Date: Wed, 1 Apr 1998 23:44:49 -0700
From: Ken Hooper <bighouse@type2.com>
Subject: Charlie Ford <cford@sysnet.net>

Today after I posted to the list my request for charity, I made a phone
call.  I will catch you up on that here in a few.  For now lets review
the events leading up to this "call".  Afterwards read some scripture
for yourself.


The story begins somewhere in the beginning...........: )


Yesterday, I took Gus for a walk here in the District of Alexandria.
Steve lives in a pretty good neighborhood, and I have found that the
simple pleasure of strolling it's sidestreets filled with quaint, but
nice working class homes is quite enjoyable.  There are days that go by
when I don't even sit in the Mothership, but she needs the rest anyway,
and I need to walk.


While I was walking on Sunday, I took a side street that cuts between
Mt. Vernon Avenue and Commonwealth Avenue (the street Steve lives on).
I was strolling along admiring the spring cherry blossoms and all the
smell they bring, when I looked ahead and saw this bright red breadloaf
sitting in a drive.  God does good in nature and VW ya know.


I walked toward and up to the bus and admired it's seemingly brand new
Earl Schieb $79.95 special. Complete with little minuet spots where the
17 year old gunner just could not reach.  Also there was the ever
present door dings here and there that glowed like yellow spring
daisies, except for the fact that they were red, glossy red.  No bondo
here, and there should have been.


My curiosity heightened rapidly.  I figured that if this had enough
love to paint it, surely he was good enough to have an engine of at
least such caliber.  Why do one without the other.  Plus, I never have
been able to retain all the information it takes to no which model it
is from a glance.  Too me a loaf is a loaf till the owner tells what
year it was made.  I am just not the motorhead type yet.  Curiosity was
getting me.


I walked onto the porch and knocked on the door.  What the hell, it was
Sunday, I had just taken a bath, Gus is a friendly dog, plus I am
southern and social and drive a Bus and just can't help constantly
practicing the age old art of "fellowship".  A term that seems to not
be used much anymore.


I knocked three or four series, but no one came to the door.  Each time
I would immediately step back off the porch, and down to the sidewalk,
so if they did open the door they wouldn't think someone was trying to
accost them nd commit a crime ussing them as the victim.  You know how
city people can be.  Besides, I am a big man that appears at first
glance as being mean and treacherous, and the bus was down there.  Two
very good reasons to be respectful and mannerly.


Still no one came to the door.  I walked on along deciding I would
return, but took note of the street I was on upon arriving at the next
corner.


Speaking of the next corner.  I made the turn and there sat a late 50's
bug with very little rust.  Probably the engine was not original, but
the interior was fine.  Red and white leather.  I checked it out and
moved on, eventually returning to Steve's and settling in for the
evening.


On yesterday, Tuesday, I once again during my walk, took the street I
had taken on Sunday.  As I was walking along on this spring afternoon I
passed many others prcticing this pleasant art. I passed a couple
practicing the same art as I, we nodded and continued on our way.   No
fellowship, just common and brief cordiality's.


I walked on with a little more cantor in my step.  I saw the red bus
ahead except this time it was sitting in the drive.  Whoa....he drives
it too, this guy is good!  Surely he is a brother!  (Or sister of
course.)


As I neared the house I saw three people standing around in the front
yard of the house next door.  As I approached, the lady standing in the
yard, clad in basic Sunday gardening shorts and steering a water hose
with precise accuracy, was explaining to the two guys standing with her
how the manure she was spreading and watering did not stink that badly.
 She was arguing that it smelled like spring.


The guys, being as naturally competitive as we all are, were taking the
opposite opinion.  In play of course.  They were emphatically saying
"No way, it's killing me".  "Geez", I thought, "these guys are wimps".
   Everyone was laughing and jolly with this "spring fellowship"
conversation.


Because I overheard it I helped out.  (Part of that southernly social
thing appearing again you see.)


