Laura Martha Scharf

Laura, a beacon of resilience, grace, and passion, was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1945. She lived in Alaska at age 2 before her parents moved to Granite Falls, Washington, where she was raised and lived out her entire life.

Laura’s journey began with a vibrant love for horses. As a small child she was often seen galloping around the house on a broom so her mother’s friends started calling her “Tex,” a nickname that stuck with her through most of her life. She always owned at least one horse, even when she became disabled in 2005 and could no longer ride.

Laura’s first horse was named Penny. They were inseparable, riding everywhere all day, then sleeping together in the barn at night.

Tex broke and trained horses which highlighted her fearless spirit. She competed on the rodeo circuit in events like barrel racing, winning silver plates, that she had to later sell to feed her family. She survived an abusive marriage and was then abandoned to raise her two children on her own. She never wanted to have anything to do with another man.

Tex joyfully taught people to trail ride on the Pacific Crest Trail, sharing her deep love of caring for and training horses. Her days as a cowgirl were complete with going to playdays, teaching her children, Dale and Shannon to ride, as well as other children, and becoming the Secretary of the Snohomish County Western Games Association. She was also involved with her children in 4-H, competing at the County and State Fairs.

Laura met her husband Jim in October 1977, where he was working in the Snohomish County Jail, on the fifth floor of the county courthouse. He first glimpsed the beautiful tall thin woman who was soon to be hired there and would become his cherished partner a year later. Considering how she felt about men, Laura fell head over heels for Jimmy, as she called him, much to her own surprise.

Together, Jim and Laura forged a life filled with joy and adventures, sharing 46 years and eight months of marriage, united by their shared interest in law enforcement, pistol shooting, quad riding, travel, car shows and their deep love for each other.

Laura had many other talents, including pencil drawings that led to cartoon drawings, writing funny stories and poems, artsy crafts, and painting ceramics. Jim would turn some of these beautiful prized possessions into lamps. He was a good sport when she picked on him in her stories and poems too. She hoped to someday put all of her stories and poems into a book and get it published.

Laura made homemade Christmas cards every year that featured a funny or photoshopped photo with a hilarious poem written about it. Their friends would look forward to these cards with great anticipation every year. The feedback she received made her very happy.

Laura's multifaceted career included duties as a Custody Officer and a Reserve Police Officer. She attended the State Corrections Officer Academy and the Monroe Reserve Police Academy while she was a Reserve Police Officer for the City of Snohomish, where Jim then worked. In 1980, Tex (as she was known, in order to shield her identity from the inmates) moved to Reserving at the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office Reserve Unit. She later taught classes at the Sheriff’s Reserve Academy, mentoring many officers who later became full time Deputies with long productive careers.

Laura was a very caring person and she loved animals. One day, Jim found a baby robin that had apparently fallen out of its nest or tried to fly too soon. Laura took it to work for days trying to nurse it back to health. The Everett Herald heard about it and went to the jail to get a picture. They put the story on the front page of the paper with a caption about “The Jail Bird.” Laura was devastated when she wasn’t able to save it.

Laura, along with her beloved husband, proudly served as mounted horse patrol riders for the City of Snohomish when they both worked there. Her contributions to law enforcement were as impressive as they were diverse, with her standing as the high female shooter in regional pistol matches. This being a testament to her skill and dedication to being proficient with her service weapon as she competed in Police Pistol Matches for 11 years. They competed together as a two-man Snohomish team at the Regional Championships in British Columbia and took first place in the Sharpshooter class.

Living in Granite Falls in the 80’s to 90’s was a wild town. The Sheriff’s Office was always called there to support the City Police, who were constantly called to disputes between the Loggers and the Bikers in local taverns. Steve Durkin, a Sheriff’s Reserve was appointed Chief of Police, so he took several County Reserves with him to clean up the town. Tex was one Reserve who worked for Durkin part time, for over a year in that successful endeavor.

In 2000 Sheriff Rick Bart chose Tex as the Reserve Deputy of the year. In 2004, Tex was awarded the Medal of Meritorious Service in the jail. Her fellow employees always loved hearing her soft calming voice coming from the control room on the dispatch radio.

Doing her Reserve duties, Tex was called out to guard-over several fatal plane crashes in Silvanna, Snohomish and Mukilteo. She assisted the Coroner on these scenes in body recoveries, causing her to never want to fly.

As a Custody Officer, Tex was a Captain of the Honor Guard that dedicated the new jail on Lombard. She was appointed to the transport team that took inmates to court. In that role, she supervised several high-profile inmates and killers like Charles Rodman Campbell, taking him to his court appearances until he was convicted of a triple murder and sentenced to death. Tex also personally guarded Christopher Boyce, a convicted spy that was captured on the Olympic Peninsula after escaping from a Federal Prison and was housed in the SCSO Jail, where he started his hunger strike.

Tex got along very well with most inmates. While guarding Boyce, he offered to sign the book written about him entitled “The Falcon and The Snowman.” She left the book for him to sign and this is what he wrote on September 1, 1981, before being transported to the modern Alcatraz in Marion, Illinois: “Tex, It’s early and I’m leaving and I can’t gather my thoughts, but I’ll wish you luck if you wish it to me. Christopher.” He was in his 11th day of fasting.

