I am definitely old school, and I had the privilege of doing my mechanical training under real old school tradesman. The skills I learned as a young apprentice was what made me into a good mechanic. I was born to be a worker and I enjoyed it.
I grew up
on a small farm and loved every bit of it. School was not my happy place, on
the contrary, I hated it and left when I was sixteen years old. My heart’s
desire was to farm, but I ended up becoming a diesel mechanic apprentice
instead. I soon learned that this was a hard trade and that tradesman were
tough as nails and loved to curse.
I had some
amazing tutors (qualified mechanics) who taught me my trade. I quickly learned
that it’s a really tough job and very often, an ungrateful job. There are many white-collar
people who look down on tradesman and this is something I encountered many
times, even as a business owner. But what would the rich and famous do if there
were no tradesman and laborers? Do the job themselves?
Growing up
amongst these rough tradesmen made me the person who I am today. For many years
I worked in my father’s truck workshop. He was not a tradesman, but he was the
best salesman ever. He could sell ice to an Eskimo or sand to an Arab. I learned
great values from him, except the selling part, but I could work like an animal.
There’s one
side of the mechanical trade which made it special and that was the naughty
pranks we pulled on each other. There was never a dull moment in the workshop,
even when I had my own business. Apprentices were constantly the victims and
laughing stock of the workshop environment. Within the first few days of
apprenticeship, one of the mechanics would send us to the part store to fetch a
“long wait”. It took a while, quite a while, but eventually we got it. Old oil,
grease, silicon and superglue were some of the products used in pranks.
The downside
of the trade is that it’s a dirty job. You could measure the worth of an apprentice
by how dirty his overalls were. At Steyn’s Ford, where I did my apprenticeship,
I was ordered to change my overalls twice a day (for appearances). I was the
most hard-working apprentice in the workshop but because I left school early,
my wage was pretty pathetic. In 1982, I earned a whopping seventy-one rand per
month, which I received in one cent coins in my first month, as part of the initiation.
In my third year, while busy in my workstation, a first-year apprentice came past,
flashing his first pay cheque. I fumed! He received more than me, all because I
didn’t complete high school. I was surpassing the qualified mechanics in the
monthly targets, but earning less than a first-year apprentice. I picked up a
large ball-bearing and threw it with all my strength against my work bench. It ricocheted
off the bench and hit the grease bay worker against the head, sending the buckets
of oil which he was carrying, in all directions. Nobody could explain what had
hit him or where it had come from. An absolute freaking mystery.
In the time
it took to become a qualified mechanic our skills were tested on all types
of vehicles – trucks, cars, tractors, etc. I am a qualified diesel mechanic and
considered myself a skilled, knowledgeable and honest mechanic. When we moved
to the Western Cape in 1999, I opened my own workshop. Tanja was the office
administrator and often helped with mechanical repairs when short-staffed or
over-booked. My staff knew that if I asked them to do a kak (unpleasant) job, I
would do it too. My workshop was neat and every tool had its place. Once a
month, on a Friday afternoon, we had a workshop braai (barbeque). I appreciated
my staff and rewarded them for hard work. I was not only the boss and team leader,
I was hard working and fair. Unfortunately, I always had a short fuse and would
sometimes lose my shit and throw a spanner on the roof next door. Every mechanic’s
head would duck into whichever vehicle they were busy with, not saying a word. But
once the frustration was dealt with, I was back to my old self again and sent
one of the guys to retrieve the spanner.
Most mechanical
repair shops focus on a specific brand or make of vehicle but we worked on everything.
I had an advantage in my business in that I never battled endlessly with a difficult
problem. Because I worked on all makes of vehicles, I made friends with other
good mechanics who worked on specific makes, like Mercedes or BMW or whatever. I
was never too proud to ask for advice. I always had a friend in deed when I had
a problematic need. My motto was: If we can’t fix it, it aint worth fixing.
I had the opportunity, in my time as a tradesman, to meet some of the best mechanics in the trade. Most of them were old-school and could teach these modern-day mechanics a thing or two. Some of them are no longer with us, but all will forever be remembered as icons of the trade:
- Kit Viljoen
- Koos Barkhuizen
- Kalfie Stander
- Frans Bredenkamp
- Dirk Taljaart
- Pieter Lombard
Dirk has the mechanical workshop next to my previous workshop, but we never saw each other as rivals. We would ask for advice or borrow tools from each other or sometimes just chat. Unfortunately, both Dirk and I are slowly on our way to Valhalla, but in no rush to get there. For all the swearing we did in our lives, we would probably end up working on old crap Alfas or Fiats in the hereafter. Thank you, Dirk, for the time we had together as neighbors and fellow tradesmen.
I loved my job, but I had my dad’s temper. I can write a whole new dictionary with all the swearwords I thought up. If you don’t swear as a mechanic, you’re abnormal. If you don’t swear while driving on our South African roads, then you are not concentrating.
We often had homeless beggars coming into the workshop because we were very close to the night shelter. I had a sign on the wall which read: “Don’t see my kindness as a sign of weakness”. On one specific day, a man came in waving a white page and making strange sounds. According to the page he was deaf, but knowing these homeless people, you get used to their lies. I told my one mechanic to go behind us, while I distracted this guy, and when I gave the signal, he hit as hard as he could on the metal workbench with a hammer, to test this guy’s deafness. If he flinched, he would get a boot under his arse, but if not, he would be rewarded with some money. Well, it turns out he was deaf and walked off with twenty rand. The owner of the Vodacom repair shop next door stormed into the workshop holding an expensive cell phone, which his technician had buggered up after the tremendous hammer episode.
I once repaired a vehicle for a new customer, who later praised us for the incredible service which she received, even mentioning it on social media. A couple of days later she was back and said that she could smell petrol inside the car while driving. I checked the vehicle through and found nothing wrong. She left, but was back the next day again with the same complaint, but accompanied by her male friend. Once again, I checked the car, putting it on the vehicle lift and inspecting the whole underside for any leaks. Nothing. I even got the male friend under the car to show him that there was no reason why there would be a petrol smell. They left, but phoned me a short while later to say that the car was overheating. I jumped into my car immediately and sped to this lady’s home. The male friend met me outside and told me to feel how hot the bonnet of the car was, even though the gauge was on normal working temperature. I took his hand and put it on my car’s bonnet and asked if my car was also overheating, considering the speed with which I drove to them. I then suggested that they go buy a big pot of Vaseline at the pharmacy. The were both very surprised and asked what it was for. I said that I would smear all the sharp corners of the car with the Vaseline and then she could drive the car right up her male friend’s arsehole and then we would be rid of the problem once and for all. They were not impressed and I never saw them again.
From that day on, if a difficult customer came into the workshop, I would start with my Vaseline advice only to be rudely interrupted by Pieter or Tanja, who would then remove the customer from my presence. I firmly believed that this was sound advice.
A true story!
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| Me - the Diesel Mechanic |
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| Legs on, legs off, but trying my best |
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| Prior to selling my workshop - Fanwell, Me (after 1st amputation), Pieter, Obey |
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