Stories and Anecdotes

Below are anecdotes submitted by friends of the B&L.
Please feel free to comment and share your own story with us.

My roommate and I lived at 88 Spring street in academic year 1974 and 1975. The house we lived in, a 2 family directly across from the station, was owned by the college and we lived upstairs and paid rent in lieu of board. One year, not sure which year, the son of art history professor Witt Stoddard, who was a mechanic working at the garage, taught a Winter Study course called “The Function and Maintenance of your Automobile”. I took the course and used my 1968 Ford Mustang for the labs! Also, one day was locked out of the apartment so I borrowed a ladder from Art, the owner, and climbed in the front window. Years later, upon visiting for home coming, I introduced Art to my young daughters and he pulled a picture out of his drawer of me climbing in the window. We always enjoyed conversations with Art.
Thomas Villanova

Art was always very accommodating and cheerfully helpful.

His shop actually made house calls to start ailing cars.

Art was a store of alumni knowledge, remembering grads from many years past.

What long hours he put in !! Ask him.
Bob Behr '55

In the early 90's sometime (maybe late 80's, who knows), I had an

emergency brake problem that another service station told me would cost

$400. I took the car to Art and they made an adjustment and charged me $5.

Miss that guy.

Bob Ouellette

OIT



While Hopkins Hall was being renovated in the late 80s, the public

affairs office operated out of Denison Gate House, that little brown

building across from the gas station. Walking to and from there

several times a day made me realize that Art Lafave should have been

on our office's payroll.  An amazing percentage of the time, while

filling the car of a visitor to town, he was answering their questions.

Jim Kolesar

Assistant to the President for Public Affairs



First, within my first weeks at Williams, Professor Burger dedicated

one of our early morning Math 105 classes to a bonding experience--a

race around the campus.  I cannot remember many of the details of the

race course (it was fairly elaborate), but I do remember that the

B&L station was labeled as "honor code elbow," in other words, we

were not to cut across the paved area of the station but to stay on the

sidewalk for the entire 90 degree angled corner.   That race is

something I've never forgotten, and it reminds me that the gas station,

the only one within walking distance of the college, was truly a campus

landmark.

Second, I enjoyed having a car at Williams for my senior year.  I drove

that car with the gas warning light on for weeks (no trip was ever

long), and I did this because of the B&L station.  I figured that

regardless of where I happened to be when/if the gas actually ran out,

I could never be too far to walk for more.  In addition to gas, the

folks at B&L plugged a hole in my car tire once, something that was

much appreciated.

Kate Lanford Joy

Williams '95

Phil McKnight told us a story about his daughter Sarah '93:
Sarah drove a red VW Golf during her time at Williams. One winter she was visiting her parents at their rural Williamstown home and ended up getting stuck in the muddy road. The Golf sank into the mud, and Sarah ended up getting out of the car, and loosing a shoe in the process of trying to rescue the car. They were eventually able to get the car out, but the entire bottom was caked with mud. She brought the car to Art, who told her that she had a flat tire and helped her to hose off the bottom of the car. Sarah and Phil were most impressed by the fact that Art did not pass judgment on her or laugh at her throughout this whole experience. Phil said that this was a "good example of Art's kindness." Art didn't consider anyone a customer with a dollar sign," Phil explained, also stating that Roger [St. Pierre] and Art are the "last remaining holy guard of Spring Street." Phil believes that Art is a symbol of an older generation of Spring Street, something that is changing now as chains and commercial entrepreneurs move in. Phil also believes that Tunnel City continues the same kind of community service that was exemplified in Art's work at B&L.

Tom Bleezarde shared his stories about Art with us:
Mr. Bleezarde believes that Art is an important part of the town fabric, and that B&L served the community as a place where one could leave messages and bump into to others from the community throughout the day. Tom describes Art as a "small town boy" in the best sense of the word. He says that you can ask Art about anything and you know that you will get a straight answer; whether it be about cars or information about other people. "He kept a finger on the pulse of the community," Tom said, explaining that Art could always get people what they needed, or could point them in the right direction to find where to get something. Tom noted that Art was extremely adept at establishing relationships with people even once they had left, and noted that he did a great job of being sensitive to his "more difficult customers."

When we were kids in the 40's and 50's, we were outside all day long and all over town. We had to know where the bathrooms were that we could use in case one was needed. One of them, before it was the B&L, was in the gas station at the foot of Spring Street.

