The editor:
This is a true story. Although it occurred 45 years ago and the characters’ names and locations are long forgotten, the spirit and kindness of the Morehead folks stays with me today. In fact, I told this story yesterday as my foursome had coffee and watched the rain fall on another missed day of golf. The opportunity to tell the story arose as my buddies related good and bad traveling events, mostly involving the citizens of their travel destination. I’m sorry it has taken so long to share with the fine citizens of Morehead. And I’m truly sorry I don’t recall the name of our Good Samaritans.
This event occurred in 1961 or maybe 1962. Our family was traveling from Houston, Texas to Charleston, W.Va. to make our annul visit with my wife’s family and later would travel to Baltimore, Md. to visit my family. Remember the dates. If we could afford a vacation, it was to visit family. Housing and food were relatively cheap at family destinations!
Traveling Route 60, we stopped late Sunday afternoon at a downtown Morehead drive-in restaurant. After completing our meal, and when the window tray was removed, we rearranged the two kids and prepared to head to Charleston. Unfortunately, our 1959 Ford Fairlane wouldn’t start. Dead as the proverbial doorbell. A kind customer stopped to inquire of our problem and since it was Sunday afternoon suggested we call Mr. Fixit, a local gentleman known to be handy with cars. Mr. Fixit was summoned and arrived on the scene. A short analysis of our problem was made and we were told the alternator was shot, and probably needed new brushes. Mr. Fixit said he might have brushes to fit at his home. He gave us a jump to get started and we followed him around a number of curves and up a holler to his combined barn and car shop.
Upon arriving, Mrs. Fixit came out of the house to gather my pregnant wife and two children, Jimmy, 4, and Barbara, 2, took them in the house for milk and cookies while her husband and I set about to repair the alternator. Again fortune wasn’t smiling on us, as Mr. Fixit announced his supply of spare brushes wouldn’t fix the problem. As I recall, Mr. Fixit them made a couple of phone calls and was told that good old Charley had a Ford alternator in his trunk. But Charley wasn’t home; instead he was at a friend’s house playing cards and partying. Mr. Fixit said, “not to worry, come with me”. So we jumped in his car and took off, driving a number of miles in what I recall was a very dark and foggy evening.
Finally we arrived at the party house and Mr. Fixit located Charley’s car. I was a little apprehensive, stirring about a strange car on a very dark night. I could just imagine the front door flying open and a blast from a shotgun as a greeting. Mr. Fixit wasn’t the least concerned. The car trunk had no external handle (why would you suppose that?) No problem, Mr. Fixit opened the driver side door and popped a concealed wire that opened the trunk. Sure enough, there was an alternator; hopefully it would fix the problem.
Back to the barn/garage we go and with Mr. Fixit’s amazing skill he installed the replacement alternator and announced we were good to go. Amazing, wouldn’t you think? But the best was yet to come. As we prepared to take leave I asked the burning question, “How much do we owe you?” Remember, we were vacationing with family because we couldn’t afford any other destination. Also, on this particular trip I was flush with money, probably had $80 in my wallet. Mr. Fixit looked at me, and then the wife and two kids, smiled, and said how about $20. My goodness, I could have kissed him and gladly paid him and continued on to Charleston.
Epilogue:
In 1963 Ashland Oil purchased our Houston based company and relocated our family to Ashland. We spent the next 18 years in Ashland and often visited Morehead, usually heading to MSU for basketball or baseball games. Maybe Mrs. Fixit’s cookies contained a special ingredient because both Jimmy and Barbara Harkins played basketball at Ashland High School and both were selected as all-state representatives (Barbara as a junior and senior). I was remiss for not trying to locate Mr. Fixit and his wife, but to be truthful, I had no idea up which holler he lived. But since I shared this story with my buddies I thought I’d share with the kind folks of Morehead.
Jim Harkins
Portland, Oregon
