歪歪漫画

It鈥檚 too bad more of us don鈥檛 remember the days when you told a man (and it was always a man) through a rolled-down car window at a service station, 鈥淭wo gallons of gas, please! Here鈥檚 50 cents.鈥�

Car owners felt a sense of power when they ran over the little bump made by the black rubber hose on the ground that extended from the station to the gas pumps. The tingling of a bell would sound inside to tell the manager someone had just pulled up to the station.

Gas stations didn鈥檛 exist in the '50s, but service stations did. Checking the tires, oil and radiator were free, and they washed your window. The friendly manager greeted you in station attire, which complemented the station's name (Standard, Sinclair, Mobil, etc.). He also wore an oil-stained cap with the logo on the front.

The free service was almost too good to be true. The manager鈥檚 manner made me feel confident because he could answer my questions and I could drive away feeling better than I had when I had pulled up.

If the manager didn鈥檛 show up quickly, the driver honked the horn to get some respect, much to the manager's annoyance. But the manager came out smiling, 鈥淗owdy! Sorry, I鈥檓 late. Should I fill 鈥榚r up?鈥�

As a young person growing up in the '50s, I recall when our small town of Waterville, Minnesota, with a population of 1,600, had no less than seven service stations. There was nearly one on every corner.

Each station had Ethyl and regular gas, which were your two choices. Most everyone chose regular gas because the cost of Ethyl gas was a few cents higher.

Service stations were different from the large complexes you see today. They were small buildings, often brick, with a counter, cash register or drawer for the money.

Many were painted in colorful designs. It was as if the manager was a wanna-be artist but realized there wasn鈥檛 as much money in it as pumping gas.

Service stations were not the cleanest places. The glass showcases inside had not been cleaned for months, and some Hershey candy bars would carry a layer of dust. But, that鈥檚 how it was and no one seemed to mind.

They provided a service in rain, sleet or hail; if your car made funny noises, they could tell you why with a smile. If you were from out of town and lost, you could get a free map produced by the company that sold the gas.

They might sell oil filters and windshield wipers. There would also be a pop machine in the corner.

I often wonder how the guys managed to make a living and support a family but they all did. They all seemed to have straightforward names like Mel, Art, Jim, Hank, John and Bob.

Every station had a unique smell. It was a mixture of gas, oil, cigarette smoke and dust, which said, 鈥淚鈥檓 here to solve your problems.鈥�

Sometimes the station would also contain a garage where the customer could buy a new tire or get one fixed. The manager might even employ an extra hand to help out.

The stations were generally open around 6 or 7 in the morning and closed 10 hours later. It was a long day for the owner. On Saturdays, they might be open until noon and be closed on Sunday. If you were going to travel on Sunday, you better gas up on Saturday.

The '50s were a quiet time. Guys were returning from WWII and looking for some peace. Gas wars livened it up. Gas might be sold for 25 cents a gallon at one station and 22 cents at another.

Now, the war was on. The war affected the whole town. It was a hot topic in barbershops and around the kitchen table.

News spread rapidly. 鈥淲hich station could go the lowest?鈥� 鈥淚 heard Mel was selling gas for 20 cents.鈥� Before long, out-of-towners would invade the town to save a few extra cents and add to the local conversation.

How did they solve the gas wars? Maybe the owners got together and declared a cease-fire. Many thought the wars were rigged. Whatever the case, it energized the town and gave us something to discuss other than the weather and who grew the biggest tomatoes.

Usually, every service station had one locked bathroom. The key was kept behind the counter and you had to ask for it. It was often on a large stick or something similar, making it impossible to put in one鈥檚 pocket or purse.

The bathrooms were not the cleanest, and a gas station would often advertise 鈥渃lean restrooms鈥� to attract more customers.

Often, older teenage guys hung around with a pack of Camels rolled up in their short-sleeved shirts. They talked about how to soup up their cars or the new Ford and Chevy at Johnson鈥檚 garage. Sometimes, girls with tight sweaters would enter the talk to add some spice to the conversation.

The guys would drink a cold, 10-cent Coke from the pop machine. If you left with the bottle, it would cost you an extra nickel. Empties were put in a 24-section wood case next to the machine.

They might even buy a 5-cent bag of salted Planter鈥檚 Peanuts to put in the bottle to make it fizz. Service stations kept guys off the streets.

Occasionally, if the manager got too busy, he would ask one of the guys to help and pay him 90 cents an hour for his work. They would be honored to do it because he was their hero.

Some of the guys wanted to manage a station one day. Being around cars all day, life couldn鈥檛 get much better.

In winter, people would gather inside, sit on broken-down chairs and old car seats, and discuss local and world events. It was called a service station civics class. The station would be warm, with an old wood stove providing the heat and the comforting smell of burning oak.

鈥淔ill 鈥榚r up鈥� is no longer part of our vocabulary. If you were to tell a service station manager that someday people would fill up their gas tanks, he might say, 鈥淕ee, I wish I would have thought of that.鈥�

I think I speak for everyone around then, 鈥淲e鈥檙e glad he didn鈥檛.鈥�

(鈥淲hat about education, John?鈥� Well, now and then it鈥檚 good to take a break from teaching. Kids enjoy hearing teachers talk about the times when they were growing up. As they would say, 鈥淚t鈥檚 a lot funner.鈥�)

Riddle: A man pushes his car in front of a hotel. He immediately goes bankrupt. How is this possible? (Answer: He's playing Monopoly.) With solar power and electricity, will gas stations be a thing of the past?

I want to thank the Commissioner of Education who recently visited this area and listened to my pitch on a 100% graduation rate.

John R. Eggers of Bemidji is a former university professor and area principal. He also is a writer and public speaker.