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In the high-tech world we live in, driving by a gas station at night can cause momentary blindness if you're not wearing sunglasses. Under those bright lights, you can fill up your tank, buy a gallon of milk, grab a hot sandwich, and wash your car all at one stop, anytime, 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.
Before 1910, there was little need for gas stations because owning an automobile was restricted to the wealthy. During this time, motorists were required to visit the local kerosene refinery on the city outskirts, haul a bucket of fuel to their vehicle, and then use a funnel to pour it into the car's gas tank, which was located under the front seat.
After Henry Ford perfected the mass production of motor cars, owning a car became much more common. Hardware stores and carriage makers soon added a gas pump to the front stoop of their building and as more and more companies began making gasoline, stations began to appear. Unlike the automated pumps of today, the old-fashioned ones took some muscle to hand pump.
Around the 1920s, gas stations expanded. Some put up neon signs to advertise their name and many added vending machines and water fountains. New pumps offered two grades of gasoline without hand pumping and had glass covered gauges that displayed the amount of gas being dispensed and the cost.
A gas station attendant, sometimes called a "gas jockey," cleaned the windshield and checked the oil and water while the tank was filling up. In those days, it took around 8 minutes to fill the small 5-gallon tanks that were common on the automobiles of that time.
When I was a little girl growing up in north Alabama, my parents owned a small gas station in downtown Albertville. We opened for business each morning at the crack of dawn and Daddy pumped gas all day until the sun set in the western sky.
He kept a straight-back chair by the front entrance of the store and as soon as an automobile pulled off the road and onto our lot, he was out the door with a smile. The customers came in "spurts," meaning there were times during the day that the pumps remained empty and then other times when they were lined up clear to the road. "When one car pulls in, others usually follow," Daddy always said.
Momma and I rarely ever pumped gas, because we were in charge of the inside of the store. I can still remember standing on a tall wooden stool positioned in front of the big, black cash register with long rows of buttons. I was taught how to count money and make change when most kids were learning how to color within the lines and say their ABC's.
There were three pumps at our Exxon, all under one canopy. One was for regular gasoline, one for unleaded and the other dispensed premium. The price for regular gas in 1970 was .36 cents a gallon and we sold hundreds of gallons every day. I recall there were several customers who dropped by on a regular basis, either for gas, a cold drink or cigarettes. There was a man named Bill who smoked Camel's and kept the small pack rolled up in the right sleeve of his uniform shirt. He wore a cap and usually paid with a twenty, "just so I can see that little girl count out all that change," he said with a smile. Joe worked at the tire place across the street and walked over every afternoon for an R.C. Cola, a Moon Pie and a few minutes of conversation.
My family drove to the Farmer's Market in Birmingham on Sunday mornings before 5:00 am to buy large baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables at wholesale prices. On Monday mornings, we had many regular patrons who dropped by for a carton of fresh, vine-ripe tomatoes or a large, juicy watermelon.
When the gas shortage caused prices to go up in the mid-1970s, customers wanted the best price they could find. Many gas stations changed over to self-service to cut costs but Daddy kept his prices competitive with the larger stores and continued to pump gas, wash windshields and check oil. He refused to change our quality of service because he enjoyed waiting on people and talking to them while the gas flowed from the red and white pump into their vehicle. He said it was good, honest work. And working hard was something he never shied away from as far back as I can remember.
There are still a few full-service gas stations scattered around the country. In fact, the same business our family once owned is still a gas station and a "full-service" sign continues to hang near the road. A couple of white-haired, retired men work the morning hours and love to talk a spell while pumping your gas, just like Dad used to do.
Young high school boys sit in the chairs at the front door during the afternoon hours. They don't talk much as they pump your gas, but stare into the distance with crossed arms trying to appear indifferent. I guess being a "gas jockey" isn't quite as cool as it used to be.
In honor of the good old days, I still pull in occasionally for a tank of gas and a soft drink. Sometimes the convenience of "one-stop shopping" just can't replace memories. And I don't even have to wear my sunglasses.
Pumping Gas with a Smile
© Sandy Williams Driver
Published by U.S. Legacies June 2004