The car I did not remember, was the car my dad possessed when he got out of the service, the year I was born, 1953. It was an early ’40s Nash. This is the model with the smooth-flowing, rounded, no-hump back. Humpbacks were standard fare for cars in the 1940s and early ’50s. The Nash was set apart in style and features, but they were unable to convince the buying public of their superior quality. They and their successors eventually failed.

Times were different back then: politicians and taxpayers never gave a second thought to propping up and going into debt to forestall eventual corporate failure. In fact, we fought a war against this. We buried over 130,000 of our men on foreign soil in our fight against socialism, fascism and big government during WWII. We can thank God for our victory and hope we do not lose our vision.

My dad’s very first car was a ‘38 or ‘39 Chevy, like the one in this picture. It was a rust-bucket. He paid $50 for that car in 1949, which was an incredible amount of money for a boy of nineteen years. In my dad’s time, life was not easy and one had to work hard and save every nickel just to purchase basic transportation. People were grateful for every opportunity and determined to work hard to afford the things they needed. There was no minimum wage back then.

We live in bountiful times, despite the daily whine that flows from our politicians and the media. Our “difficult times” brought on by a “recession” still affords us more leisure and luxury than days of old. Today, a high school kid with a part time job can go to the bank or credit union and walk out with a loan for a five thousand or twenty-five thousand dollar car. Few students have to make the choice between that extra job and participation in sports.

When my dad was young, he lived in Greeley, Colorado with his family. His father built a house very similar to the one in the picture, but they never moved into it. This was a disappointment to my dad. But times were difficult and the house was sold and the family moved to Seattle.

This was a good thing, else my dad would never have met my mom and I would not be writing this story. My dad is a quiet man, steady, plodding and not prone to exhibition. My mom is . . . eccentric. One day, she found a rattlesnake skin and wore it around her neck to school. She was a hit and a controversy and my dad broke off with her. This, he usually did with every display of eccentricity – but this is also what drew him to her.

Mother was a Waley. Her dad, Gilbert, was an upholsterer, as was his father. He claimed to be part Cherokee, which grandma always poo-pooed. He told me that we came from a long line of Spanish conquistadors who came to live with the Indians. The problem was, grandpa had no Spanish blood, grandma did.

Grandpa always had stories of pirates and escapades and he told them as if he were part of it, even if they took place generations ago. Grandma, on the other hand, was secretive and hushed up the family history for quite some time. All her life, she went by the name Babe. It was even printed on her checks. In the last five years of her life, she saw fit to let us know the truth, that her name was Esmeralda.

Grandpa Waley’s cousin was the notorious Weyerhaeuser kidnapper, Harmon Waley. This man was the longest running prisoner at Alcatraz (1935 – 1963). He arrived approximate eight months after it opened and was released less than a half year of its closing. He is the same man who beat up Al Capone and his two goons, as reported in Time magazine 15 Jun 1936. The rest of this episode will be saved for a later date.

One of these days, I may also tell you the story why an apparently English surname, Waley, belongs to a French people. My grandfather, Gilbert, had a grandfather named Gilbert. It is this Gilbert Waley, the captain and owner of five whaling ships, the son of a French general under Napoleon, who brought the heritage of the tall boats and whaling ships to Mystic, Connecticut.

How is it such a boring little shop-keeper came from such a colorful history? And how did we get into all this by talking about old cars? More to come . . .

On the economic front, the big news of the week is that unemployment numbers have fallen and it looks like they are turning around. Large companies have reduced their wholesale layoffs and a lot of small businesses are really gearing up – and many of the laid off have started their own businesses. But the media is unrelenting: I read two accounts this week – news stories, not editorials, mind you – why this is not good news and that it is not going to last. Doom and gloom will be the media’s mantra – they are determined to self-destruct. Don’t join them in looking down – look up!

There is good news all around us! Always remember, God watches the sparrow and He cares about you. Don’t live in fear but be thankful for all God has given us!

The very first brand new car my Dad ever purchased was a 1965 Plymouth Fury II Station Wagon. The third seat in the Plymouth was unique, in that, the seat faced to the rear, instead of forward. In our family were five girls and three boys, not counting parents. The boys had to ride in the third seat. We got to see where we had been and we were always facing the people in the car behind us. Sometimes, this was uncomfortable at lights and such. But other times, we turned the tables and stared at them until they would look away.

One of the sidelines my Dad got himself into was serving as a board member for a college Gospel choir group that traveled in the summer. They had a bus. It was an older model, but at least it was diesel powered. Dad’s brand new car was less than a year old when the bus broke down in Lewiston, Idaho. It was going to save a chunk of money if my Dad picked up the parts in Seattle (we lived in Edmonds, WA at the time) and delivered them to the garage in Lewiston. And, even to this day, my Dad is game for any excuse to hit the road and travel. He invited me to come along – I dropped everything. I was twelve at the time.

The industrial area in Seattle was noisy but I loved it. It reminded me of my Grandpa’s shop at the Port of Tacoma. We picked up six new sleeves for that diesel motor, six new rods, pistons and other assorted parts. We put the back two seats down, which made a large, flat area and centered the parts in the car. It seemed to me, the front of the car was a foot higher than the back of the car. Those parts weighed a lot and a car is not built like a truck.

