It was a cool Saturday in the autumn of 1983, and the sound of my dad's 52-inch saw blade was splitting the air. We were heaving big oak logs onto the sawmill carriage and turning them into timbers for my house. I was building my house out of oak, because oak logs are less expensive than pine. Right next to the sawmill was my dad's little one ­man VW shop.

A light blue'72 bug and an old Chevy turned in at the shop. My dad put his rough brown hand on the throttle of the thundering Waukesha and brought it to a growling idle, then released the clutch and the big saw stopped spinning.

I finished stacking some of the thick, damp timbers on the lumber rack while he was getting the work order information. The man rode away with the driver of the Chevy and my dad went to work on the bug. It sputtered and snorted, barely able to pull out of its tracks as he pulled it into the shop. It was surprising that the driver had been able to limp the little car out to the shop, since it was a five mile drive from town.

Dad replaced the points and spark plugs in the bug’s engine, and found a nasty vacuum leak at the place where the intake manifold was joined together (you Volks folks probably know just what I’m talking about).

He worked on it for an hour or so, ironing out the idle mixture, setting the ignition timing, and fine-tuning everything until it purred like only a healthy bug engine can do.

The man showed up a little later and we stopped sawing again so the account could be settled. "That'll be twenty-five dollars," my dad said. I've never been more amazed than I was at the pitifully small amount my dad charged for the work he did.

"Do you mind if I test drive it before I pay?" he asked.   

My dad looked at him for a moment, then said,

"Go ahead."

The guy got in the car and drove south for about three quarters of a mile. We could hear the smooth sound of the engine as he picked up speed, crossed the creek, and slowed to turn around atop the hill on the opposite side of Line Creek. Then we heard him coming back, and he turned back into the shop driveway.

"It backfired once when I turned around up there on the hill."

My dad got in the car with him and they took the same route again, turned around, and came back.

"I just don't think it runs quite right," the guy persisted.

"Then take it and leave," my dad said, "you don't mve me anything"

"Well... here, take this five dollars, I might want you to work on my car again sometime." My dad just looked disgusted, waved the money away, and walked back toward the sawmill.

The "customer" (if you could call him that) drove away on a smoothly running car that would hardly run when he brought it in. I was furious.

Later, I found this passage in old King Solomon's book of Proverbs:

"It's no good, it's no good, says the buyer, then he goes his way and boasts "

Proverbs 20:14

I don't understand how a man can live with himself when he does stuff like that.

"I would have fixed his car so that it ran the way it did when he came in!" I said

"No, I handled that just the way I wanted to. He might bad-mouth me to somebody else, but he can't do it with a clear conscience, because he didn't pay me anything."

The following spring, a farmer I knew really well knocked on my door one Sunday morning about four hours before church time.

“I haven’t started my irrigation engine all winter.  I bought some points and plugs for it… I wonder if you’d come down to the pond with me and get it going.”

I pulled on some work clothes, told my wife where I was headed and got into the Ford Courier with the farmer for the ride down to his pond.  It was a long way; he owned a lot of land and the pond was huge.

We stomped around looking for snakes and chased the yellow jackets away, and I tuned up the 454 Chevy engine, yanked the dipstick, and checked the coolant.  Connecting his truck battery and the irrigation engine for a nice 24 volt spin (don’t try this on a vehicle with electronics on it) and got the engine roaring through its exhaust.  I set the ignition timing by ear, he engaged his pump, and we drove back his by one of his huge peanut fields to see the irrigator shooting water across the thirsty crops.

Back at my house, he asked what he owed.

“Twenty dollars’ll do it.”  I knew this guy pretty well and I knew from his reaction that he didn’t expect to be charged nearly that much, but I had burned a couple of hours I would have spent sleeping, and the 20 would go into the offering plate at God’s house anyway.  He paid me and drove away.

A couple days later I saw him by the side of the road with the hood up on his little pickup.  I pulled to the side of the road, parked, and walked back to see if he needed any help.

“No, no, I’ll figure it out…”  I knew better – he could do a heck of a job on a peanut picker, but he wasn’t much of a troubleshooter on engines.  Waving his objections aside, I found the problem under the dash at the ignition switch and got him going in a minute or two. 

He gave a deep sigh and reached for his wallet

“How much I owe?”

“When I stop to help, it’s free.  When you knock on my door at night, early morning, or on the weekend and I’m sleeping, You’ll pay me.”

I don’t know how many times I’ve seen or participated on the losing end of situations where somebody wanted work that was free (or nearly free) while they sit drinking tea and watching TV.  Meanwhile, the guy with the greasy hands, sore muscles, and cut knuckles is under a tree in their yard or in the hot sun working his buns off so they can ride around in air conditioned comfort.  When the job is done, they smile, pat him on the back, and send him on the way with very little money.

Don’t miss this:  Nobody is obligated to take your problem and make it their problem, but that’s just what a mechanic does when he opens your hood and picks up a wrench.  If he solicits work or if you ask him to do it, he should be paid as generously as possible.  If he turns down the money, that’s one thing, but don’t expect him to do it on credit, for a pittance, or for free.  Fair is fair.

And for those of us who work on cars, the screws can turn the other way just as well.  Don’t moonlight and steal work from your employer.  That’s dead wrong.  Don’t overcharge people on cars you fix at home. That’s wrong too.

Here’s something for DIY mechanics AND shade tree guys. Don’t get part of the way into a job and then expect somebody else to take over and finish it.  If you do, the bill will be twice as high, and it should be.

We all depend on our cars, and we all want the best deal we can get.  There’s no reason for anybody on either side of the counter to get fleeced. 

One more thing: just because he's having trouble figuring it out doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing.  Some are tough to fix....

R.W.M.