Mark learned to drive when he was 10 or 11 and had his first solo drive at age 12. (drove down to the ice cream shop five blocks from his home to get a scoop of Jamocha Almond Fudge). He had his first car at 15 and got his license on his 16th birthday. He was already an accomplished shade tree mechanic and loved doing routine maintenance on his 57 chevy. (which he got for $20.00) On one such occasion, whilst his parents were out of town for the weekend, he decided to change his oil. He drained the used oil into an old plastic dishpan his father used for just such an occasion, only to discover that it had a crack in the bottom which caused all the old black oil to flow down the driveway. He knew his father would be furious about spilling oil (he had this thing about oil stains on the concrete.) So Mark had to somehow clean up the oil immediately. He did so by spreading an entire box of Tide laundry soap over the oil to absorb it so that he could sweep it up and throw it away. Afterwords he used water to wash the driveway completely clean of oil and soap.

Finally, it was time to replace the oil. Into the engine went 6 quarts of expensive top-grade Quaker State oil. That job done, he walked around the back of the car to get to the driver's side and was horrified to see a river of new oil running down the driveway. What the heck happened? On inspection he discovered that in the chaos of cleaning up the first oil spill, he had forgotten to replace the drain plug and essentially poured 6 quarts of new oil down the driveway via his engine.

Now he was desperate. He had to take his father's work car down to the grocery store for a new box of Tide and to the car parts store for new oil and back home to clean up his mess.

Finally, his disaster cleaned up, he double-checked to make sure the oil plug was still in place, that newspaper was in laid down, before he poured another six quarts of oil into his engine. He carefully inspected to see that there were no oil leaks before he started up the engine for the final inspection.

The old '57 Chevy started with it's customary backfire and wheezing starter sound and Mark got out of the driver's side to inspect his work. As he walked around the back of the running car, he was completely shocked to see a river of oil running down the driveway. Quick action on his part, he shut down the engine and cursed. "What in the hell is going on!"

He got down on his belly and inspected his work and discovered that he had cross-threaded the oil filter and it hadn't sealed. All the new oil had leaked from the oil filter and he felt as stupid as anybody could feel.

Another trip to the grocery store and to the auto parts store. He got a quizzical look from the grocery store checkout clerk for his purchase of another brand new box of Tide and he got a smirk of 'I've seen this before' from the parts store clerk. Everybody knew what an idiot he was.

The driveway was clean for the third time now, the gutter in front of the house was a sea of foam and any minute the cops or the EPA were going to arrest Mark for causing California's second largest oil spill since the Santa Barbera oil spill a few years earlier. Any moment he expected the President to land a helicopter and inspect the damage. He did a final inspection: drain plug, oil filter, new dishpan, newspapers...check.

In went the six new quarts of expensive oil, for the third time, a triple-check that there were no leaks and finally start the engine to insure the job was complete. Third time's a charm as they say, he was rewarded with a sneeze, a backfire and a satisfied roar of the small block Chevy engine. One last inspection demonstrated that he had finally succeeded in changing the oil after only five hours of frustration and failure.

When his parents returned, nothing was said, everything appeared completely normal and uneventful. His father complimented Mark and his brothers for not burning down the house. mark helped his father unload the family car in the garage and his father suddenly looked at Mark and asked, "Why does the driveway smell so good?"

In 1968, Mark's family suddenly took up camping. Mark's father, Bill had worked at a car dealership where employees were given "Award Premiums" based on the company's performance. Unfortunately, the catalogue of products that employees could choose from to spend their premium points was rather thin and the selection was sparse. Mark's father wasn't interested in golf paraphernalia, luxury jewelry or bar furniture. The only items he could redeem his points for that would be a benefit to the family was camping gear. So, in the summer, Mom, Father, and the three boys loaded up their 1968 Oldsmobile Delta 88 with brand new tents, cots, sleeping bags and cookstove and headed for the mountains.

Now, Grandpapa Bill wasn't unfamiliar with camping, he had gone on many fishing trips to the mountains with his buddies. But they had gone in trucks and Jeeps and vehicles more adapted to off-road excursions. A family car wasn't designed to traverse rutted rocky mountain roads. On one such adventure to Echo Lake, high up in the mountains, the car hit something in the 'road' HARD. Bill got out to inspect and came back with bad news. "I punctured the oil pan. We'll run out of oil before we can get back to camp."

It was touch and go, they had to back down the road with the engine off. The family had to walk, Bill wasn't going to put his family in danger if the car went out of control without power brakes or power steering. After three miles and three hours they arrived at the main road and found a pay phone to call for a tow.

