Fill'er Up!

Old-fashioned full-service gas stations like Swan’s in Almond, Wis., are as rare as the noon whistle, and yes, they still do that here, too.

A clunky ding-ding sounds when someone drives over the black rubber hose stretched in front of Swan Oil. It may as well be Greg Swan’s front doorbell. He’s on his way.

“Fill ’er up?” he asks as soon as Bob Van cranks down his window.

“Yep,” Van nods.

Swan pumps the gas, then grabs a squeegee from a sudsy bucket parked between the two pumps and cleans the windshield.

“Need that oil checked today?” Swan asks.

Old-fashioned full-service gas stations like Swan’s in Almond, Wis., (pop. 679) are as rare as the noon whistle, and yes, they still do that here, too.

These traditional stations aren’t fancy. Unpretentious, often with bare concrete floors, the air may be redolent of grease, with a waft coming from the back where flats are fixed and engines tuned. The coffee looks leaded.

But they’re wonderful places.

“Self-service? Forget it,” declares Dorothy O’Keefe, 74, a customer at Swan’s. “I’ve never pumped my own gas. Ninety percent of us are retired here and we all patronize Greg so we don’t have to get out of our cars. He’s an asset to this community.”

At a time when motorists grumble about the price of gas, loyal customers like O’Keefe cheerfully pay a nickel more per gallon. It’s full service, and much more. It’s personal service from a friend or neighbor.

“Greg takes care of my vehicle just like it’s his own,” O’Keefe says. “And you never see him crabby.”

Although it isn’t necessary to get out of the car at Swan’s, plenty of customers do so they can fill up on the town news. A hodgepodge of chairs cluster in the front of the 1967 building where 10 or so guys congregate. So far, the wisecracking hasn’t wilted the jungle of green vining in the front window. The humble décor is a bit of this and that and an occasional “what in the world?” directed at objects such as the antique sheep shearing contraption Swan has inside his garage.

Time for a pop break

“Whoever’s around town at 10 and 2 shows up and takes a pop break,” Gary Rast says. “We flip a coin to see who has to buy.” Swan records the name of the loser on the wall calendar. This coin flipping is taken seriously. The loser buys and the rest of the guys plug a quarter in the can, which has raised more than $1,000 for the local Crime Stoppers program.

For Swan, 41, the station on Main Street feels like home. He started pumping gas there as a teenager in the 1970s. His late brother, Richard Swan, owned the station from 1978 to 1992. Then Greg took over.

“It hasn’t changed one bit, only now my old classmates are my customers,” he says with a laugh.

A brisk business keeps him hustling between repairs in the back and gas pumps out front. Some customers drive out of their way to do business at the full-serve.

“They’re a dying breed,” says Jerry Johnson, of Waukee, Iowa, (pop. 5,126) as he waits for Swan to check the oil on his company van. “It’s worth the extra money because he’ll see things that I don’t see. Plus, these full-service stations are owner-operated. They aren’t chains.”

In the 1970s, stations like Swan’s began fading from the landscape as automotive service centers, convenience stores, and cheaper gas at self-serve pumps took over.

Don Clark, 52, owner of Clark’s in Eskridge, Kan., (pop. 589) knows how rare it is to find a traditional station like his 1935 brick one.

“I have people come in here from other states and take my picture while I wash their window,” he says.

Another full-service holdout is Frank’s Exxon in Hartsville, S.C., (pop. 7,556) where J.D. Lewis, 68, keeps his vacuum cleaner handy in case someone needs the gravel swept from the floorboards after he cleans the windshield and checks under the hood.

“We operate like we did 40 years ago,” Lewis says. “We still do the road service. I feel like the full-service is an advantage. I’ve got so many older people who’d have nowhere else to go.”

The honor system

The posted hours at the 1937 Olson’s Service Station in Sentinel Butte, N.D., (pop. 62) are merely a formality. Albert and Delores Olson make sure that no one runs on empty here after hours. And if the Olsons can’t be raised at their house next door, no problem. About every driver in town has a key to the pump.

“We’ve given out probably 40 keys,” says Delores, 65. “We operate on the honor system after hours. We trust people.” Customers gas up and drop the money or an I.O.U. through a slot in the wall.

Meanwhile, at Swan Oil a trio of bicyclists pedals up and beelines to the orange hose looped on the side of the green metal station. He heads over and checks the tires for 10-year-old triplets Kelsey and Jacob Wedig. Kayleigh will probably ride over later.

“Looks like you need that seat adjusted,” Swan tells Carly Rast, 12. He loosens the seat with a wrench and hikes it a notch. “That’s better,” says Carly, flashing a melt-your-heart smile.

Norman Kurkowski, one of the regulars, shakes his head. “Greg’s got kids coming in here all the time,” he says. “He fixes chains and handlebars and seats. This is quite a station.”

Kurkowski’s favorite story, though, about the Swan brothers’ full-service is the time an ailing older resident drove up and honked. Richard Swan ran out. “He said, ‘I don’t need any gas, but I can’t reach down and tie my shoes.’” Swan tied his shoes and the fellow drove off.

Kurkowski has been doing business at this location for 50 years. “Price has nothing to do with it,” he says. “This is our station. I don’t care if gas is $5 a gallon, I’ll still come here. If we have a flat tire, we call Greg. My son’s truck blew an alternator. Greg took care of it.”

Swan is open weekdays from 6:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. and Saturdays until noon, but “the clock doesn’t mean much,” he admits. He opens up after hours when people run out of gas or need emergency repairs. One Christmas Eve, a customer hit a snowdrift in his van and a fan belt came off.

“We got the van pulled in here and I fixed it. You can’t leave someone stranded,” Swan says.

Swan plans to keep operating the old filling station exactly the way it’s always been done. That means running a tab for customers and fixing a 30-pound batch of peanut brittle every Christmas to give away.

“I could never go self-serve,” he says. “I have little old ladies tell me every day that they wouldn’t know how to put in their own gas.”

Now and then these full-service gas stations can still be found along the road, but the miles between them are getting longer. They aren’t flashy. No neon in the window. Most likely, the windows are chock-full with auction bills and a hand-lettered poster for the school carnival.

In fact, these stations wouldn’t rate a second look—unless you’re old enough to remember the sound of that driveway bell.

Then it feels like coming home.

“Fill ’er up, please.”

Marti Attoun is a regular contributor to American Profile.

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