Date: Wed, 1 Apr 1998 23:44:49 -0700 From: Ken Hooper Subject: Charlie Ford Today after I posted to the list my request for charity, I made a phone call. I will catch you up on that here in a few. For now lets review the events leading up to this "call". Afterwards read some scripture for yourself. The story begins somewhere in the beginning...........: ) Yesterday, I took Gus for a walk here in the District of Alexandria. Steve lives in a pretty good neighborhood, and I have found that the simple pleasure of strolling it's sidestreets filled with quaint, but nice working class homes is quite enjoyable. There are days that go by when I don't even sit in the Mothership, but she needs the rest anyway, and I need to walk. While I was walking on Sunday, I took a side street that cuts between Mt. Vernon Avenue and Commonwealth Avenue (the street Steve lives on). I was strolling along admiring the spring cherry blossoms and all the smell they bring, when I looked ahead and saw this bright red breadloaf sitting in a drive. God does good in nature and VW ya know. I walked toward and up to the bus and admired it's seemingly brand new Earl Schieb $79.95 special. Complete with little minuet spots where the 17 year old gunner just could not reach. Also there was the ever present door dings here and there that glowed like yellow spring daisies, except for the fact that they were red, glossy red. No bondo here, and there should have been. My curiosity heightened rapidly. I figured that if this had enough love to paint it, surely he was good enough to have an engine of at least such caliber. Why do one without the other. Plus, I never have been able to retain all the information it takes to no which model it is from a glance. Too me a loaf is a loaf till the owner tells what year it was made. I am just not the motorhead type yet. Curiosity was getting me. I walked onto the porch and knocked on the door. What the hell, it was Sunday, I had just taken a bath, Gus is a friendly dog, plus I am southern and social and drive a Bus and just can't help constantly practicing the age old art of "fellowship". A term that seems to not be used much anymore. I knocked three or four series, but no one came to the door. Each time I would immediately step back off the porch, and down to the sidewalk, so if they did open the door they wouldn't think someone was trying to accost them nd commit a crime ussing them as the victim. You know how city people can be. Besides, I am a big man that appears at first glance as being mean and treacherous, and the bus was down there. Two very good reasons to be respectful and mannerly. Still no one came to the door. I walked on along deciding I would return, but took note of the street I was on upon arriving at the next corner. Speaking of the next corner. I made the turn and there sat a late 50's bug with very little rust. Probably the engine was not original, but the interior was fine. Red and white leather. I checked it out and moved on, eventually returning to Steve's and settling in for the evening. On yesterday, Tuesday, I once again during my walk, took the street I had taken on Sunday. As I was walking along on this spring afternoon I passed many others prcticing this pleasant art. I passed a couple practicing the same art as I, we nodded and continued on our way. No fellowship, just common and brief cordiality's. I walked on with a little more cantor in my step. I saw the red bus ahead except this time it was sitting in the drive. Whoa....he drives it too, this guy is good! Surely he is a brother! (Or sister of course.) As I neared the house I saw three people standing around in the front yard of the house next door. As I approached, the lady standing in the yard, clad in basic Sunday gardening shorts and steering a water hose with precise accuracy, was explaining to the two guys standing with her how the manure she was spreading and watering did not stink that badly. She was arguing that it smelled like spring. The guys, being as naturally competitive as we all are, were taking the opposite opinion. In play of course. They were emphatically saying "No way, it's killing me". "Geez", I thought, "these guys are wimps". Everyone was laughing and jolly with this "spring fellowship" conversation. Because I overheard it I helped out. (Part of that southernly social thing appearing again you see.) I entered the conversation with "Man, it sure smells fine around here". Kenivingly and smilingly cutting my eyes over toward the trio. The woman spoke up and laughed telling the guys see, there's a guy with taste. We all then laughed together. Bond was created. Laughter is good for that you know. I recall seeing a septic tank truck on my trip. It had painted across the back "Smells like money to me". I guess cattle farming and spring manure spreading would go hand in hand with that statement, except for the spring gardners I reckon it smells like full bloom. They all laughed and I walked on toward the appointed focal point, the house with the Red bus. I strolled up to the door and knocked. One of the guys I had just passed said "Hey, thats me, I live there". I asked if he was "the man that also owned this red bus." He says "Yeah it's mine" and moved over toward the bright red bus. I told him I had seen it on Sunday, and had I walked this way again today so I could try and meet him. I told him that I also was a member of the "Brotherhood of Bus Owners". You know that's a damn good name for a club. Ya'll interested. We could do road trips, have our own set of rules, and everything. Gotta be a reasonable purists though, at least no lowering crap, or neon lights. And damn sure no dis-figuring of the body. Man, gotta put some thought there. He and I talked for a few, and he explained he had just gotten it painted. I said yeah, I noticed that, but didn't go any further. Didn't want to offend with comments about his noble efforts, or Earl Schieb. Earl provides a service at least. I asked him about the engine. He said, "Well, it is not as nice as the paint job". That was a hell of a statement I thought. Rapidly I wandered, "How could it be worse than that?" What was he running three cylinders or what? He opened the bonnet, and the first thing I saw was an engine sitting in the middle of the picture, framed by pavement. Yep, no engine tin to speak of. Just an engine and a tranny hooked together. There was so much light I could see the specks of dust and dirt on top of the 1.8 litre powerplant. This was at dusk and I was growing sadder by the second. I told him he needed to get that tin as quickly as possible. He said, "I can't find it". he asked "How badly it would hurt it to drive it?" I explained that it would overheat the engine, then all he would have is his paint job and a yard