The car was towed to an old garage in a nearby village, run by an old codger with thick glasses who could barely walk. Bill was used to the modern repair shop where he worked with 10 repair bays, power lifts and factory-trained mechanics. This old guy just might ruin his car. "Hit a rock did ya?" The old guy lit a cheap cigarette. "Up near Echo Lake? Yeah, that happens a lot. I'll get ya fixed up in a jiffy."

Bill knew the ploy, these old dudes would inspect the damage, order parts that weren't needed, keep the car for a week, charge an arm and a leg and rent for keeping the car and do shoddy work. But he was also desperate because he was with his family and needed the car fixed. "Just get it done. I guess I have no choice."

The mechanic nodded, grabbed a big old hose and clamped it to the tailpipe of the Olds. He then jammed the other end of the hose down the oil filler hole on the top of the engine before he started the engine. Bill watched horrified, the engine had no oil in it to run, what was this idiot doing? The old guy brushed Bill aside and pushed the lever that raised the car up on the hoist with the engine running.

The mechanic quickly donned a welding helmet, fired up an arc-welding machine and fitted a stick electrode to the welding torch. Bill averted his eyes as the blinding light from the arc welder buzzed and zapped for only a few seconds. The mechanic quickly flipped off the welder, tossed his helmet on the workbench, lowered the car and shut off the engine. He worked quickly for such an old coot and filled a oil can with new car oil. He removed the hose and filled the engine with oil.

Bill was dumbfounded, "That's it?"

"Yup. Engine exhaust prevents the remaining oil in the pan from catching fire...no oxygen. The new oil cools the weld by quenching it making it perfectly annealed, won't crack later and leak. You know your engine can run for up to fifty miles without oil, right? That's manufacture specs."

Bill was an expert on how to run a repair shop, but this was stuff he didn't know. "No I didn't know any of that."

"You live in the mountains, you learn stuff they don't teach at the factory. Survival mechanics and all."

Bill took out his wallet, expecting to be fleeced for at least a hundred. "So what's the tab?"

The mechanic puffed his cigarette and flicked the ash, "Five bucks for the oil, five for the repair. Just tell everybody to come to Mike's if they got similar problems. I specialize in puncture tanks."

Bill handed the old guy a ten spot. You do gas tanks too?"

"Hell no, you think I'm an idiot? You can't weld a gas tank. Can't ever get rid of any gas fumes no matter how you wash it out. No sirree. I use concrete for that."

Mark's father Bill had another interesting oilpan story. As Grandpapa bill got older, it became more difficult to do his own oil changes and he decided it was time to try out the new QuikeeLoob shop that had just arrived in their small town. It was in the mid 1970's and all the service boys wore the same garish 70's style uniforms with the wide yellow lapel over brown jumpsuits and garish striped puffy hats. It was the McDonald's of car maintenance. The health and safety of expensive automobiles was in the hands of marginally-trained adolescents.

The first service boy approached the driver side and held up a shiny brightly colored sales card, "Good afternoon sir, can I interest you in our special today, the Maxi-Loob and Oyl Chang-O-Matic service for only 39.99?"

Bill muttered, "Outrageous. I only want the 13.99 deal, just the oil and filter change." Ever since the Oil Embargo oil and gas prices had gone through the roof. Imagine, paying 88 cents for a damned gallon of gasoline.

"OK, sir. Drive forward into the garage...the bay." This boy knew nothing about automobiles.

It took only ten minutes as advertised and Bill pulled forward and left the premises. He navigated to the end of town and onto the freeway heading for Sacramento, where his sister lived. He had some papers for her to sign and wanted to have dinner with her in Old Towne later that evening.

Fifteen miles out of town, there was a loud clank under the car, as if it had driven over a stone that had bounced up and hit the undercarriage. Then the oil light on the dashboard lit up and the oil pressure gauge plummeted. Can I really go fifty miles on no oil, Bill thought to himself. He didn't have time to answer as the check engine light, temperature light and coolant light lit up in rapid succession. within fifteen seconds the engine seized and the car skidded to a stop at the side of the busy freeway.

Back at the dealership, the mechanic had terrible news. "You ran your car out of oil. You were also running your car with no water in the radiator. The drain plugs for both tanks were missing. You should have had your oil changed by professionals."

Bill took QuickeeLoob to court and was able to demonstrate that the mechanics were undertrained and incompetent. The private detective he hired found the missing coolant drain plug on a shelf in the pit where the young trainee had drained the coolant, thinking that they were performing a total fluid replacement, not just an oil change. By his own testimony, he confessed to only hand-tightening the oil drain plug because his trainer had warned him about over-tightening the nut and stripping the threads. Bill later learned that there were four other lawsuits pending this particular shop for similar problems. Bill won the suit and was compensated with a new engine and legal fees.

Lessons learned....Use a torque wrench...Use a checklist....use appropriate vehicle for the task....trust the old guys...age and treachery will win over youth and beauty every time.

I hope this was useful to you.