When she became somewhat disabled due to Rheumatoid Arthritis, Corrections Admin stepped up and assisted Tex by making her the first Control Room Officer in the County. She continued working in that position into the new jail built on Lombard in 1986 and the newest jail built on Oakes in 2004. When Tex got Lymphoma Cancer in 2005, she was placed on permanent disability, even though she still wanted to work. It was difficult for her to accept this rejection for over two years, before she ever acknowledged that she was happy to be retired.

As a Reserve, Tex dispatched and patrolled the Monroe Fairgrounds during the County Fair on quad runners/4 wheelers. This inspired her to want to have a quad of her own. For two decades Jim and Laura rode quad trails all over Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Utah, Colorado and Arizona. Their favorite places to ride were in the red rock country of Southern Utah. Laura always called that area “Heaven on Earth,” so they returned every September to ride new trail locations that had been scouted out by Paul Smith or Stan Adams. Laura and Jim both wrote stories about these great adventure rides in Dirt Wheels Magazine including one about getting stuck in Quicksand, and they were featured as regular contributors to the magazine. Laura always said that these quad years were the most fun years they ever had.

On several occasions, they searched for the wild heard of Bison living in the Henry Mountains with Stan and Peg. In their second year of searching, they found the herd, so Jim snuck in to get close up video. Laura accidently spooked the herd and thought she caused them to stampede over the top of Jimmy, as she called him. Jim came walking back to her, proud to have found a skull as his trophy for her.

On another adventure in the San Rafeal Swell, lightening struck their motel and knocked out the power. The next day, they were riding up a wash and experienced a flash flood. They made a cast of a dinosaur footprint to take home for a souvenir.

At the Oregon Dunes, they made the mistake of riding over Scrap-Iron Hill and Laura could not make it back out. She thought she was going to be scrap-iron, until a Good Samaritan came to her rescue and pulled her out with his Banshee.

Laura’s favorite story was when Jim tried to keep up with those hot Banshee machines by riding around a sand bowl that was full of water. She cringed when she saw he didn’t have enough speed, so she started taking pictures as she watched him fade lower on the bowl and crash into the water at the bottom. He flipped the quad and disappeared under water. Laura was so worried that she raced over to the top of the bowl. Jim popped up out of the water with the water running out of his helmet, gasping, thinking he was going to drown in there. Laura threw him her winch and pulled him to safety. She sent pictures of the crash to editor Dennis “Ketchup” Cox, to put in Dirt Wheels for all to see. It was hard for Jim to live that one down.

Laura’s love for adventure was paralleled by her zest for classic cars, highlighted by one of her prized vehicles proudly displayed in the LeMay Museum. Proud owner of a numbers matching '67 Chevy Super Sport Camaro she called "Babe," Laura accumulated numerous car show awards and trophies throughout her life. Babe won third place in the muscle car class at the Concours d’Elegance at the LeMay Museum. She was so proud when they asked her to display Babe in the muscle car display for a year, which she did, but it was hard for her not to worry about Babe being so far away.

Babe took first place in her class in Lake Tahoe at the Vintage Chevrolet Club of America’s International Meet in 2014. The highest points Babe ever scored in judging was 992 out of 1000.

Laura and Jim amassed a collection of four Dodge Brothers cars in years from 1917 to 1924. Her favorite was a 1921 Dodge Brothers Touring Car that she called “Lizzie.” She also really loved her SS Camaro and a Daytona Sunset Orange Metallic colored 2005 Corvette that Laura called “Honey.” A Corvette was her favorite type of car ever made and she was finally able to afford one when she got off of disability and started drawing her PERS II retirement. Jim found her Corvette in Navato, California, and bought it for her retirement present, but she was too nervous to drive it home. Laura followed Jim and Honey home in her Accord. She loved looking at it, polishing it and driving it. It's the centerpiece of her She Shack/Man Cave.

Laura cherished lilacs, which mirrored her own beauty and strength. She adored their fragrance. She planted many of them, mixed in with her rhododendrons, hydrangeas and upright fuchsias in her landscaping. She also tended a raised vegetable garden where she grew zucchini and baked the most delicious fresh zucchini bread from her own secret recipe. Jim caught her wrath when he once gave that recipe to a woman in SCSO Records.

In her later days, Laura's mobility scooter, that she called “Doc,” was adorned with her unique touch. It showcased her unwavering spirit and love for creativity. She loved the freedom it provided her to see the classic cars in car shows and to run around all of the small towns that held the shows all summer. Her last outing was at the Aquafest car show in Lake Stevens in 2024. She became too weak to ever stand or walk again after that day. This was 10 months before she passed away peacefully in the comfort of her home that she and Jim had built in 1984.

Laura prided herself in collecting things and decorating their Man Cave/She Shack that Jim had built for them with Jim’s inheritance. She collected many things that brought her great joy. Some of her favorite things were Western items, Car trinkets, Pug stuff, fun jewelry, dinosaur things and fossils. Laura never threw away a popsicle stick or an empty medication pill bottle. She loved what she called “Goin’ Junkin” at swap meets, antique stores and yard sales. She could do the swap meets on “Doc,” but Jim would have to hunt through the yard sales while she sat in the car and gave a “thumbs up” or “thumbs down.” Her new Smart Phone allowed her to shop with Jim on video phone calls when he went to the store. Costco was her favorite place to video shop.