Leaving the parts house, we dead-headed to Lewiston. They needed the parts to the bus as fast as possible. After all, a couple dozen college students were stuck on a ranch and missing their singing engagements. Our trip took place before I-90 was ever completed – or started in most areas.

Nowadays, Highway 95 is pretty well cleaned up, although it is still a good drop down into the City of Lewiston. Back then, it was a major series of switchbacks and sharp curves. It was night before we came upon the city. When we came over the ridge and started our descent, it took my breath away. All I could see was lights, all over – spread out like a long, wide ribbon in the valley below. It was a most beautiful sight.

It seemed the trip down was a good twenty to thirty minutes – and with the nose of the car stuck up in the air, it didn’t really feel like we were going downhill at all.

The next morning, we delivered the parts and my Dad took care of some other business. Then we stayed at the ranch. At the ranch, there were a half dozen Honda 50s and 90s. I got to take turns riding on the back of each one. Being only twelve, I was a hit with the college group. That was fun.

A day or two later, my Dad and I hit the road again. This time, we were not in a hurry and I enjoyed the drive across the mostly barren land. It seemed Idaho was full of ranches and along the fence line to many of them were the famous Burma Shave signs. Do you remember them? There would be four or five signs to a set with lyrics to some jingle or joke and finally a Burma Shave pitch at the end. I loved them. After a while, I started writing them down.

S&H Green Stamps were popular then, too, and I was working on my second book.

We stopped at a few cowboy attractions along the way. It was fun. It was just me and my Dad. I thought that life could not be better.

When I was in my teen years, one of my friends, John Celestino, would work the summers for his brother-in-law, Wendle Little. Wendle was a builder in Coeur d’Alene who just passed away a couple years ago. Every year, John would come back with stories of working on fancy houses and running heavy equipment in Idaho – and I was always jealous. I wanted to go to Idaho and I wanted to work for Wendle.

Time has a way of rolling along – with or without us. I finished High School, did my time in the Army, started a business, got married and started raising a family. All the while, my mind was always on Idaho. I always wanted to live there, but contented myself with the thought that I would once again visit.

The constant cloudiness and the rain in Seattle was very depressing to me. Working out in the field, the clay mud would cling to my boots six inches thick. My family was fine with it – they stayed inside during the rain.

Sometimes, the conversation of moving had come up, partly because my wife, Robin, was born in Zanesville, Ohio and still has family there. However, those conversations always lead to a consensus that we were fine where we were. We lived in Monroe. But my desire to live in Idaho grew with age. I began praying about it. Then, one day I asked my family – almost out of the blue – if they would like to move to Idaho. It was unanimous – we all wanted to live in Idaho and time would prove it wasn’t just a passing feeling.

A few years before this decision, some friends of ours, Mitch and Machelle Wright, had moved from Snohomish to Coeur d’Alene. We set out for a trip to Lewiston and thought we would visit our friends on the way back. As we pulled off the Interstate in Coeur d’Alene and started heading south on Highway 95 I could tell something bad was going on in the transmission. But I continued south over the bridge and thought I would stop off at the next town after Coeur d’Alene. But Idaho is not like Washington with one town right after another and we had to turn back.

At the corner of Ironwood and Government Way we found a pay phone (needed the phone book) – not realizing we were a block away from our friend’s store, The Country Porch. Long story short – we never made it to Lewiston. We were stuck in CDA for a few days and fell in love with the place. God has a way of working things out.

On Monday, we dropped our minivan off at Lake City Transmission. I had to come back to town a week later to fetch it. By the way, the minivan was eight years old when the transmission went out. Lake City Transmission repaired it over ten years ago and it is still running very well. I would highly recommend them if you need transmission work.

It took another year to get our house sold, close down my business and get moved over. We have been here for ten years and no one in our family has ever looked back. In fact, my son, Andy, married a local girl, Nichelle Ross and they plan to stay local.

A couple years after we moved to North Idaho, I met Wendle Little. I was able to work for him for several years before he passed away. By that time, I had been building homes and doing dirt work for over twenty-five years. He didn’t have heavy equipment anymore, but we did – and we moved a lot of dirt for him. Over the years, we had both developed similar project strategies and we got along very well. I miss him but I am grateful for the few years we were able to work together.

It is interesting to listen to some of the natives and especially the Californians complain about the lack of sunshine and the cloudiness of North Idaho. When you come from Seattle, you have a different perspective on the weather – and this place is definitely sunny! Seattle has only two seasons – warm rain and cold rain. We really appreciate the four seasons in North Idaho. North Idaho is a wonderful place to live.

So we have the fulfillment of a little boy’s dream: to live in Idaho and work for Wendle Little. Our family is together and everyone is glad for the move here. We live in the land of sunshine (despite what the naysayers think). We operate the most fun store in North Idaho and we have met the most wonderful people who come to visit our store. What could be better than this? These are the best of times.

On the economic side, the trade bubble is still collapsing, meaning our debt to other nations is declining. The stock market has had six straight weeks of growth, meaning investor confidence in our economy is high. And, best of all – everyone made it past tax day!

There is good news all around us! Always remember, God watches the sparrow and He cares about you. Don’t live in fear but be thankful for all God has given us!