Dadmissions: The Old Gas Station

We’d load up in new blue, a 1970’s Plymouth Fury with a sky blue color and a white top and we’d hit the road. The first stop was Sweetman’s. That’s what we called it anyway. It was the gas station on South Main Street owned by the parents of a girl we went to school with. The dad worked hard. You could tell. He ran the garage and fixed the cars and would still help at the pumps. “Filler up?”he’d say. It’s a phrase people don’t even know what to make of nowadays. But back in the day you’d pull up at the pump and someone would fill the tank FOR you. At Sweetman’s he’d ask to check the oil level too. And if it was Friday, he’d offer you a free copy of the Sharon Advocate newspaper. When you were done filling up he’d bring the little plastic credit card holder to your car to sign the slip. It was a small town gas station that fit this small town perfectly. Sweetman’s is where I first learned how to fill the gas container for the lawnmower. The gas cans only held a gallon of gas and a buck would fill it up. A buck! Sweetman’s is also where I first learned how to fill up the tires with air. They were the old air pumps where you dialed in the tire pressure and then the bell would chime chime chime.. first fast and finally very slow when the tires were fully filled. Sweetman’s is where I first grabbed a squeegee brush and tried to clean the windows on new blue. When you’re a kid, clean windows was a big deal and being master of the squeegee was a pretty cool thing. Across the windshield, under the wipers. Across the side windows, scoop the excess water. It was the squeegee brush which made the memories all come rushing back today, so many years later. I took my 6 year old out in the morning to the ARCO station in my town. It was self serve. It was four bucks a gallon. You don’t speak to someone unless you need to pay cash for the gas. You do your thing and leave. But the biggest difference was no Sweetman. He wasn’t there to greet us, or to check the oil, or to offer the Sharon Advocate, or to just catch up on the happenings with your family or what was going on in town. Sweetman was the difference. I think he passed away years ago… but it’s as if he disappeared into history with his small town gas station and all the little gas stations for that matter. Sure, maybe it was a simpler time growing up. Or maybe a self serve society isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It all came back to me when my daughter got out of the car and grabbed the squeegee. Across the side windows. Scoop up the excess water. It was just a glimpse of the time I used to have at Sweetman’s in my hometown.

image

What memories do you have of your hometown.. Find me on Facebook at dadmissions.

Advertisements

About dadmissions

author of Dadmissions. surrounded by a wife and two girls... and a dog named Cupcake
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Dadmissions: The Old Gas Station

  1. Kristine says:

    I don’t normally read blogs without paragraphs (my eyes get lost) but I read some of your other stuff and decided to tough it out.
    My neighbour, Mr Newbold, ran our town’s gas station. My friend Patty and I would spend hours helping. I loved the bell as people ran over the cord, the smell of the gas, the sounds of the hoist and that squeegee. We would help people wash their windows and sometimes even run money in to get change.
    My favourite was the tow runs though. We would sit in that truck and drive all night with our pillows and blankets, to rescue a car out of a ditch, 8-track belting it out. I was always asleep by the rescue (something about the engine hum and no suspension did it every time) but that wasn’t the important part.
    Mr Newbold is gone but his son still runs that station. There is no more bell or fillerup, but there will always be the squeegee!
    Thanks for the memory jog!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s