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     By Martin Bunn (John L. Bellah)

POB #156 La Habra, California 90633-0156  (562) 301-4507  pfmteched@yahoo.com

The 1969 Dodge Dart struggled on four working cylinders up the service apron of the Model Garage and pulled up to one of the gas pumps. Stan Hicks, Gus Wilson’s competent assistant, walked up to the raggedly-idling compact, to see Silas Barnstable, the town’s most notorious skinflint, sitting in the driver’s seat. “Hello Silas, what brings you to the Model Garage today?”

“Young Whippersnapper! Are you stupid, deaf, or lame? This thing idles like a cement mixer!”

“So, what’s the story behind this, Silas?”

“This dang car runs terrible!”

“I can hear it, Silas. Is this one of your cars you took in for an overdue mortgage payment?”

“Yeah—not that it is any of your danged business, but I can’t flip-it running this way. All it needs is a leedle carburetor adjustment.”

“A carburetor adjustment?”

“Yeah, the dealer said it needs a new carburetor—at $75 installed. That’s highway robbery! I won’t pay them robbers!”

“Okay, Silas. Drive it into the shop and let’s check it out.” Barnstable ran the old Dodge into the service bay, raised the hood, and hooked up the oscilloscope leads to the compact V-8 engine. Looking at the irregular pattern on the scope, Stan remarked; This car idles on only four cylinders. How does it run on the road, Silas?”

“Crappy, ‘cept when you floor it. Then it runs like stink! Don’t none of you Model Garage bandits try to hijack me by selling a new carburetor. And I won’t pay for that fancy electronic diagnoses. Get out a screwdriver and adjust the carburetor.”

Gus Wilson, returning from obtaining parts, walked into the shop, carrying two cups of coffee, handing one to Stan. “What’s going on here, Silas?”

“Gus, this young whippersnapper needs to learn mechanics, instead of trying to sell me an expensive tune-up or a new carburetor. Why the dealer already tried to sell me a new carburetor that I don’t need. I’ve had it with you chiseling grease-monkeys, selling me unnecessary  parts and labor I don’t need! Tell your boy to get to work and adjust the carburetor”

Gus cleared his throat. “Well, Silas, you’re welcome to take your business elsewhere….”

Sputtering; “Those crooks at the dealer want almost one-hundred dollars installed for a new carburetor I don’t need.”

“Okay, Silas. From the beginning, what’s going on?”

“Gus, I told that youngster, I took this car in for two overdue mortgage payments. It began to cough and sputter, gulpin’ gas, and belchin’ a lot of black smoke outta the tailpipe. So, even I know it has a bum carburetor.”

“So, what did you and your neighbor kid do?”

Standing up to his full height, Barnstable smugly announced, I got me a new carburetor from Jake’s wrecking yard. Put it on myself! Cost me $5, after I traded in the old one.”

Turning to Stan, Gus went; “What’s going on, Stan?”

“Gus, the scope says at idle, it’s only firing on four cylinders. Silas says it idles like a ‘cement-mixer.’ At wide-open throttle, however, he says it screams.”

With a wink; “Do you think what I think, Stan?”

Barnstable interjected; “Time is money, Wilson! Quit flap-jawin and get down to adjusting the danged carburetor!”

Stan removed the air-filter. “No wonder! Check this out, Gus.

“I see.”

“Get down to work, Wilson. I ain’t paying for your fancy coffee breaks. Now what’s wrong with my car?”

“Face it, Silas, you need a new carburetor.”

“I’ve had it with you chislin’ mechanics. Just adjust the dang thing.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Silas.”

“Horsefeathers, Gus! Don’t try to hornswoggle me. Just give it the adjustment it needs, and let me go, or I’ll report you to the Better Business Bureau!”

“Listen up, Silas. This carburetor you bought from Jake is the wrong carburetor. It appears to be for a Datsun or Toyota.”

“Yeah, Mr. Smarty, know-it-all Gus Wilson! I checked. It’s a two-barrel, like the one I took off. And it fit on the manifold. Just adjust it.”

“Here’s a screwdriver, Silas. You adjust it.” Barnstable reluctantly took the screwdriver, peered at the engine around. “Gus, where’s the other adjustment?

“Silas, your V-8 engine has eight cylinders—two banks of four cylinders. That engine requires a proper two-barrel carburetor, which is designed for your car. One side of the carburetor, feeds   four cylinders. The other side feeds the other four cylinders. Your replacement carburetor, is for a four-cylinder in-line Datsun engine. This is a two-stage carburetor—which feeds all four cylinders. One barrel is the primary side, which feeds all four cylinders, and gives good fuel economy—which you would appreciate. However, the secondary side is larger, and opens only at wide-open-throttle, for performance, like passing a truck. Your ‘jerry-rigged’ carb will never run right on your Dodge.”

“What’s to do Gus?”

“Well, to begin, you need to put the proper carburetor on the car for it to run properly. The dealer will gladly sell you a new carburetor. Or, you can go to the bargain parts store for a rebuilt unit. You can also go back to Jake’s and ask for your old carburetor back, but it will need to be rebuilt, and there’s no guarantee it will right. The float could be bad or the bushings worn. Regular rebuild kits don’t include those.”

“What? Sputtered Silas. Jake won’t give me any money back. And that’s gotta be the right carburetor as I saw him, himself, take it off a Plymouth in his yard.”

Stan interjected; “I’ll bet Jake is still laughing over pulling the polyester over your eyes.”

Barnstable’s homely face twitched. “I’ll sue!”

“For what.” Asked Gus. “Five dollars? You, yourself told us, ‘time is money.’ By the time you pay your lawyer, court costs, your time….”

Added Stan; “And Jake may counter-sue you as it’s all over town, you beat him out of $75 in parts last year. ”

“Well… go ahead and put a rebuilt on it.

Later, in the office, Stan asked; “Gus, how did you figure that one out?”

“Elementary, Stanley. When I went on my grand tour of our fine country I had to find some parts for my old camper. I went to one of those self-serve wrecking yards out west. This was a big yard and while wandering through I saw about three or four “jerry-rigged” carburetor set-ups on older Dodges and Plymouths. The carb will bolt up, and the car will run-sort of. But it will never be right. I guess poor people figure a cheap carb. From a Japanese car will work, and when it doesn’t, they write it off as a bad engine.”

“And I’ll bet Jake knew that trick. And he’s probably still laughing, eh, Gus?”

©John L. Bellah, 2026