MY DAD'S GARAGE

In our one life we lead many lives as babies, toddlers, children, teenagers, adults, spouses, parents, in-laws and, if we’re lucky, senior citizens. And in those lives we’re ruled by different people at different stages of our ages.

When my father’s garage was the epicenter of his amusement business in Huntingdon, he was the bully boss of the family, with many mood swings. Living with him was like jumping off and on a playground merry go round as he built his business. You never knew when you were going fall and skin something bloody.

His garage was filled with three or four helpers every weekday morning, preparing to go out on the route like the spokes of a wheel, and empty the various pinball machines and jukeboxes of change along the way. Every day a different town. That garage was a hustle bustle of activity and was his livelihood for 30 years or more, till he retired.

My dad gouged out a living by sheer will power as he went to every restaurant, bar and service station on the route to get his machines placed there; then he split the nickels, dimes and quarters 60/40 with the owners.

And it all started from that humble garage at the end of our backyard. That garage was where I first heard Elvis Presley played on one of his juke boxes. I predicted that Elvis would never make it, thus ending my music prophecy career before it even began.

In the front was a long counter where Dad put things he needed for the day’s travel in the truck. In the back were various pinball machines and juke boxes, both new and needing repair. He also had some sort of gambling machine called a flasher, that at times was legal then illegal, depending on the changing laws. I remember once he frantically pulled all them out and moved them to Virginia for a while. Then he moved them back, when they became legal again.

After a morning’s meeting at the garage’s front counter, everybody scattered for the day to return later around 5 or 6 p.m. His second in command, who my dad was convinced was robbing him blind but could never catch, had a crazy sense of humor and was always fun to bounce around all day in the truck with in the summer, when I worked for my dad, getting the same $10 a week allowance I got for free during my fall, winter and spring school days.

You’d never guess today, looking at the debris and decay in that decrepit garage, that that enlarged shed made and sustained my father’s career, made his modest fortune and made it possible for him to retire to Florida in his 50’s. Without it, he wouldn’t have had a staging area for the daily war of making a living as a self-employed businessman. Come to think of it, that’s quite a garage there!

Published in Common Ground Magazine