Those were the words you would have heard many years
ago when you pulled up to the gas pumps at your local
filling station. The term, “Filling Station” isn’t heard much
anymore but that’s what we called them back then. I
suppose it was because their main reason for existing was
to fill up your vehicle with whatever it needed to keep
running. It didn’t matter if you were low on gasoline, oil, or
air in your tires; the filling station was the place to go.

There wasn’t any such thing as “self serve” gasoline pumps
at that time. Actually, they might even have called the
sheriff if you were out there messing with the pumps in
those days because they would have thought you were up
to no good.

I remember one of those filling stations in particular
because my father ran Perry’s Station in Edina, Mo. The
station stood just a few feet south of where the Pick-A-Dilly
Quik Stop/Amoco is located now. The area looks much
different now because when Perry’s Station was there, a
large two-story house stood at the corner. The station itself
was just south of that house and there was a small trailer
park behind the station. A tall Skelly sign stood out in the
front of the station right by highway 15 and there was a little
flower garden beneath the sign that made the entrance
attractive all summer long.

As people drove into the station, their tires would run over a
hose that stretched across the driveway. Driving over the
hose would cause a bell to ring inside the station so if the
attendants weren’t looking, or were working in the back,
they would hear the “tire bell” and hurry out because they
knew they had a customer. I can remember being
reprimanded occasionally for jumping on that tire bell but it
was quite an exciting challenge to a small girl to be able to
jump hard enough on just the right spot to make it ring.

When that tire bell rang, the attendants would often come
out in teams. One might pump the gas while the other
cleaned the windshields. They treated customers to what
would seem almost like pit stop service at a car race,
except for the fact that they didn’t move quite that fast.

When stopping at the station, you might pass the time of
day with Ralph, Curley, Jim, or Stanley as they serviced
your vehicle. A lot of local news was passed along as well
as the latest weather forecast that was usually determined
by someone’s rheumatism.

In those days, many of the station attendants wore work
uniforms. The nametag patch that was sewn above the
pocket on their shirts told you who they were, just in case
you were a stranger in town and didn’t already know their
names. I understand it was a little confusing that day when
Curley didn’t have any clean shirts so he borrowed one from
Ralph.

While you waited for your tank to fill, your windshield
would be washed and you would be asked, “Need that oil
checked?” Essentially, anything that you needed checked
was done free of charge and you didn’t even have to get out
of your vehicle. If a pretty girl drove in, the attendants
would fight over who got to wash the windshield. Their
windshields must have been particularly dirty because it
seemed to take longer for the attendants to wash them.

Unlike the quick stop gas stations today, you could
usually get an oil change, grease job, or maybe buy new
tires or belts for your vehicle. Most filling stations also fixed
flat tires and you had a choice of either a “hot patch” or a
“cold patch,” because the tires had inner tubes.

The filling stations also kept mechanics on staff they
could fix whatever was wrong with your car. They didn’t
hook your vehicle up to a computer back then either
because vehicles were made so that a good mechanic
could tell what was wrong by just listening to the engine
or driving the vehicle a short distance.

Stations also had something called gasoline wars. It wasn’t
as bad as it sounds since it wasn’t a real war. It was called
a gas war because stations would compete for business.
The price of the gasoline would be advertised on a
temporary sign out in front of the participating stations with
the words “Gas War!” written on it. The cost of the gasoline
often changed on a daily basis. That’s not a whole lot
different from today except that the prices went down
instead of up like they do now. Back in those days,
gasoline normally ran around 25 cents per gallon but during
the gas wars I can remember one time that it got down to
11 cents per gallon.

It was also not unusual for stations to offer incentives
to draw business. On busy highways, you would see stations
in the shape of teepees or there might be a huge concrete
animal such as a dinosaur out in front of the station. Even
Edina had the White Castle Station that was built to look
like a castle. Although the castle look no longer remains,
the station is still right there providing many of the same
services it did years ago.

Another way they attracted business was to give a free gift
if you filled up your tank at their particular station. That’s
why most of us had our kitchen cabinets full of those shiny,
aluminum drinking glasses in every color of the rainbow.

Another enticement to buy gasoline at certain stations was
offering free “sody pop” or soft drinks to children. The
selections then were not a lot different than now but I
remember a soft drink called Green River that was a lemon-
lime flavor. There was Nesbitt’s orange, root beer, cream
and chocolate soda too. They all came in bottles with caps
that had to be pried off with a pop opener and we got them
out of a red flip top cooler that sat inside the station.

Filling stations were much like the old general stores when
it came to stopping in and talking for a while to catch up on
local happenings. My Dad was always one for a joke and he
usually had one to tell or he would do something to make
people laugh. Folks were always taking up collections for
some worthwhile cause. It was not unusual to see a coffee
can with a label on it to donate to some need in the
area. Daddy fixed up a coffee can one day with a label on it
that read, “Perry Retirement Fund.” Everyone knew it was a
joke, of course, but he got a lot of laughs from that can and
as I remember he even got a couple of pennies in it.

That’s pretty much the way things were years ago before
self-serve gas stations came along with their push button
pumps with a slot for a credit card. The machine will tell you
what to do on the little screen and if you squint really hard,
you can almost read what it says if the sun isn’t shining on it.

The first time I used one of these new gas pumps, it went
something like this:

I put the card in the machine and the screen said, “Remove
card quickly.”

I obeyed and jerked the card out hastily because I was
afraid that meant the machine might eat it if I didn’t.

The machine said, “Insert card again.”

I decided that I must have inserted the card wrong so I
turned it over and inserted it again. I couldn’t help but
wonder with all of today’s technology, why couldn’t they just
make a machine to read either side of the card?

I put the card in again and this time it asked me if I wanted
a receipt. I sighed and pushed “Yes” thinking that maybe
the machine would just let me have some gas so I could go home!”

At last, I thought I was done but then the screen flashed,
“Out of paper…come inside for receipt.”

I wondered why I had gone to all this trouble if I have to go
inside anyway?

By this time, I found myself standing there talking to a
machine and about to say something not very nice to it, and
I was speculating about whether the machine would send
“Big Brother” after me if I left without the receipt.

I decided I had better go inside the station with my credit
card just in case I had messed up the whole procedure.
The proprietor looked at me strangely and I wondered if that
traitor machine had flashed on the screen inside the station
the words, “Caution, Dummy at the pump!”

Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I kind of miss somebody
coming out and pumping the gas, washing the windshield,
and asking me if I think it might rain. I’ve also noticed it’s
kind of hard on the folks to pump gas who are elderly,
handicapped, or even for Moms with three or four children in
car seats all screaming at the same while she is out there
squinting at that read-out screen.

Yes, you can stop and get gasoline without ever talking to
a real person these days but you have to admit it’s a little
lonely at the pump.

By Pamela R. Blaine
© August 2003