Laura, shared a deep love for her Chinese Pug dogs, which brought warmth to her heart in countless ways. She had over a dozen Pugs during her 80-year lifespan. Her favorite of all was Reno, a black Pug given to her by a new found friend that was a victim of Charles Campbell. Reno would lick Laura’s feet at night and lay on her bed with her up until the day she passed on.

Laura's husband faithfully stood by her side, providing care in her last years, exemplifying the profound love and dedication they nurtured throughout their life together.

She leaves behind a legacy of strength, creativity, and unyielding love—a beautiful soul who touched many lives with her caring nature, stubborn determination, and infectious humor.

Laura will be profoundly missed but cherished forever in the hearts of those who knew and loved her.

She is survived by her beloved husband James Henry “Jim” Scharf, her son Dale Ole Scharf, daughter Shannon Michelle Hisey and grandchildren Jenifer Marie (Carl) Kiepe, Jacob Andrew Hisey and Justin David Hisey.

May God bless her lovely soul and take her into His arms.

A series of Writings by Laura:

UNDERSTAND

I don’t think you will ever fully understand;

How you’ve touched my life and made me who I am.

I don’t think you could ever know just how truly special you are;

And that even on my darkest nights, you are my brightest star.

I don’t think you will ever truly fully comprehend how you made my dreams come true;

Or how you opened my heart to love and the wonders you can do.

The places we’ve been, the things we’ve done, the beauty that we have seen;

The home we built the family we raised….. what a beautiful precious dream.

You’ve allowed me to experience something very hard to find;

And that’s the unconditional love that exists in my body, soul, and mind.

I don’t think you could ever feel all the love I have to give;

And I’m sure you’ll never realize you’ve been my will to live.

You are an amazing person Jim Scharf and without you I don’t know where I’d be;

Having you in my life completes and fulfills every part of me.

I’ve never been as happy as I am with you today;

We are a team God made in Heaven…….so let’s keep it just that way.

I love you always and forever Jimmy Merry Christmas

Cheyenne

The days are slowly passing since I found her still and prone.

Since I took her to the surgery and came home all alone.

Now as my key turns in the lock the sound I miss most of all,

is her voice greeting me as she comes running down our hall.

Oh there was something in her welcome. There was something in her style,

in the jingle of her color, in her astatic doggie smile.

The tail that wagged so furious the eyes that shone so bright.

It’s the silence! It’s the silence! It is blacker than the night.

And if I’d had a rotten day, if I was tired and I was spent.

If I had found indifference in every place I went.

Always at my feelings end when I was flat and lonely,

that little dog convinced me that I was someone’s one and only.

Her things are still around me. I have left them all alone.

A little greasy collar and a yellow rubber bone,

a hairy dirty blanket, her basket on the floor,

where she sprang to attack the knockers who beat upon our door.

How grievous is the emptiness on entering the hall.

How disproportionate so great the loss for one so very small.

For the music it is missing and my home is incomplete,

the sound of her come running on her little tiny feet.

ARE WE THERE YET?

FROM THE “BATTERED BUGS” COLLECTION OF POEMS AND SHORT STORIES

BY, LAURA SCHARF

It was late in the afternoon on a beautiful sunny day in early August when Jim, my husband of 40 years, and I finally pulled our R.V. with its loaded trailer up the little hill that’s part of our driveway and out onto the little country road that runs by our home.

We were running behind as usual, a little late and a lot stressed. We had planned to arrive a day early for the car show. It was located more than 80 miles from our house and spending the night at the show site in the R.V. just seemed to make more sense than trying to get everything ready at 5 a.m. and make that long early morning drive for a same day show.

Jim has never been a morning person and it takes forever to get him started. By taking the R.V. and leaving the night before the show…. we thought we might be able to sneak in an extra hour of sleep.

We both were tired and tempers were short. The day had been long and hot. We had not driven the old R.V. since late last summer and getting use to the huge machine again after all that time was difficult for us both.

The motorhome is 36 feet long and the flatbed trailer is one of those tandem 24 footers with a tilt-bed. Together Jim is aiming about 60 feet of ‘train’ balanced on 10 tires down the road at variable speeds.

Jim is the designated R.V. driver because he says I drive like

I’m mad at gasoline and I’m trying to do away with it as fast as I can. If truth be known, I don’t enjoy driving anything that requires multitasking and a calculator each time I approach a low underpass. Our R.V. appears bigger to me than the town I grew up in and it always seems like I end up being two inches taller than the underpass I just tried to drive it through. Even as a passenger… the R.V. makes me nervous.

The motorhome is foreign to anything else we drive, especially when pulling a trailer. R.Vs. did not get the nickname of ‘land yachts’ for nothing. They sway back and forth and up and down. I always find myself hanging on to the arm rests for dear life while experiencing what I believe to be just a hint of sea sickness. While sitting in one may cause some to feel temporally ill, walking around in a moving R.V. could cause physical injury. At the least, you will learn what a pinball feels like when tossed around in one of those arcade games.

Our little dog Solo loves to ride with us. He’s about 60 pounds of food motivated, neurotic energy all wrapped in something that looks like a Beagle, but with legs better suited to a Chihuahua.

He acts big and tough, but it’s a bluff behavior. In reality he’s a timid little guy afraid of only two things, everything that moves and everything that doesn’t.