I entered the conversation with "Man, it sure smells fine around here".
 Kenivingly and smilingly cutting my eyes over toward the trio.  The
woman spoke up and laughed telling the guys see, there's a guy with
taste.  We all then laughed together.  Bond was created.  Laughter is
good for that you know.


 I recall seeing a septic tank truck on my trip.  It had painted across
the back "Smells like money to me".  I guess cattle farming and spring
manure spreading would go hand in hand with that statement, except for
the spring gardners I reckon it smells like full bloom.  They all
laughed and I walked on toward the appointed focal point, the house
with the Red bus.


I strolled up to the door and knocked.  One of the guys I had just
passed said "Hey, thats me, I live there".  I asked if he was "the man
that also owned this red bus."  He says "Yeah it's mine" and moved over
toward the bright red bus.  I told him I had seen it on Sunday, and had
I walked this way again today so I could try and meet him.


I told him that I also was a member of the "Brotherhood of Bus Owners".
 You know that's a damn good name for a club.  Ya'll interested.  We
could do road trips, have our own set of rules, and everything.  Gotta
be a reasonable purists though, at least no lowering crap, or neon
lights.  And damn sure no dis-figuring of the body.  Man, gotta put
some thought there.


He and I talked for a few, and he explained he had just gotten it
painted.  I said yeah, I noticed that, but didn't go any further.
Didn't want to offend with comments about his noble efforts, or Earl
Schieb.  Earl provides a service at least.


I asked him about the engine.  He said, "Well, it is not as nice as the
paint job".  That was a hell of a statement I thought.  Rapidly I
wandered, "How could it be worse than that?"  What was he running three
cylinders or what?


He opened the bonnet, and the first thing I saw was an engine sitting
in the middle of the picture, framed by pavement.  Yep, no engine tin
to speak of.  Just an engine and a tranny hooked together.  There was
so much light I could see the specks of dust and dirt on top of the 1.8
litre powerplant.  This was at dusk and I was growing sadder by the
second.


I told him he needed to get that tin as quickly as possible.  He said,
"I can't find it".  he asked "How badly it would hurt it to drive it?"
I explained that it would overheat the engine, then all he would have
is his paint job and a yard ornament.  He says, "Oh, that wouldn't be
good".  I told him I didn't think so either.


I said "I might can find it for you".  He said, I think I need a new
engine, I said "I can find that too".  He asked "Where?", I told him "I
have my sources." and once again smiled that keniving smile.  Just an
aire of mystery dded to the dangling line always helps generate
curiosity you know.


I asked him was he on the internet.  He told me no.  I told him about
the list and that he needed to get on one of these days.  I explained
just how good a bunch a people you are, and that it was a valuable
resource for the 90's bus owner.


He asked "How much you think an engine would cost me?"  I told him "I
would get him as good a deal as I could."  He says" OK, Let me give you
my name and number".  I said "OK", and he went into the house.


I stood and said prayer over his engine while he was gone.  I only wish
I would have brought my Bentley Manual with me so I could have read him
some scripture on engine maintenance and the importance of tin.  He
came back out of the front door and gave me his phone number while
saying how much he appreciated the help.  I explained to him I was glad
to do it.


I strolled on up the street and as I turned the corner I once again
looked for the Bug.  Not to be seen.  Guy must only work on Sunday.


You get tired of seeing the same old scenery so I veered off my usual
path onto another side street on my way back to Steve's.  All the while
thinking about who might have an engine for sale.  I am not a greedy
man but these days I am on the lookout for income.  I thought of how
quickly I could turn the deal and who I could turn it with.


I figure; I could make some money, they could make some money, and the
new met "VW Brother" could have an engine worthy of his Earl Schieb
paint job.  I love planning for the future, but I reckon the hardest
part is getting past the planning and onto the implementing.  I walked
on eventually to look up and ahead.  Lo and behold in front of me sat
another bus.  An early bay Westy.


