an opening at A Chevron garage, but it was located downtown near Stanley Park, quite a drive from home.

I was hired on at the City Test Garage, so called due to its location next to the B.C. Motor vehicle testing station where vehicles had mandatory yearly inspections.
Along with normal duties we were trained to adjust headlights on cars that failed for this defect.
The shifts were from 5 pm until 1 am in a part of the city where very odd characters appeared after dark.
I didn't feel safe working alone at that place and was glad after a few weeks when a job was listed in the paper.

I happened to see the perfect opportunity in the Citizen-our local community newspaper
for a mechanically-inclined youth able to work in the shop and drive the delivery vehicles at Anglo Air Service, a division of Anglo Canadian Auto Supply.
I rushed down to the West 4th Avenue location of the auto supply shop where I talked with the owner Jack Daley.
as it happened, Jack knew Kev and called him immediately for a reference which made me wince as I remembered our parting only a few weeks previously.

Fortunately Kev had cooled off by then and gave a glowing review to Jack who, on hanging up promptly offered me a full time job at the Glen Drive auto air conditioning shop for the remainder of the summer.
I thoroughly enjoyed my time there which entailed some challenging work as well as driving which is a life-long passion that was then developing.

The shop work involved retro fitting air conditioning units into new cars and trucks from area dealerships as
well as repairs to vehicles' existing systems.

The driving portion was great as I picked up and delivered new cars and trucks from the dealers as well as customers' own cars which included Cadillacs and even a classic Rolls Royce.
I was frequently sent out in the shop's '62 Acadian station wagon or similar age and even then rare Corvair van.

I drove all over the Greater Vancouver area to trucking warehouses and airport customs brokers to pick up parts.

The business also had its own "Town car" in the form of a battered '66 Pontiac Strato Chief sedan very similar to the photo below in which I would pick up customers or drive them from the shop when leaving their vehicles for work to be done.

I was sorry when September arrived and I returned reluctantly to school for Grade 12.
Jack offered to keep me on if a weekend position might be created which never took form.