Chapter 2: A New Beginning

July 25, 1968

We took our time along U.S. 2 and we were both pleased that our trip and our welcome to Bellingham was blessed with good weather. July of 1968 in northwest Washington was mainly warm and sunny and welcoming to us. Within a week, we had found a furnished house to rent. Almost all of our previous furniture had stayed with the sale of the ranch.

It was only good luck that the house we found was an elegant, older Victorian-style home with five bedrooms and three bathrooms. It was far larger than the two of us needed, but it had charm and it was in immaculate condition. The owner had been transferred to Alaska with the ferry system and if he and his family decided to stay in Juneau, they would put the house up for sale. On the advice of the rental agent, I negotiated a first-right-of-refusal for purchase on the house and furnishings.

There was no need to do anything but stock the pantry, fill the refrigerator, and buy a television set. We had the phone connected, and took out a subscription to the local paper. Mom didn't drive, so for the time being my truck would be our sole transportation.

It wasn't a hardship for Mom. We lived in the established, older part of town, within walking distance of several stores and the harbor. That first summer she explored her new town on foot, quickly falling in love with it. Again, a warm sunny summer didn't hurt her opinion of Bellingham.

I had arranged a meeting with Ted Reynolds, the district manager for Atlantic Richfield. We had been corresponding over the past two years. Ted's nephew, Jerry, had served in Germany with me, and we had become friends. I expressed an interest in buying a service station connected with a major oil company. Jerry contacted his uncle and in an exchange of letters, let me know that there might be a station or two for sale.

I did my homework and Ted sent over his company's requirements for establishing a formal business relationship. Foremost was economic stability. I needed the financial capability to run and maintain the station. Second was staffing and third was station standards: cleanliness, hours of business, service capability.

At first I was overwhelmed, but as I worked through the various requirements, I could begin to see how I could make everything come together. The only real issue would be finance. Even there, Ted was helpful, letting me know how much cash down would be required for each of the franchises available. Of the possibilities, Bellingham looked like the most manageable. It had been in decline for several years and no buyer had stepped forward.

Mother had kept the books for the ranch. She was thorough and precise with her calculations and Dad never had cause to doubt the accuracy of the current state of their finances. She and I spent several hours looking at which way to manage the purchase of the Bellingham station.

We were in a good situation. The sale of the ranch had provided us with a healthy amount that we could invest. Some would be reserved for buying a home of course, but there was a good deal more available for the purchase of the station. The question really boiled down to how much cash to use, versus how much to borrow. We needed some advice.

Ted had recommended Carl "Stumpy" Jorgensen. He was a well known character in Whatcom County financial and business circles. Despite his backwoods style, he was a trustworthy interpreter of federal and state tax law. It was natural that Mom and I would consult with him on the purchase. Carl listened carefully to our plan and nodded in agreement with our suppositions. He seemed to be impressed.

He told us that for a pair of neophyte entrepreneurs, he was surprised at how well thought-out our ambition was. He had no idea what it had taken to run our cattle ranch, but it was obviously more complex than he thought. He wanted a couple of days to look over the operation with me, and discuss how much investment was required to bring the station up to acceptable standards. That would be the key to how much to spend and how much to borrow.

I had already scouted out the station. I had stopped by to gas-up the truck earlier that morning and took the opportunity to wander around to see what kind of condition it was in. I was discouraged at what I saw. The washrooms were in poor condition and dirty. The floor of the shop was deteriorating, having been saturated over many years with gasoline, oil, anti-freeze, grease, brake and transmission fluids and who knows what else.

There were three people visible on the site. A scruffy old man who ran the old-style pumps and the cash register. I guessed he was the owner. There was a tall, thin man in his middle age, perhaps fifty or so. He appeared to be a mechanic and was neat and clean. The third person was a woman, wearing a greasy smock, tattered Levis and a very worn pair of what I thought might be army boots. It appeared she too was doing shop work.

Not much of a roster, but at least one of them looked semi-professional. Well, there were lots of people looking for work, so I could replace the ones who didn't cut it. But the station itself was a mess. I tried to imagine what was going to be required to make it into what I wanted. And what I wanted wasn't anything like this.

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."