Sally Elizabeth Stocking

Classmate of Art Lafave

Daughter of Professor Fred H. Stocking, English Department, Williams College

Herb Allen (’62) shared some stories about Art with us:

Herb described Art as “extremely personable,” “extremely sophisticated,” and as “one of the smartest guys in town.” Herb told us that had the ’62 center been placed at the foot of Spring Street it would have been called Art’s Performance Center, both because of his friendship with Art and because of Art’s immense support for putting the Center on Spring Street. Herb also thinks that Tunnel City is an extremely successful enterprise and a worthy replacement for the B&L. He says that both Art and the staff of Tunnel City are "invaluable."

For Art’s Sake

by Robert H. Bell

The only thing more trying than a vacation is a vacation with your car.

Besides the awesome responsibility of navigating strange lands and finding disguised places like airports and interstate highways, I hate worrying about whether my car will make it.

What I do is to leave home as rarely as possible. When I absolutely have to make a trip, I take the Subaru to Art at B&L Gulf. "Fill her up, Art," I say, "and you better give her the usual once-over."

"Going out of town?" Art asks. Art knows my psyche better than most anyone. I'm the kind of guy for whom those Delco radiator belt ads were invented. "You never know when your belt will wear out--and where you'll be when it does." Cut to forlorn pilgrim trekking through the Sahara Desert.

Many times I've called Art with trouble. He gets my car, reassures me, and goes to work. An hour or so later he's fixed it.

"What's the damage, Art?"

"Two thirty eight."

"Two hundred and thirty eight dollars! Wow! What was wrong?"

"No, two dollars and thirty-eight cents. A little rubber ring on the piston was worn out. I tried to get you a used one but couldn't match it, so we had to buy you a new one."

"Jeez, Art," I stammer, with tears of gratitude in my eyes, "what would I do without you guys?"

"We're just your local, small-town service station."

For this kind of service, Art should be canonized. He's already the Patron Saint of my Subaru, the Guru of Go-Go.

When I had to take a vacation at Martha's Vineyard, I steeled myself for the ordeal. For the first few days the Kind Gods seemed to be smiling. On the fifth day, just as I was beginning to worry in earnest about the return trip (making the ferry, negotiating the drive, finding Route 128 when Route 95 veers off, coddling the radiator belt), the Ironical Gods sneered.

"It won't turn over," I yelled, deleting adjectives, in a certain whining tone I use when inanimate objects conspire against me. "I better call Art."

"Call Art from Martha's Vineyard at suppertime?" asked my wife gently, the way you'd ask a guy if he really wants to jump off the bridge.

"I don't expect him to make house calls to Martha's Vineyard," I replied, more-or-less calmly, "but he might be able to explain the parameters of the disaster. Then I'll know what to say to the local felons who pose as mechanics. Otherwise they'll rebuild my engine with silly putty and band-aids and charge me six hundred bucks."

"Oh, don't be silly. Get the cables, jump start the car, and take it to the garage. It's probably the battery," she said, opening the trunk. "Where do you keep the jumper cables?"

"Right where I can find them--hanging in the utility closet."

I cursed for a couple of hours while my wife located somebody with jumper cables and the kindness to jump start our car. As I pull into Vineyard Auto Repair and Loans, full of fear and trembling, I invoke Art prayerfully.

"She won't start," I comment to a grimy mechanic.

"Hey, fella, we'll do the diagnosis," he snarls. "Didgya make an appointment or what?"

"Jeez, no, I kind of hoped you might be able to help me. We're sort of stranded without a car and no way to get to the beach. . ."

"Save the sob story, Mac. Ten thousand people on this Island and everybody's got a story. We'll try to get to it tomorrow or the next day. . ."

"Oh, thank you so much." Fortunately I had brought along some dirt to grovel in. "It sure would be great if you could squeeze it in tomorrow. . ."

Hitch-hiking back to the beach house, a little light bulb goes on in my head. Next summer, instead of taking my family and a baby sitter to the beach, I'll take my family and Art. I'm sure we could come to terms for his time that week. He'd probably appreciate a week on the beach and I'd certainly appreciate peace of mind.

Two days later, after hitch-hiking back to Vineyard Auto Repairs and Loans, I encounter the boss, who is smirking. "Well," I ask, "what's the damage?"

"Two thirty eight."

"Gosh, that's great!" I exclaim. "What was it, a little rubber ring or something?"

"Nah, we had to replace the starter. Had to ship it from the mainland. You're getting off easy for only two hundred and thirty-eight bucks."