Roger.

Normal Illinois, about 1995, 1408 S. Main Street. One afternoon at the shop, I was in the back working when Robin came back to get me. She told me that there was an older gentleman up front asking for work. I told her to have him fill out an application and I’d look at it later that afternoon. She did so. About 15 minutes later, she brought the filled-out application back to me. His work history was mostly army mechanic. I wasn’t sure if I needed that to work on European cars. I went up to talk to him.

His name was Roger Haley. He was gaunt in an alcoholic sort of way. He was dressed in fatigues and an army issue coat and boots and stood about 6’2”. He told me that he had been a Master Sargant in the army for the last 20 years and that he had served in both Vietnam and Korea for the last 30 years. He had made E8 and was told that there was nowhere to move up to, so he was retired. He said that knew everything from jeep engines and APUs up to truck sized generators. I was calculating in my head how much I’d have to pay him and could I afford it.  I was doing the risk adverse/advantage process. I thought about it enough and told him that I wasn’t sure that I was hiring, and that I’d think about it and call him tomorrow by Nine.

That night, I was talking to my father and I told him about Roger. “The Master Sargant’s run the military Scott,” He said. “Hire him.”. After I hung up with my father, I called Roger and told him he was hired and to report at 7am tomorrow morning. He sounded grateful and a little drunk.

Roger showed up at 10 to 7 the next morning. I really wasn’t sure what to do with him at first, so we gave him clean up chores. He seemed happy to have anything to do. I had a late 80’s YUGO sitting out back that had a blown head gasket. A college student had dumped on me 6 months before and we hadn’t thought about it. The car was clean, the tires were good, it had low mileage and it was a 5 speed. Problem was, it was a YUGO and thus worthless. I figured that for $50 worth of a head gasket kit it would give him something to do to learn on and test his mettle. He pulled the head, and we checked it for square. It checked out so I ordered the kit and told him to prep it to go back together. When the kit came in he was ready to put it back together again. It took him a few hours, but when he was ready to fire it up, he came in and got me. With no trouble it fired right up. “What are you going to do with it?” he asked me. I hadn’t a clue, not having thought that far, other than using it as a parts car or to run errands. We put a dealer plate on it and he took it to the carwash to get the driveway grime off of it.

We taught Roger how to put cars on the lifts safely and to drain oil and pull oil filters. Replacing oil filters and refilling oil was left to the mechanics. About a week in, after driving the YUGO around on errands and using little to no fuel, he asked me if he could drive it home and back to S. Bloomington instead of his full-size Chevy conversion van that got 6 miles to the gallon. I said fine as it seemed like a good idea to me. Overall, he was a great employee.

About 6 months in, he started showing up late. At first a few minutes, then a half hour or more. When he did show up, he was often clearly drunk. I couldn’t send him home in the YUGO, and I didn’t want him driving his van. So, I’d send him upstairs to sleep it off on the couch. Then I’d feed him some hot coffee and send him home. Conversations went nowhere. He came in one Friday, driving his van and worked the whole day till 4 and got paid.

At about 11 ‘o clock that night my tow truck driver Bill called me. He had been called to an accident in South Bloomington near Roger’s trailer park. There was a multiple car accident on Oakton Street involving Roger’s van. When Bill got there, he had recognized the van. The ambulance had just finished loading his body into the back. There were no lights or siren. From what the cops said, Roger had crossed the center line and collided with two other vehicles head on. He was dead on the scene.

My business card was in his wallet, and all the cops knew me, so I got a call the next day. No, I didn’t know of any next-of-kin or distant family. I went down to the McLean County morgue and identified his body. There was a question about funeral arrangements and who was going to bury him. I volunteered. We had a quiet service the next week.

Roger couldn’t beat the alcohol. He chose beer over life. We found out that he had spent the prior afternoon and night at a really sleazy tavern in Bloomington, at the bar, alone.