Mr. Kitchens

I miss my old friend Cecil Kitchens. He lived over on Red Star hill and owned a small garage. He didn't advertise, no signs pointed to his shop but he was always busy...winter, spring, summer and fall.
Every year about this time I would take my lawn mower or tiller over to have some work done and I usually arranged my day so that I could spend some time watching him work. I know this may be hard to imagine, but he was an artist with tools. He built his shop with is own hands and though it wasn't fancy, it was very functional and always in order. When he went to the bench for a tool, he never had to look twice. He knew exactly where the right tool was kept...at all times. His motions were fluid and his conversation intelligent...never boastful, vulgar or judgmental.
When he finished working on my mower, he would sit in the shade near the door of his shop and we'd talk as he took a shop rag and clean his tools one by one and when he was finished, he would return them to his shop table and arrange them like a doctors' instruments so that he knew exactly where they were the time he needed them.
I watched him work on an old Plymouth once while I was waiting my turn. It had a nasty miss. The owner had taken the old car to a number of reputable mechanics but one told him it had a bad head gasket another said the carburetor had to be replaced. Mr. Kitchens cranked the car and walked to the front, open the hood, spread his hands wide, leand in close and listened. He stood very still, only moving his head slightly from time to time. "Do you hear that he asked?" I moved closer along with the owner and we listened as if we were trying to pick out an oboe in an orchestra. "That..he said?" All I could hear was an old engine missing as if it were on its last leg. Mr. Kitchens moved over to one side and slid his hand towards the back of the engine down close to the distributor cap and he searched carefully with his hand until he found the vacuum hose which runs somewhere deep in the engine compartment. When he found the hose he slid his finger up and down until he felt the tiniest hint of suction and he sealed a leak with his thumb and the engine started purring like a sewing machine. A few minutes later he had cut a length of small rubber hose from a larger hose arranged on his shop wall and replaced the defective vacuum hose. He charged the owner $3.00 and the older man paid with three wrinkled bills and drove off with a smile on his face.
"You can learn a lot just by listening," Mr. Kitchens said as the guy drove away. I was young then and knew that I enjoyed his company but I had no inkling of the depth and wisdom of his words.
These days life comes at you fast. Often you spend more time reacting than you do thinking or listening. I think we all could benefit from the words or Mr. Kitchens. Listen....you'll be amazed at what you can hear.