ornament. He says, "Oh, that wouldn't be good". I told him I didn't think so either. I said "I might can find it for you". He said, I think I need a new engine, I said "I can find that too". He asked "Where?", I told him "I have my sources." and once again smiled that keniving smile. Just an aire of mystery dded to the dangling line always helps generate curiosity you know. I asked him was he on the internet. He told me no. I told him about the list and that he needed to get on one of these days. I explained just how good a bunch a people you are, and that it was a valuable resource for the 90's bus owner. He asked "How much you think an engine would cost me?" I told him "I would get him as good a deal as I could." He says" OK, Let me give you my name and number". I said "OK", and he went into the house. I stood and said prayer over his engine while he was gone. I only wish I would have brought my Bentley Manual with me so I could have read him some scripture on engine maintenance and the importance of tin. He came back out of the front door and gave me his phone number while saying how much he appreciated the help. I explained to him I was glad to do it. I strolled on up the street and as I turned the corner I once again looked for the Bug. Not to be seen. Guy must only work on Sunday. You get tired of seeing the same old scenery so I veered off my usual path onto another side street on my way back to Steve's. All the while thinking about who might have an engine for sale. I am not a greedy man but these days I am on the lookout for income. I thought of how quickly I could turn the deal and who I could turn it with. I figure; I could make some money, they could make some money, and the new met "VW Brother" could have an engine worthy of his Earl Schieb paint job. I love planning for the future, but I reckon the hardest part is getting past the planning and onto the implementing. I walked on eventually to look up and ahead. Lo and behold in front of me sat another bus. An early bay Westy. I walked up and ask a guy standing on the sidewalk if this was his bus, he confirmed that it was. I got to talking to him and he also said he needed some stuff done to his. He explained that he hated the solid 70 Westy, but it was the only car he had. I told him "I can do a tune-up on it.", and gave him my number. He said he would call me. I strolled on thinking about the irony and searching my mind for sources and resources.............. I knew I had you guys, but since it is an engine, and shipping would eat the pricing alive, I figured "local" would be my first line of resource and attack. I made it abck to Steve's excited by the new prospect of VW, helping a "brother busser", and myself along the way. Now a couple weeks ago, Chris Chubb and I had gone to the Shenendoah to do some Appalachain Trail Volunteer work. On the way back we passed a VW shop. Since we were just cruising, and since I had noticed a couple of splits and bays sitting in the lot, we turned around and pulled in. The toughest part of that was driving back up the wrong side of Highway 50 to reach the entrance, but The Mothership had the power to surge forward before the oncoming traffic killed us and our two dogs, Gus and Murphy. Into each life a little calculated risk must fall. Makes it more fun, plus you get to practice structure and discipline in carrying out the well planned, eventually successful mission. There was some guy out front as we pulled in that was working on his 2.0 litre. We helped him some, but we had other things to do. He had it all under control and there is only room for one in the engine compartment of a bus, so Chris and I strolled along. The owner came out of the shop, and introduced himself. We told him who we were and why we had stopped. He showed us some busses, and we asked what he might be selling. He showed us a couple of things, of which I will post later, upon more detailed knowledge. One was a fairly rare split in not that bad of shape. We stood and all got aquainted. He gave us his card and told us his name. John he said, and then told us his son's name which was the same as his. I asked him then if he would be interested in a spare mechanic. He said he really didn't need anyone right now but he would keep me in mind. I swear I think I received an e mail from his son while I was traveling out west. I am still not sure, I received so many. Anyway, we left and drove along happier for the experience. Well, today I called him, looking for either the tin, or the engine. He told me he might could help me, and ak me to give him a day or so. I told him that would be fine. He then asked me if I was still looking for a job. I told him "I was, and that times were beginning to look bleek". He asked me how much money I would require. I told him it was up to him. He told me to call back in 15 minutes, and he would let me know something. I sat here in my lonely room, in my shorts with no shirt, and smoked two cigarettes. Did you know it takes 5.5 minutes to smoke a regular length Marlboro Ultra Light? Gonna have to time a long one of these days. Hmmm. I smoked another about five minutes after the first one and picked up the phone on the last drag. I dialed the number and another guy answered the phone. He stated that "he was the resident mechanic" and was wondering just how much I knew about the car. He, like John, was polite and sounded professional, so I told him how much, or in my case, "How little" I knew. I guess I would have even if he had not been tht polite or professional, I needed a job. Right now, I would probably work for a tyrant. I told him about the Mothership, and that I had just finished my trip. He seemed impressed with my bravery. I really wouldn't label it that at all, "Hell it was just a trip that was blessed with a "journey" of course. That was the main ingredient, in my humble opinion. Anyway, in the end, I got a job. I go to work next Monday at 9:00 AM and am looking forward to it. I have been trying to find work in service programs but so far no go. I will still fly my resumes, but I now have a chance to maybe do something I only got a taste of in Seattle. I look forward to my $6.25 cent wage per hour as if it were $40,000 per year. Today I made a phone call; Yesterday I met two type 2 owners. Tell me the powers that be aren't still kicking'. I'll call you a "damn liar" and read you some scripture from the Muir Manual. Thanks for tolerating the ramblings. Charlie Ford Possibilities Development (703) 684-7689 Resume available upon request "79" VW Bus, The Mothership www.tiora.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To leave the list, send an UNSUBSCRIBE message to TYPE2-REQUEST@TYPE2.COM -------------------------------------------------------------------------