Where everybody knows your name

I wrote an article that appeared in The Sentinel back in August 2005 about living in Fennville. You see, at the time, the town was getting some bad press about possible gang problems in the area. I felt the negative was really unjustified, so I wrote a response about the good things in town.

You can access the article at:

http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/080805/opinion_20050808015.shtml

If that doesn’t work, just go to www.hollandsentinel.com and do a search for Hayden.

Anyway, I got dozens of e-mails and phone calls about the article. Most were positive. Just over the Christmas holidays, a woman stopped me at my daughters’ dance recital in Saugatuck and asked if I was the guy who worked at The Sentinel. At this point, I usually brace myself for a barrage of “what’s wrong with the media.” Well, she just wanted to say “thanks” for the column on Fennville. You’re welcome.

Besides tooting my own horn here, I mention the above as background for another incident on why Fennville is a “cool city” to live in.

My car was making horrendous clunks and high-pitched whirrs right before Christmas, and I feared the worst (that is, I feared I’d have to pay lots of money to repair a car with 120,000 miles on it). I took it to John’s Auto a block or so from my house. They know me there because I’ve called them at 2 a.m. on winter nights when the temperature had hit minus 20 and car’s engine wouldn’t turn over.

When I left it at the shop, I came in through the Main Street entrance into a scene right out of Norman Rockwell. In the lobby/office area, three old men in flannel shirts and baseball caps were warming their hands around the heater, smoking pipes and leaning back in their old wooden chairs saying things like, “Did you see the new 450 model” and “Yup.” Classic smalltown America.

After speaking with the owner (I’m sure he’d seen the new 450 model and probably even worked on it), I left it at the shop, walked to the post office, picked up the mail and finished a brisk walk home.

A few hours later, the garage called, said it was just some ice and snow crammed in the engine (we had had record snow and cold for several weeks at this point). I could pick it up any time.

“How much do I owe for it?”

He laughed a bit and said, “Nothing.” He said it was no big deal to check it out and that he knew I lived in town, was a local.

“Yup,” I said.

How cool is that?

Thought: Baby, you can drive my car.