Gas Station

My first gas station was across the street in L.A., corner of Silverlake Blvd. and Silverlake Drive,   Hoeppel's Flying Horse Mobil.  It was right next to my father's automotive repair garage, Norman's.   Thus these were places to hangout and work,  get to know people.  My dog, sort of, Wimpy,  lived a lot of the time in the gas station.  Because he got so greasy in the station and garages he wasn't allowed in our house, except for the back porch in rain storms and other bad weather.   This was around l936 - l937,  depth of the depression.

Only rich people and those in the business had cars.  No credit cars,  no credit card gas.  Mr. Hoeppel had little jobs in the office and garage,  I did some of those:  helping sweep out cars,  clean the insides and wash the lower outsides, being a gofer to deliver things,  dump the trash into the burn barrels in the vacant lot,  recycle things, clean up,  including out in the little landscape on the corner, etc.  At the gas pumps I could ask to polish the hubcaps,  sometimes it was "do they need polishing,"  checking the battery water,  etc.  Mr. Hoeppel was very patient,  encouraged me in every way,  except when I got in the way.  Wimpy was always supportive too,  wagging his tail, looking for handouts of food,  of course, especially hamburgers or pieces of them.

Rich people lived atop the hills,  and down the sides,  the rest of us lived on the flats.  The very poor didn't have screens on the window and doors,  the children came to school with bites all over them.  We were lucky to have  a landlord who not only maintained our flat in good order but hired me too to help him with the gardens and landscapes at ours and other rental properties.  Sometimes he would pay me a nickel or pennies,  sometimes he would take me to the Silvermart and get me a soft drink or candy bar.  I started a savings account in the Bank of California,  and either my Mother or Father would take me to make deposits.  I was very proud of my little savings book and showed it to relatives at times.

Mr. Hoeppel sold windshield wiper blades and other items,  he also had gum and peanut machines.  Remember them,  a penny or a nickel would get you a small handful?  Sometimes he let me help him when he reloaded these machines.  My father too had things for sale in his garage,  and I sometimes helped him clean shelves and restock items.  Thus I became interested in the businesses and wondered just how all those small purchases added up to anything. 

Fast forward to now where  gas stations seldom have grease racks, often do no mechanical work.  I am amazed to go into inner city ones,  Pump 'N Munch type places,  often run by Middle Eastern people;   who sell necessities, including powerful energy drinks,  liquid vials of ginseng,  condoms,  magazines and papers, groceries,  etc.,  etc,  and don't forget the many versions of gambling tickets (!).   Gas, oil and other automotive liquids are crucial, of course,  and some of these places even have air hoses to pump up your tires (3 quarters,  maybe even 4)  perhaps even a water hose to add water. 
Now-a-days these places have wire mesh cages around the cash registers and managers.  Mr. Hoeppel and Wimpy would indeed be astonished by the transformations.

It would be interesting to see the books of these latter day gas dispensaries,  how much is made on what,  the overhead vs. the profits,  the stocking routines,  cleanups,  etc.  It was so simple and primitive back in Silverlake,  and there four corners out of five were gas stations (!) in the thirties;  two were soon to fail.  Luckily the fifth corner was a vacant lot and that was next to the property our landlord owned.   Today it is all different,  of course,  and I intend to look it the intersection on the Google Map system and see what it looks like.  Maybe one gas station left,   who knows?