Just out of the driveway there’s a wide spot on the side of the road. Over the years it’s become our first check point. It’s where we pull over to check the big-rig and take inventory.

It’s also where we discover we have accidently left all our necessities at home, each thinking the other was the one that packed them.

I’ve learned to appreciate the extra time if only to catch my breath and rearrange a few things, but this time it was different!

With his hands clinching the steering wheel, eyes wide with concern and beads of sweat on his forehead, Jim announces rather loudly that, “We don’t have any brakes!”

My heart skipped a beat and I felt I might lose control of my bladder. My throat squeezed shut and I couldn’t speak. I dug

my fingers deep into the arm rests and stiffened in my chair.

We had only been going about 5 mph but to me it felt like 50. The motorhome slowly came to a stop and Jim ran out the side door. He’s gone for about 10 minutes and when he returns he looks upset, but says nothing.

I know from past experience that it’s not a good idea to say anything to him right now, so even though I’m concerned and curious about the brakes, I know it’s best to let things simmer down a bit before I question him about them.

I’m really surprised when Jimmy pulls the ‘big-rig’ out onto the road… but I trust him. He knows what he’s doing, I think…so I just sit down, shut up, and hold on. And with my fingers still deeply embedded in the arm rails, we’re on our way.

Two miles down the road we pull into town. I don’t remember how we got there because my eyes were closed. My stomach’s been in my mouth, my heart’s been racing and I think I heard myself whispering promises to God.

We say little to each other for the first twenty minutes or so, each in our own world. It wasn’t until we both relaxed a little that we found our voices again.

We’re off the country roads and turning north on the highway now and I can finally open my eyes. Our R.V. seems way too wide for these narrow, back wood roads and I’m constantly fighting the fear that the whole heavy thing won’t fit.

Thank God the highway is wider here and I finally find myself relaxing the death grip I’ve maintained on those poor arm

rests.

It’s a sure sign all is well when Sole finally settles in. I can hear his snores from my captain’s chair. He must be sleeping somewhere in the galley behind me. I know I should go and check on him, but he’s probably all right.

I’m not alone when it comes to fighting my fears for the first few miles of any trip in this huge R.V. Even our little dog ‘Solo’ has trouble finding a safe place to sit.

The late afternoon sun is bright and warm coming from the west and shining bright through the windows on the driver’s side of the R.V. It’s quiet and the engine purrs along. I’m getting use to the sway of the big machine as it eats up the miles at a rate of about three feet per gallon.

I start thinking that now might be a good time to ask Jimmy about that brake issue on the R.V. that had caused us concern at the beginning of our trip.

It was then, at that very moment, that my beautiful soft-spoken husband, who’s always under control and seldom gets rattled, shatters the silence by loudly exclaiming, “I CAN’T SEE!!!!”

I quickly turned to look at Jim and noticed that he faced in my direction. He was shading his eyes with his right hand and squinting. It wasn’t until I got a good look at him that the full impact of his statement made shocking sense to me. Holy Sweet Mother of God, I thought! The man’s gone blind!

It’s strange how some people react when they’re scared. Instead of rendering Jim my assistance, I quickly gathered what strength I had left and made a break for it, softly repeating the Lord’s Prayer as I fled.

Whoever came up with that ‘flight-or-fight’ thing….. really didn’t think it through. When there’s nowhere to ‘flight’ and nothing to ‘fight’ it changes the dynamics of that analogy quite a bit.

Jim didn’t expect such an extreme reaction to the statement he’d just made until he realized that he could only coax me back to the front seat by reassuring me that his vision had returned and his blindness had been only temporary.

Only then did I comply, reluctantly returning to my chair where I sat for many minutes just trying to catch my breath. With my heart still stuck in my throat….. Jimmy leans toward me and asks, “Hun, are you a little nervous?”

I choke back angry tears. Venom spewed from my mouth and I roared, “WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST %#$%* CLUE, SHERLOCK?”

Heaven help me…have I gone completely insane? What had I gotten myself into? I’m trapped inside a 60 foot train that’s roaring down the road at 60 miles an hour. It’s got no brakes and its being driven by a man who can’t see!! I didn’t understand why Jim hasn’t got a clue as to what’s wrong with this picture!?

This whole adventure had become unforgettable and we hadn’t even driven 30 miles yet. If I live through this, I thought to myself, I’ll probably want some real good therapy!”

Jimmy seemed to think this was all a little funny and he started to chuckle.

Very angry now, I again raised my voice and yelled, “I DON’T THINK ANY PART OF THIS WHOLE THING IS VERY FUNNY MISTER!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY TELLING ME YOU CAN’T SEE?”

Jim laughed and said, “It was just that outside mirror on your side, Hun. The sun is reflecting in it at just the right angle and when I checked it for traffic, its reflection temporally blinded me…and why are you choking your arm rests?”

“HAVEN’T YOU BEEN DRIVING THIS THING WITHOUT ANY BRAKES,” I screeched?!

“Oh…them,” Jim replied. “They started working right after we stopped in that wide spot up there by the house. I just pumped the old brake peddle a few times and they started working great. I must have forgotten to tell you. Sorry about that!”

It’s true I do react to life in general with a little more emotion than Jim produces, but given the circumstances, I feel my actions were appropriate to the situation. After all, I was only reacting to the information available to me at the time.

