It isn’t very often that a total stranger brings up the inevitable occurrence of their death with me. As a people, I think we tend to steer away from such thoughts.
For reasons I will explain, I cannot reveal the small town outside of which I was told by a friend of an old, abandoned service station/garage that still exists. I’ve done some searching, to no avail.
And then on a Sunday a couple weeks ago on the return from a classic car and bike show I was looking for gas, and realized I had just passed a newly-built station. So, the search was on for a turn-off in which I could wheel my ’76 XS around to head back. It was a rough corner lot of loose stones, demanding careful handling.
And suddenly there it was, right in front of me; the crumbling remnants of a ghostly Texaco station, in all of its rusty glory.
There was just one Texaco star left on the façade.
And one of the gas pumps which likely once stood out in front.
The interior is piled up high with junk and old parts.
It was a dusty and silent reminder of our automotive past.
But then, peering inside, I was just about able through the grimy windows to make out a muscle car from the 60’s up on a lift, inside. Or was I just imagining it? I rapped on the window to see if I could rouse the ghosts of this old garage.
“C’mon in”, I heard from a weak voice, inside. ( ! )
The side door wasn’t locked, so in I went, to find a ’66 Chevy Chevelle SS up in the air, and one florescent light on in the back.
And Bill May, the owner, seated amongst his tools and the clutter of his 60 years of auto mechanics.
He was guarded, but then very talkative once I explained my presence. In fact, he told me about his history in a seamless manner over the course of the next hour and a half. The building was constructed in 1953, and purchased by his father two years later. Bill took over operations in the late 50’s pumping gas and building engines. Eventually, he specialized in race engines, particularly for open wheel circle track race cars.
In 1985, he began to close down some of the services, taking the pumps out and such, but continued taking in some engine work until about 10 years ago. He is now in his 80’s and has physical limitations, but he goes out to the garage for about 8 hours every day to do a bit of wrenching on the Chevelle, which he takes to car shows, and fiddles with a ham radio.
Bill’s favorite subject to talk about was racing piston ring selection and fitting. After about 20 minutes of a lecture on stainless steel rings, I spied an old KD ring filing tool up on the pegboard in front of him. (top, circled).
Bill said that he no longer could reach it, as his arms had limited movement. With his permission, I reached up high to grab the tool, and he proceeded to give me an exhaustive in-service training on this specialty tool.
Yes, you guessed it; that’s my workbench it is on. It took quite a while, but Bill eventually let me buy it from him. We were both happy with the exchange, and it looks great on my newest tool board. Garage Art at its finest.
He was fine with having something written about him online, but not in identifying his location.
On the way out, I was admiring his grand old Hobart welder. Bill quipped, “If you want it, I’ll give you the name of the executor of my Will.”
.
.
For reasons I will explain, I cannot reveal the small town outside of which I was told by a friend of an old, abandoned service station/garage that still exists. I’ve done some searching, to no avail.
And then on a Sunday a couple weeks ago on the return from a classic car and bike show I was looking for gas, and realized I had just passed a newly-built station. So, the search was on for a turn-off in which I could wheel my ’76 XS around to head back. It was a rough corner lot of loose stones, demanding careful handling.
And suddenly there it was, right in front of me; the crumbling remnants of a ghostly Texaco station, in all of its rusty glory.
There was just one Texaco star left on the façade.
And one of the gas pumps which likely once stood out in front.
The interior is piled up high with junk and old parts.
It was a dusty and silent reminder of our automotive past.
But then, peering inside, I was just about able through the grimy windows to make out a muscle car from the 60’s up on a lift, inside. Or was I just imagining it? I rapped on the window to see if I could rouse the ghosts of this old garage.
“C’mon in”, I heard from a weak voice, inside. ( ! )
The side door wasn’t locked, so in I went, to find a ’66 Chevy Chevelle SS up in the air, and one florescent light on in the back.
And Bill May, the owner, seated amongst his tools and the clutter of his 60 years of auto mechanics.
He was guarded, but then very talkative once I explained my presence. In fact, he told me about his history in a seamless manner over the course of the next hour and a half. The building was constructed in 1953, and purchased by his father two years later. Bill took over operations in the late 50’s pumping gas and building engines. Eventually, he specialized in race engines, particularly for open wheel circle track race cars.
In 1985, he began to close down some of the services, taking the pumps out and such, but continued taking in some engine work until about 10 years ago. He is now in his 80’s and has physical limitations, but he goes out to the garage for about 8 hours every day to do a bit of wrenching on the Chevelle, which he takes to car shows, and fiddles with a ham radio.
Bill’s favorite subject to talk about was racing piston ring selection and fitting. After about 20 minutes of a lecture on stainless steel rings, I spied an old KD ring filing tool up on the pegboard in front of him. (top, circled).
Bill said that he no longer could reach it, as his arms had limited movement. With his permission, I reached up high to grab the tool, and he proceeded to give me an exhaustive in-service training on this specialty tool.
Yes, you guessed it; that’s my workbench it is on. It took quite a while, but Bill eventually let me buy it from him. We were both happy with the exchange, and it looks great on my newest tool board. Garage Art at its finest.
He was fine with having something written about him online, but not in identifying his location.
On the way out, I was admiring his grand old Hobart welder. Bill quipped, “If you want it, I’ll give you the name of the executor of my Will.”
.
.
That was an amazing tale and even better, bringing some of Bill May's exploits back from the brink of obscurity? These are the stories that never get "ink" anywhere else. Keep up the great work, 'Dude. 
