"Drive Thy Business, Let Not That Drive Thee"

by Annie Vieira

In 1759, Benjamin Franklin published, “The Way to Wealth,” which summarized much of his own advice pulled from the first 25 years of Poor Richard’s Almanac. The essay was more or less a condensed treatise of how to succeed in business––and in turn, how to succeed in life. In fact, many frequently recited American proverbs such as, There are no gains without pains; Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise; and There will be sleeping enough in the grave, all originated as Franklin adages. Although his piece is saturated with valuable platitudes, one in particular seemed applicably antithetical to the development of Double Decker PDX: Drive thy business, Franklin wrote, let not that drive thee. 

Overlooking the obvious and predictable bus trope (“drive thy business”), Franklin’s aphorism speaks to the general notion of control in business as well as in life. We are an odd species, us humans. Yes, at our core we are driven by the same desires that motivate all animals––sustenance, pleasure, survival––yet we have the added challenge of operating as beings forced to endure the burden of cognition. Our motivation is not simply derived from how to survive on this planet but is supplemented by a yearning to understand our relationship to the world beyond our corporeal existence. Social constructs like religion, politics, and philosophy are all abstract concepts conceived by this very human need to explain the things we cannot understand and exert control in a world where no tangible order exists. In other words, we are a species obsessed with control––obsessed with acquiring it, obsessed with keeping it, and oftentimes obsessed with the fact that we have none. So while I wouldn’t presume to know better than one of history’s most celebrated polymaths––the great Benjamin Franklin––my own history has taught me that the aim to control is an ambition pursued in vain. Rather, the sooner we realize we have none, the better off we will be. Granted, I have never attempted to run my own business and my life experience is admittedly limited in comparison, so if you’re reading this, ghost of Ben Franklin, feel free to shoot me an email and justifiably tell me off. Nonetheless, as Double Decker PDX finds itself months past their initially projected launch date, I’m fairly sure I could garner at least the support of Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf in this supposition. 

“The final week lasted a month,” Kent told me, referring to the time estimation given to them by their mechanic John. “He would tell us ‘it’ll be done next Tuesday,’ then it was ‘next Tuesday,’ and then it was ‘ok, one more week,’ then ‘one more week.’ Then it was down to days, and finally days went to hours, and it just dragged on and on.” Yet, despite the frustration of perpetual anticlimax, Brooks and Kent are assuredly not ungrateful to the man they refer to as “the mastermind” behind Candy’s complete overhauling. “What John did is actually pretty insane,” Brooks said in allusion to the fact that Double Decker PDX commissioned a 100% custom rebuilding of the bus, the likes of which delved into largely uncharted territory. Borrowing an analogy from John, Brooks explained it to me in comparison to restoring a car: “For example, someone says ‘I want you to restore this Mustang.’ Then you can call up this guy and buy the fenders, and then you can call up that other guy and get the engine or get those motor mounts; But with this,” he said, indicating their bus, “for every panel you can’t just call up Bristol ‘cause they don’t make these busses anymore––everything down to every mount has to be custom made.” 

On account of such high demands, John earned himself the appropriately self-appointed epithet of “Engineer” rather than “Mechanic.” However, after hearing the inventory of complex labor accrued by the end of the reconstruction, I would venture more to regard him as a consummate artist and perhaps even a pioneer. Yet, like any creative mind, the gift of vision and artistry often comes at the hefty price of skills like the ability focus or the capacity to successfully manage time and resources. Thus, for Brooks and Kent, those months spent with John were not only an exercise in hard work but a humbling lesson in patience and trust. Despite being there every day (sometimes even putting in a full 12-14 hours), the reality was that they lacked the knowledge and technical expertise needed to accomplish the majority of work. Even with the aid of another mechanic, a talented welder, and a transmission specialist, John was the proverbial brains of the operation––the pivotal center around which all things revolved. For lesser men, the idea of relinquishing complete control and placing the future of their business into someone else’s hands might sound like an unthinkable undertaking; but Brooks and Kent understood that in the long run swallowing their pride would prove more valuable than asserting dominance over things someone else could simply do better than they. With Double Decker PDX there is no “next time,” no “do-overs”––all they have is here and now. There is no margin for error, no backup plan, no safety net in case they fall. For better or for worse, Brooks and Kent have gone all in––betting their money, their reputations, and their livelihoods on each other, on this company, and on John. 

They say hindsight is 20/20, and while I am fairly sure this particular idiom cannot be attributed to Ben Franklin, Brooks and Kent are certainly seeing clearly now that the mechanical renovation of their bus is complete. Without a doubt, John was the right man for the job. Brooks and Kent took a chance by choosing to attempt the unprecedented and the risk has certainly come with its share of additional labor. The unexpected complications included: shifting the leaf springs over the x amount of inches needed to mount the rear axel, making entirely custom suspension bearings, rebuilding the steering gear to incorporate a power steering pump (no other Bristol Lodekka has ever had power-steering capabilities), a custom renovation of the fuel line system in order to turn on and run the engine correctly, a strategically placed engine, transmission and computer unit, an all new drive shaft, not to mention countless other parts all imagined and created by John and his aides. 

Today, as I sit here reviewing the notes from my last conversation with Brooks and Kent, I can think of a multitude of questions about each particular issue, custom part, and the technicalities of it all. In retrospect, however, it all seems rather unimportant. Instead, my only real question at this point would be: “Was it worth it?” Truthfully––after all the anxiety, all the delays, all the unforeseen problems, after going well over time and over budget––was it worth it? Would it have been better for Brooks and Kent to have clung to control and, as Franklin said, drive thy business? They could have listened to all those mechanics before John who suggested they take the easier, less time consuming route of modestly fixing up the bus they had rather than forging blindly and bravely into the unknown world of modern conversions. 

In the end, Brooks and Kent may have respectively shaved 5 years off their lives and perhaps will find themselves going gray at an inordinately young age––but after all is said and done, Double Decker PDX has created a service and business of enduring quality. Brooks once told me that his ultimate goal was to never have to tell a potential customer, “I’m sorry, our bus isn’t capable of that.” No matter what the job, the route, or the destination, Brooks wanted he and Kent to be able to proudly stand behind their business and say, “Of course, Double Decker PDX can do that for you.” So I imagine if I were to ask Brooks and Kent, “Was it worth it?” Without hesitation or uncertainty, the answer would assuredly be: “Absolutely.” 

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