When Jim yelled “I CAN’T SEE!” it really would have been useful to me had he added just a few more words. Something like, ‘OUT THE SIDE WINDOW’…. might have helped!

Jim however, didn’t think any part of my actions were justified and simply said, “Relax!”

A half hour later the horrible happened. It was an extremely loud explosion that sounded like a cannon. It was much louder than a gun or a backfire and it made my ears ring. It came from somewhere in or on the R.V.

Jimmy tried to pull the R.V. off the road as best he could but there wasn’t much room for such a big-rig and it hung over the fog line a foot or so on the traffic side of the road. We could feel the wind from each car as they whizzed by.

As dangerous as it was for Jim he still left the safety of the cab to go outside and investigate while I checked the interior.

When Jim returned, he said that we had blown a right rear inside tire and he immediately starting calling for road side assistance.

A state patrol officer stopped and we were thankful for the help he rendered, but countless phone calls later, neither one of the men could find anyone who would change the exploded tire.

Each shop they contacted said that we were either out of their service area or not parked in a safe enough place. Others said they didn’t have the right equipment available to handle such a huge motorhome, or it was after their service hours. What a way to discover that our road side assistance insurance plan was worthless.

The R.V. had a set of dual tires on the rear. That meant that the outside tire on the affected side was still inflated. Hoping that it alone could hold the weight of this behemoth the men decided they would try to ‘limp’ the big-rig to a much safer near-by side road.

It worked! The state patrol officer was kind enough to drive Jim back home so he could get our pick-up truck while I stayed with the R.V.

A local home owner took pity on our plight and offered sanctuary, allowing us to park the motorhome in her driveway. Jim returned a few hours later and repositioned the trailer onto the truck and we drove home just happy to be alive.

The following day we returned to the R.V. and Jim slowly and carefully drove it to the nearest tire store in the closest town and had it fitted with 6 brand new tires.

Two weeks later, feeling a lot more confident now with its new set of tires, we decided to drive the big rig to the Canadian Border to attend what turned out to be a really great three-day car show.

Five miles into the return trip our big beautiful motorhome caught on fire. It was a total loss. The R.V. and everything inside was destroyed. Thank God the trailer and show car survived.

I grieved for over a year at the loss of that thing. For ten years it had been our vacation home. It was a lot like losing an old friend.

It allowed us the opportunity to stay in many special places. With it we saw many wonderful things and met some awesome people.

Each trip, no matter how short, was an unforgettable adventure and even given its short comings, life for me without it will not be the same.

THE SURVIVOR

By Laura Scharf

I honestly don't know how becoming so deeply attached to a car could happen to me. I was normal I thought..... a logical and practical person. I had spent 60 years of my life busy with other things I thought important to me at the time. In all that while, an automobile never meant more or less to me than any other tool, only to be used when you needed it and discarded for something newer when it became too expensive to fix.

I have always been a calculated person. I never had much money and could never buy anything on impulse ... or so I thought. But one day something strange happened. Something I’ve never been able to understand or explain. I became an autoholic, and the older gear heads tell me there is no cure. It happened the first time I saw him. That "him" was a restored stock 1922 Dodge Brothers Roadster. It was love at first sight and I named him Scooter. I'd never named a car before. He came to live with my husband, Jim and me on June 6th, 2005 and my life has never been the same since. I was working at the time, but Scooter and I still bonded deeply that first year.

I soon found myself wanting to learn things about his mechanics and how he worked. Things that just a few years before his arrival I could have cared less about. I learned that he had the standard 212.3 cubic inch, L-head 4 cylinder engine. That engine puts out about 24 horse power and can run approximately 40 M.P.H. He has a 3-speed sliding gear transmission with reverse, and a vacuum canister that sucks gas from the tank. He's got a combination starter/generator, with the starter being silent. He can also be cranked. His tires are 32 x 4 on heavy wooden 12 spoke artillery type wheels. The gas gauge is a direct- read float gauge which is located on top of the outside tank, near the rear of the vehicle. The brakes, which are mechanical, are only on the rear wheels.

Scooter operates on an original, from the factory, 12-volt negative ground system. His windshield wiper is manual, the body is all steel and there are no other creature comforts or safety equipment like side windows, safety glass, power steering, air bags, heater, clock or radio. The seat is fixed and will not adjust. The steering wheel is a Neville (fat man) adjustable. A horn button is located on the driver's door and an additional horn is attached to the outside window frame and is located to the left side of the steering wheel. Luggage racks are attached to both side running boards and are intended for additional storage. The radiator cap is called a dog bone moto-meter because of the way it's shaped and was designed to tell the driver the temperature reading of the engine while viewing it through the windshield. The large oblong lever clasps, located on both sides of the upper rear of the body of the vehicle, are called 'stirrups' and/or ‘saddles’ and hold the top secure when it's in the down position.

I've also learned that old cars can be temperamental and how very hard the parts are to come by. That first year with Scooter was awesome. We could be seen almost every summer weekend driving the back roads that surrounded our neighborhood. It's hard to be in a bad mood while riding in one of these open vintage vehicles. Everything slows down and you realize that you can actually smell the freshly mowed lawns, or a newly cut hay field, or somebody's backyard barbecue…‘Oh’...and that bakery in town! You start to see things that you've been missing in your daily driver and you notice that people you never met before are actually waving at you. You can hear the sounds of the engine and feel the wind on your skin. Your senses become reborn. We were having the time of our lives.

