Distant Memories

The year was 1960. I had graduated from Roberts Technical & Trade school in NYC as a budding Auto Mechanic 2 years earlier, and since that time I had held various jobs in gas stations pumping gas and doing whatever repairs & maintenance jobs that came in, lube & oil, tune up, adjust brakes (yeah most cars had drum brakes and not all self adjusted, Chrysler products were the worst). There were no self serve gas stations back then and the obligatory question was “Check under the hood sir?” Of course you also cleaned the windshield and I cleaned the rear window as well it hopes of getting a tip. If the driver wanted his tires checked you did that too, even if he only bought a dollars worth of gas. I didn't mind cause I was doing what I liked, working on cars, though a lot of it wasn't very glamorous. I was living in Long Island City at the time and my older brother got me a job at Welbilt Stoves in Maspeth Queens. I made $1.07 an hour. It was as bad as it sounds! I endured that job for 3 weeks until I got a job at a Shell station on Queens BLVD. The owner was a little Jewish guy who had been a Taylor and knew squat about mechanics so I kind of ran the 2 bay shop. It was ok. Gas was dirt cheap back then and we were undercutting the competition by about 2 cents. We were selling Reg for $0.27.9. (about 28 cents a gallon) One day 3 guys came in from a couple of other stations and “urged us” to raise our price because we were “taking food out of their mouths”. We showed them our books and exactly how little gas we were pumping. They left feeling sorry for us. My boss use to run out and hand out cards to motorists who were stopped at the light with the gas price on it, $27.9 One day he asked me if I would go out and hand out cards when the light turned red. I looked at him like he was crazy. I said I'm a professional Mechanic, I don't stand out in the street handing out gas cards. I thought, “If this guy thinks he's gonna get rich selling gas for a penny a gallon profit he's gonna die poor.”