By Arvid Huisman

 

Sixty-years ago income opportunities for young teens in Iowa’s farm villages were scarce.

 

In the summer of 1962 our family was living in the little town of Kamrar (population at the time: 225, give or take a few relatives). I was 14, new to the town and hungry for some spending money but too young for most of the available work on area farms.

 

Meanwhile, I noticed a lot of dirty cars around town. I had read that the best way to make a buck was to find a need and fill it and, with that in mind, Deluxe Car Wash was born.

 

Unfortunately, the new business was severely under-capitalized. Needing a sign, I scrounged around the local lumberyard for some wood scraps and then scratched together enough change to purchase hardware and paint at Percy Arends’ hardware store. Within a couple of days a nifty black and white sign was in place in front of our house. “Deluxe Car Wash,” it said. The sign advertised a car wash for $1.50, I recall, and a wash and wax for $4.

 

My equipment was borrowed: Dad’s garden hose, Mom’s Electrolux canister vacuum cleaner, an unclaimed sponge and wiping materials from the family rag box. 

 

Within several days our next-door neighbor became my first customer. Miss Hass’ car was a dark blue 1961 Chevrolet Biscayne; six cylinder and straight stick. (Former 14-year-old boys remember those things.)

 

I don’t remember just how many cars I washed that summer, but I do recall some of my regular customers. I remember even better the fact that while I was only 14-years-old some folks may have incorrectly assumed from my 6’2” and 200-pound frame that I was old enough to have a driver’s license. 

 

“The car is sitting in front of the house,” they said on the phone. “Just pick it up and bring it back when you’re done.” I happily complied.  

 

This worked well until a customer asked if I could deliver his car to his farm a few miles east of town. I assured him I’d be happy to. 

 

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