When my husband and I weren't driving the old car....I was polishing it. Never before had I felt such enjoyment from such a simple thing. Then the cancer came. It was so bad that I had to give up my 30 year career and stop working. I didn't want to quit, but the chemo made me sick and left me weak. I became very depressed, and for a while there, I don't remember even being on the planet. One day I went to bed and just stayed there. Months passed. The doctors said I was badly deconditioned and needed to get moving again, but nothing anybody did seemed to motivate me.

Things stayed in a degenerating state for over a year until one day my husband brought me a book on old cars like Scooter. The book talked about the histories of brass era and pre-war cars and I found myself becoming more and more interested in Scooter's history. With my husband's help, we started to research Scooter's background.

We discovered that Scooter once belonged to the Dean Spencer collection which was located near Seattle Washington. Dean Spencer, of Spencer Aircraft, had a wonderful collection of 50-60 cars including two Duesenbergs, several Stanley Steamers and rarer cars like Doble and Mobile Steamers, along with a Jeffery, a Winton, a Stutz, and a Scripps Booth among many others.

In late 1969 Dean shipped Scooter to Australia where he entered him in a coast to coast antique car tour. Somewhere between Sidney and Perth, Scooter was caught in a terrible sand storm and was lost for hours. Upon Scooters return to the United States he was involved in an accident and run off an embankment, cracking two of his wooden wheel spokes, one in the front and one in the back. That wheel damage is still visible to this day. After the accident he was stored in a warehouse that later caught on fire. He was saved from the flames because he was pushed to safety by onlookers.

Not only has this amazing car survived all the above….but he has outlasted presidents: Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, F. Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, L. Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, G. H. Bush, Clinton, G.W. Bush, and Obama….16 in all. He’s also survived a couple of recessions as well as the end of the great depression plus a world war. An amazing thing when you realize that steel bodied cars like Scooter were being taken by the Government and crushed for the war effort.

Somewhere, deep down inside me all this information hit a raw nerve and I finally understood what a true survivor Scooter really was. I realized that if he could do it....so could I. My husband started taking me to our shop. Once there I would sit in a chair spending time in ever increasing daily amounts polishing bigger and bigger circles on that old car. Now I must admit that it did take some time, but we are now both back on the road again. We have been taking Scooter to local car shows using him in an effort to teach the younger people among us about our automotive history and sharing him with seniors who can remember when.

As for Scooter, he's still making me smile. I recently saw my husband drive Scooter through an entry gate at a local car show held in a tree lined park near our home. He had a need to recontact the gate attendant about a parking question. He stopped Scooter on level ground about 50 feet inside the gate. He left Scooter in gear, shut the engine off, got out and shut the door. His intent was to walk back and talk with the attendant. He was about half way there when he looked up and noticed the gate attendant jumping up and down, waving his arms, yelling loudly, and pointing in Scooter's direction. My husband turned around and to his astonishment, saw the old car driving off without him.

In the 30 years I've known my husband I've never seen him run so fast. After a speedy foot pursuit and a lot of huff and puff he caught up with Scooter, jumped inside, and within moments had him back under control. No one was hurt and there was no property damage. What an amazing car! With no driver, no running engine, on level ground and with a lengthy head start, Scooter had managed to take off on his own and miss all the nearby trees, avoid the valuable parked show cars, and not hurt any people!

Later my husband told me that when he shut Scooter's door it must have jarred the starter switch. The switch had come apart causing the components to make contact without the spring to keep them separated. Scooter was running off his starter motor.

Its things like this that help make Scooter a pretty special part of my life. Laughter is truly the best medicine. Without Scooter's help I don't think I'd be here today. I’m so thankful this old car is in my life. I am a survivor because Scooter is a survivor.

True story and pictures submitted by:

Laura Scharf

Granite Falls, Wa. 98252

By Laura Scharf with credit to Pam Ayres

I don’t know how it became my job to wash the dirty car;

Perhaps because the rest of the family disappears and I don’t know where they are.

My husband used to wash the car but the ball games got in his way.

In front of the TV he’s riveted, with games that last all day.

So there he sits among his friends, with beer and chips he’d rather,

While I’m outside with loss of pride, working up a lather.

To save on time … a thought occurs, one that’s NOT aerobic;

I’ll drive it through the car wash, even though I’m claustrophobic.

I’ve paid the man my money and he strapped my car down tight,

And as I move through this mechanical contrivance, I’m overcome with fright.

I’m trapped inside my car now, when I realize it too late,

That the antenna is not in its socket, and I have no idea as to what its fate.

The brushes are cleaning my windows with soapy water from head to feet,

but they also picked up the wipers and flicked them…a half mile across the street.

I should have pulled the mirrors in; I should NOT have let them be.

The brushes tore them from their mount and threw them through the window behind me.

The brushes slap and hit my car; they’re huge and wet and mean,

And with all the noise this car wash makes … no one can hear me scream.

I feel trapped, I’m going to faint, take me from this place.

I open the window just a crack and hot wax hits my face.

Thank you Lord, this ordeal is over … now I can calm my fears,

Even though this awful machine stole my wipers, my antenna and mirrors.

