Back in the day when gas stations were service stations, when the attendants wore uniforms with caps and bow ties ambling out of their small office with a smile and a congenial greeting, you were confident you and your automobile were in good hands. If the employee was above average, he might even remember the names of the patrons. After inserting the nozzle into the tank and turning on the gas flow the pleasant associate would ask, “Check that oil for you, Mr. Arnold?” Soon there will be no one alive who will remember having been asked that question.
Most service stations, ours included, had one or two service bays with mechanical doors that opened and closed automatically. Oh, the wonder as I watched the doors rise into the ceiling without human effort as if Ali Baba had spoken the magic, “Open Sesame.” Once the vehicle was inside the bay, the door would lower back to the ground concealing all the mysteries inside its asylum. Yes, asylum, for my nascent literary skills and my vivid imagination were not in sync with reality.
When it came to developing an aptitude to identify letters, recognizing written vocabulary, and understanding how a succession of words created a meaningful sentence, I was easily stumped. On the outside wall above the bay doors of our service station was a sign that perplexed my innocent mind: “Mechanic On Duty.” I understood the second and third words, but the first word remained a mystery until I unscrambled the jumble of letters and settled on “maniac.”
Still the meaning of the word eluded me. I needed clarity, so to the parents I did go. They were not curious as to how I came to inquire after such a unique word. The answer came with a Bible reference, our source for many of life’s complex questions. The story was “The Gadarene Demoniac.” My ear caught the rhyming association of maniac/demoniac and my imagination filled in the rest. In short, a demon-possessed man lived in a cave, howled night and day terrorizing the locals, tore apart the chains and irons used to subdue him, and was named “Legion,” meaning that inside this poor man lodged an overcrowded, devilish household. But good news…Jesus healed him.
Now I knew all things; our service station had a resident demon-possessed man, but at least our service station was thoughtful enough to put up a warning sign. Fear and trembling struck my heart. The service station was unavoidable, and the next time we needed a fill-up, what would I find just inside those bay doors? (To be continued)
