Looking after a Legacy

“Well lookey yonder,” I hear as I walk through the shop’s double doors. I see his blue eyes shining through his thick metal-rimmed glasses above his big grin. I’m immediately introduced to anyone sitting nearby. “She’s one of the one’s who lived in New York. She’s the one who’s writing my book.” They smile and say, “Oh yes, I remember hearing about you.” I stock the Cokes and walk behind the counter to help a few people checkout and listen to my Grandpa tell stories and jokes.

Walking in the shop always makes me feel like I’m taking a trip through time. I look at the pictures on the wall of my great-Grandpa’s diploma from Sweeney Automotive School and the shop back in the 1940s. That diploma and land bought from Mr. Zoch helped my great-Grandpa overcome the title of “shade tree mechanic” and build the shop we know and love:  

When my dad decided to go in business for himself, he wanted some land close to Walburg instead of where he had been working under shade trees on the homeplace. The reason I say shade trees is there is an expression used, “Oh, he’s just a shade tree mechanic.” Not having a roof over his head or a shop to work in, my dad would be talked about as a shade tree mechanic. He would be working under a shade tree so he wouldn’t be out in the hot sun, naturally. A shade tree would also have a big enough limb to hold the chain-hoist; in the old days, you had a chain-hoist attached to the rear or front bumper of the vehicle to raise it. A shade tree mechanic was usually all by himself with little or no experience.

Yep, my dad was a shade tree mechanic who went to Sweeney Automotive and Electrical School in Kansas City, and then decided he wanted to build his own place. So he came to Mr. Zoch to buy a half an acre of land to build a shop. It was agreed Mr. Zoch would sell a half an acre to my dad, close to the corner of FM 972. At that time, the road coming down from Walburg was a straightaway and the road coming from St. Peter’s was a straightaway, so they formed a sharp t-intersection instead of the curve there today. Dad didn’t buy the exact bottom end of the t, he bought a little up from the t-intersection.

My great-Grandpa's diploma

Eighty-six years have come and gone since my great-Grandpa started Mickan Motor Company. Three generations of Mickan men have worked under the cars, trucks and tractors. Last summer, the fourth generation, Danny’s daughter, Maddie, worked at the counter where my grandma still works and I’ll work now. As of this week, I’m a full-time employee at Mickan Motor Company. Family-owned small businesses are becoming harder and harder to find. I think about what will happen to the shop but, as I mentioned in my earlier blog post “Plans”, the future is entirely unpredictable. My grandpa talks longingly about his Uncle Alfred’s old gas station:

If you drive by Norththrop today, there is no visible evidence of Uncle Alfred’s house, his shop, or his gas station. The children sold the property and now it is bare. There is nothing that would lead you to believe that there ever was anything there. Because he was a mechanic, his place was an important place in his damn time. Now it’s gone.

Some businesses fade but others endure and there’s no way of telling what will happen. For now, we do our best; I’m proud to help Danny, Paul, Grandpa and Grandma keep the lights on at Mickan Motor Company. Grandpa can be proud his place is still thriving and his son and son-in-law spawned two other family businesses. My cousin Brecklyn works for Tech Management, a family business run by her parents in Midland, Texas, while my cousin Branden works for his father, Tim, at Mickan Tool & Supply in Houston, Texas. We’re all close in age—27 this year—helping to ensure that family businesses aren’t all a legacy lost.

Mickan Motor Company, 2012