I will not go back to the car wash. The thought makes me want to ralph.

I don’t mean to be insensitive or stupid, so…my husband can drive it there himself. Best days of your life

Best Days Of Your Life

I was watching a television show last night and it said that in an average man’s lifetime he will own at least 8 cars. Well, maybe not own, but at least make payments on them.

It said that guys buy different types of vehicles depending on their age and situation at the time.

His first car is usually something he drug home from a junkyard, or maybe it’s a neighbor or friends discarded and long unused piece of yard art. Whatever be the case, it’s the only thing he can afford at the time.

He and his best friend, neither of which have any mechanical skills, tinker with the rusted out wreck in his parent’s garage and by accident … get the old car running again, which doesn’t make his parents very happy, but it’s the best day of his life and it all works out in the end. He’ll never forget the old car and the lessons it taught him.

He’s moved out now, going to collage during the day and working at night.

His second car is a van. Its coyote ugly, but dependable, cheap and practical. It serves the dual purpose of a party van for him and his buddies on the weekends or something he can live in to save rent money on if he needs to.

The old van helps him to feel independent and makes him think he’s living the best days of his life.

He’ll hang on to the van until he can purchase something sleek and sporty that says I’m single and fast and there’s no room for anybody but me and my girlfriend in this little beauty.

He finally works his way up to the purchase of that little sports car. He’s so happy! It’s the best days of his life. But later, after racking up some speedy miles, a few traffic tickets, some minor fended benders and a bunch of shop repair bills … times have changed.

Something less sporty and more practical to suit his ever growing testosterone will catch his eye. He trades his little ticket magnet in on a 4x4 truck and this is the best day of his life.

He loves his truck. He’s had it for several years now. But the suspension is stiff and it makes the ride ruff. It eats a lot of gas, it only seats two, and he’s never hauled anything in it or taken it off-road, nor does he ever plan to.

But, he’s married now and there’s no room for the baby.

What was sleek and sporty is now drab and forty. So he trades his beautiful truck in on an SUV and it’s ABOUT THE CAR:

Babe is her name. She’s always been my Babe and she always will be. Babe is a little Bolero red 1967 Chevrolet Super Sport Camaro with a large white stripe around the front of her nose, standard black interior, and a rear mounted antenna.

I’m the second owner. Babe’s first owner had traded her in for an automatic because his new wife had little or no interest in learning to operate a stick shift. After a few failed and unwilling attempts to teach his wife to drive a stick, the husband had to regretfully agree to the trade-in. Babe has now been in my family for over 47 years and I am extremely proud of that fact.

I bought her from MacDonald Ford in Monroe, Washington in the early summer of 1968 when she was barely a year old. She was a pretty little thing, looking like she just drove off the show room floor. I’d always been a Chevy fan and I really wanted her.

The engine is the original (L-48) SS 350 with small journals. It has a four speed Muncie transmission along with a twelve bolt rear end. It’s a numbers matching car that was built the second week of November 1966 in Van Nuys California.

Like so many younger people back in the 60’s, I didn’t have much money and had to liquidate almost everything I owned just to purchase the little car.

Over the years she became a needed and necessary part of my family. She came with me through a terrible divorce and survived the bill collectors that wanted her back and the terrible physical abuse dealt her from an angry ex-husband bent on revenge.

So angry was this childish man that he made it his goal to destroy everything in my life he knew I needed or enjoyed the most. Among other things he vented his anger on Babe. He destroyed her windshield, kicked big dents in her body, flattened her tires, put sugar in her gas tank, scratched her beautiful paint and took parts off her engine rendering her inoperable.

With the little money I had I was able to patch her up the best I could and even though she was getting on in years now and no longer looked the same, she continued to serve my family and help me raise my kids. She made my life so much easier, and I learned to love her.

She was the most dependable car I ever owned. She took me and my kids to work and school everyday and never once let us down. She did everything I ever ask of her and never complained and she did it all while receiving little or no maintenance.

When I met my second husband he had never driven a car with a stick shift. I took him out in Babe and taught him how to drive her. From then on, he always wanted to be the driver whenever we took her anywhere.

My son took Babe with him when he moved into his own house. He did not have the luxury of a garage and over the 18 years that Babe was in his care she fell victim to our rainy Northwest weather. I had asked my son from time to time how the old car was doing and was always led to believe that she was fine.

His idea of ‘fine’ was to cover her with a tarp but that only served to hold the ground moisture in and accelerate the rust and rot process. Plus constant movement of the tarp in the wind with its ends flapping against the cars finish over time caused further damage.

A tree limb had fallen on Babe plus she had been vandalized and shot many times by the neighborhood boys with B-B guns. They also poured water in her gas tank. Her engine had been severely neglected and her interior was completely rotted out. Some of her parts were missing and she had totally rusted through in places, not only in all the typical spots, but inside as well.

My husband found Babe in the weeds and brought her back home on the end of a tow rope. The sight of Babe in this horrible condition made both of us sick. I could not believe I had allowed such disrepair to happen to her. It was then that my husband and I made the decision to try to have her restored back to her original stock condition.

On April 24th of 2007 we started visiting restoration shops. All wanted the job, but said that Babe was too far gone to save given what we could afford to spend. They said that she held no value to anyone anymore…not even as a parts car and they recommended that we just junk her. All of them assured us that we could never get such a huge job accomplished for the amount of money we were able to put into the project.

