A Revisionist's History: Painter Hayes

This morning while driving to seminary, I was thinking about an acquaintance in the ward here that commutes daily all the way to Everett. He told me yesterday that the drive doesn’t take too long in the morning before traffic, but that it can stretch out into two hours in the evening. Fortunately, for Rob Harvey, he and his wife just closed on a home in Lake Stevens, which is where this story begins.

Years ago, while living outside of Seattle during my early teen years, a difficult and pivotal era for many reasons, I met a man named Jim Hayes. Jim became one of my earliest employers painting homes in the Lake Stevens region. As I remembered Jim on my drive this morning, I realized in retrospect that he also figures prominently among the cast of mentors from those formative years.

By the time our paths crossed in 1990–91, Jim must have been in his late 60’s. Even today most of the details surrounding his circumstances remain apocryphal to me, and I prefer it that way. As I remember it, Jim married a younger woman in her late 30’s (not his first wife) and they had two children: an infant and a young boy around the age of five. Jim served in Vietnam, worked in the computer industry, sold cars (Dodge/Mitsubishi), and finally, by the time we met, painted homes.

1970 Dodge Polara

During the summer days when I worked for him, Jim would pick me up in the mornings in his 1970 four-door Dodge Polara. In the early 90’s, this car was anathema to teenage boys. (I can’t honestly say that my feelings for this sorry misuse of Detroit steel have changed much over the last 20 years.) The bench seats and vast expanses of olive green vinyl were foreign and just old enough to be nauseating like the shag carpet, amber glass, and harvest gold finishes in the split-entry homes that typified the Seattle region at the time.

The Polara

For reasons unknown to me—but perhaps related to the reason(s) why he had been married so many times before, Jim spent a good period of that summer living in the Polara. And in that regard, the Polara was a fortunate choice. Between the trunk and the back seat, he probably had at his disposal just shy of 120 cubic feet of rolling storage space. Doubling as a “workplace” and a “residence,” the Polara’s interior became a confusing mess of clothes, food wrappers (think 7-11 hot dogs and big gulps), and painting equipment. For some reason, I remember a tennis racket shuffling around from the backseat to the trunk.

7-11 paraphenalia.

Still, Jim was the kind of man that leant credibility to these things. Social strictures and conventions held no power over him. In the eyes of a fourteen-year-old boy, he walked with all the confidence of a man who was kind enough to condescend to the level of boy. I would climb into that car and, while he pointed the helm northward, listen as he regaled me of stories of the glory days.

Is this something people like? 

One of my favorite Hayes stories, “Beer and Bananas” took place one afternoon during his time in Vietnam. Suffering from ravenous hunger, he consumed an elevated number of bananas. After which, he washed it all down with a beer or two or perhaps an equally elevated number of beers. According to Jim, the pain resulting from this indiscretion was indescribable but certainly on par with labor and delivery. Not sure how he knew that.

Really?

Anyway, Troy Williams, another of his lackeys and a friend of mine, found this story very entertaining, alluding to it often in our conversations. At the time, I laughed mostly at the sight of seeing the two of them laugh so hard. But I’m still a little confused as to why that was so funny. It sounds mostly painful.

The Conquest

Jim sold cars for Chrysler during the 1980’s when Dodge really began importing and rebadging Mitsubishis. He first saw the car of his dreams while working at the dealership. On the lot at the time, they had a Chrysler Conquest, which was nothing more than an exact copy of the Mitsubishi Starion. Jim raved about this car. And as my dream-car at the time was the replacement of the Conquest (the “Diamond-Star Trio” Mitsubishi Eclipse/Plymouth Laser/Eagle Talon), I was all ears.  

Another Conquest

I remember working on at least one school night for Jim. That particular evening Troy and I were helping Jim on a job painting a double-wide somewhere around Lake Stevens. As we wrapped up for the evening, Jim asked Troy and I to clean some paint off the linoleum floor in the kitchen using mineral spirits. I remember having an excellent time from that point forward. Somehow everything suddenly struck me as hilarious with a capital “H”. That was my first and last exposure to solvents in confined/unventilated spaces, although you probably couldn’t tell it just by looking at me.

At any rate, I worked for Jim off and on for weeks. I don’t remember most of the places we worked and most of the stories he shared. I do remember, however, that shortly before moving he owed me something approaching $250. That represented a small fortune for a 14-year-old and probably for Hayes as well. We moved to Spokane later that year opening a much brighter phase of my life. But Hayes never paid me.

I shamelessly begged my parents for an advance on that money. They knew Jim better than I, though and never agreed. Of all the lessons he could have taught me, this was one of the most valuable. I remember thinking at the time “I am going to lose this money, and my parents aren’t going to do a thing about it.” Grudgingly, I admitted it they were right. There are no guarantees in life. Nobody owes you anything and the sooner you realize this the less time you’ll spend tying yourself up in knots with hate and frustration.

Clearly, Jim wasn’t a role model. I could see that even from my vantage point in my early teens. And yet, that was something he never aimed to be. Jim shared his unvarnished life with me. Sure, he patiently taught me about painting. More importantly though, he taught me about truth and consequences. And that is why I still feel appreciation for Painter Hayes.