Helping Andy Macbeth

Andy Macbeth always seemed grumpy anytime I saw him and for a couple of years I saw him a lot. Mr. Macbeth, as he was known to me, had pulled from his barn in the Klamath Glen an antique fire engine.

I believe it was a 1912 Ford.

It had been stored away for years and needed major repairs to make it road-worthy. That’s exactly what Mr. Macbeth set about to do, working on it every weekend.

For over two years he worked on the old fire truck as it sat in a display room attached to the Yurok Volunteer Fire Department, jus’ down the street from home. I used to hang around the station so I could see what he was doing.
One day I got up the guts to ask if he needed help. At first he said he didn’t, but then for some reason he changed his mind.

He was under the vehicle working on the motor and he had me sit in the front seat. He told me that when he said, “Okay,” I was to step on the clutch pedal and push the button on the dash, which was connected to the started.

I sat there on pins-and-needles, waiting for the word.

Suddenly I heard him bark. I dutifully stepped on the clutch and pushed the button. And jus’ as suddenly, I heard him shouting and yelling.

I jumped down to see what was wrong.

Mr. Macbeth came out from under the truck, covered from head to shoulder in motor oil. He yelled at me, saying he had said, “Stay,” and not “Okay.”

He had the strangest look on his face and it frightened me. So I turned and ran, crossing Redwood Drive, towards an A-frame building that was home to Bob White Realty.

I heard the wrench he threw, crash into the sidewalk’s gutter, but I never looked back.

Instead I ran as fast as I could down the gravel road to the baseball diamond, then up the hill behind the visiting team dugout and into the Walcott’s backyard. I raced across the field behind the Myers’ home and Mrs. Keating’s house, crossing Redwood Drive again and home.

I went inside and stayed inside, too afraid to come out.