I walked up and ask a guy standing on the sidewalk if this was his bus,
he confirmed that it was.  I got to talking to him and he also said he
needed some stuff done to his.  He explained that he hated the solid 70
Westy, but it was the only car he had.  I told him "I can do a tune-up
on it.", and gave him my number.  He said he would call me.


I strolled on thinking about the irony and searching my mind for
sources and resources..............


I knew I had you guys, but since it is an engine, and shipping would
eat the pricing alive, I figured "local" would be my first line of
resource and attack.  I made it abck to Steve's excited by the new
prospect of VW, helping a "brother busser", and myself along the way.


Now a couple weeks ago, Chris Chubb and I had gone to the Shenendoah to
do some Appalachain Trail Volunteer work.  On the way back we passed a
VW shop.  Since we were just cruising, and since I had noticed a couple
of splits and bays sitting in the lot, we turned around and pulled in.



The toughest part of that was driving back up the wrong side of Highway
50 to reach the entrance, but The Mothership had the power to surge
forward before the oncoming traffic killed us and our two dogs, Gus and
Murphy.  Into each life a little calculated risk must fall.  Makes it
more fun, plus you get to practice structure and discipline in carrying
out the well planned, eventually successful mission.


There was some guy out front as we pulled in that was working on his
2.0 litre.  We helped him some, but we had other things to do.  He had
it all under control and there is only room for one in the engine
compartment of a bus, so Chris and I strolled along.


The owner came out of the shop, and introduced himself.  We told him
who we were and why we had stopped.  He showed us some busses, and we
asked what he might be selling.  He showed us a couple of things, of
which I will post later, upon more detailed knowledge.  One was a
fairly rare split in not that bad of shape. We stood and all got
aquainted.


He gave us his card and told us his name.  John he said, and then told
us his son's name which was the same as his.  I asked him then if he
would be interested in a spare mechanic.  He said he really didn't need
anyone right now but he would keep me in mind.  I swear I think I
received an e mail from his son while I was traveling out west.  I am
still not sure, I received so many.  Anyway, we left and drove along
happier for the experience.


Well, today I called him, looking for either the tin, or the engine.
He told me he might could help me, and ak me to give him a day or so.
I told him that would be fine.  He then asked me if I was still looking
for a job.  I told him "I was, and that times were beginning to look
bleek".  He asked me how much money I would require.  I told him it was
up to him.  He told me to call back in 15 minutes, and he would let me
know something.


I sat here in my lonely room, in my shorts with no shirt, and smoked
two cigarettes.  Did you know it takes 5.5 minutes to smoke a regular
length Marlboro Ultra Light?  Gonna have to time a long one of these
days.  Hmmm.


I smoked another about five minutes after the first one and picked up
the phone on the last drag.  I dialed the number and another guy
answered the phone.  He stated that "he was the resident mechanic" and
was wondering just how much I knew about the car.  He, like John, was
polite and sounded professional, so I told him how much, or in my case,
"How little" I knew.  I guess I would have even if he had not been tht
polite or professional, I needed a job.  Right now, I would probably
work for a tyrant.


I told him about the Mothership, and that I had just finished my trip.
He seemed impressed with my bravery.  I really wouldn't label it that
at all, "Hell it was just a trip that was blessed with a "journey" of
course.  That was the main ingredient, in my humble opinion.


Anyway, in the end, I got a job.  I go to work next Monday at 9:00 AM
and am looking forward to it.  I have been trying to find work in
service programs but so far no go.  I will still fly my resumes, but I
now have a chance to maybe do something I only got a taste of in
Seattle.  I look forward to my $6.25 cent wage per hour as if it were
$40,000 per year.


Today I made a phone call; Yesterday I met two type 2 owners.  Tell me
the powers that be aren't still kicking'.  I'll call you a "damn liar"
and read you some scripture from the Muir Manual.


Thanks for tolerating the ramblings.


Charlie Ford

Possibilities Development

(703) 684-7689

Resume available upon request


"79" VW  Bus, The Mothership

www.tiora.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"



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