This was a terrible blow to my husband and me because we have almost no mechanical skills what-so-ever and could never have done any part of the restoration process on our own.

ABOUT THE MAN:

Jim’s Dailey has owned and managed a very busy body repair shop here in our little town of Granite Falls for what seems like forever. He’s known for doing superior work at a fair and affordable price. He is well liked and has a wonderful reputation. Those in the business say he’s highly respected as one of the best body and fender men they have ever seen.

We knew that Jim was retiring and selling his shop so we didn’t think to ask him about Babe. What we didn’t know was that Jim had been quietly looking for projects to work on just to supplement his retirement. It was the manager of another performance shop that made us aware of this little known fact and Jim was contacted immediately.

Jim came to look at Babe in the late spring of 2007. He sat quietly and listened while we told him Babe’s story and explained our financial situation, he then examined Babe very closely. Given what we had already been made aware of about the extreme deteriorated condition of the car by the others before him, we held out little hope of any positive feedback.

After all, Jim was just one man. He had no big name shop or lots of support people to help him as the others did. Jim would be all alone and we knew what we were asking of him was not very realistic.

To our complete shock and utter amazement Jim agreed to take on the challenge. To make it more affordable for us he even offered to set up shop in our own garage which cut the $80.00 an hour shop time charge by more than half.

My husband and Jim agreed that we could afford to have him work on the car one day a week. This was a deal that was, for us, too good to be true. Jim Dailey started the restoration on May 23rd, 2007 and true to his word he came to our garage every Saturday for the next three years and worked on that car!

After sand blasting…it was discovered just how bad the rust really was. Nearly every panel needed to be replaced. Jim had to rebuild Babe from scratch because almost nothing was salvageable. Jim clamped the frame down to keep it square and every nut and bolt and part of that car was replaced, repaired or restored.

Over the years Jim and my husband developed a type of working relationship of sorts. At the end of each Saturday my husband would make a list of parts needed from a list of options Jim gave him. My husband would then order the parts and try to have them waiting for Jim the following week. Most of the time this method worked out pretty good. If not, Jim just worked on other parts of the project. Jim completed the job on May 10th 2010.

AWARDS:

We could never have predicted that the little red car could have turned out better. Jim has restored Babe back to her original stock condition and the job has been so well done that I could not resist showing her off at a few of the local car shows.

Babe first won the Pacific Northwest Camaro Club’s President’s Choice award at the 8th annual Camaro and all Chevy Show held July 11th 2010 at the XXX drive-in located in Issaquah, WA.

Next she won the Classic Outlaws Car Show 1st place Sandblasters, Inc. /Rosten Automotive trophy held July 17th 2010 at the Smokey Point Plant Farm in Arlington, WA.

Babe did so well at the local show level that I decided to take her to one of the bigger regional matches.

At the VCCA’s 39th Northwest ‘Chevy’s on the Waterfront Regional Meet’ held August 12th 2010 in Ferndale WA, Babe won a second place in the ‘Personalized Class’ and a ‘First Junior Award’ and was presented with a ‘Junior Tab’ as well as a ‘National Certificate of Achievement Silver Award’ which was given by the National VCCA Board. What an honor!

In September of 2012 Babe’s story was featured in the VCCA (Vintage Chevrolet Club of America) magazine, Generator and Distributor.

December 8th 2012 Babe was voted ‘CLUB CHOICE’ car of the year by the North Cascade Region of the VCCA.

Babe since has achieved a 1st place “Senior” award given at the 41st Northwest Regional ‘Chevys In The Sun’ meet held August 23-25th 2012 in Wenatchee, WA and sponsored by the VCCA’s North Cascade Region.

August 25th 2013 at the VCCA 42nd Northwest Regional Meet in Federal Way, Babe achieved ‘Historical Preservation’ award status. The VCCA members in attendance also voted Babe, “Best Car of the 60’s.” What an honor!

September 25th 2013 Babe won a first place for, “First Generation Camaro” and a “Best of Show” at Dwayne Lane’s Firebird and Camaro show in Arlington, WA.

September 30th, 2013 Babe is featured as a 4 page story with pictures in the center section of Chevrolet’s G&D magazine.

August 21st 2014 at the 43rd VCCA NW Regional Meet in Port Angeles WA, Babe was honored with a 2nd ‘Preservation’ award and a National Certificate of Achievement Golden Award.

September 7th 2014 at the Pacific Northwest Concours d’Elegance at LeMay - America’s Car Museum in Tacoma, WA, Babe won a third place award in the muscle car class.

LeMay - America’s Car Museum contracted us asking to display Babe in a display called “American Muscle-Rivals to the End”. Babe was on display at AMC beginning July 10, 2015 to June 30, 2016.

We temporally removed Babe from the Museum for a week in August to attend a regional meet in Oregon where she one…

August 2016 we took Babe to the National Vintage Chevrolet Club Meet in Nevada where she won a 1st place in her class.

In September of 2016 Babe appeared on the cover of Chevrolet’s G&D magazine along with a revised 4-page feature story with pictures about her life.

The highest she ever scored was 992 points out of 1000 possible.

It’s difficult to find the words to convey just what receiving such recognition really means to us. To be given an award by people that really know and understand the product is absolutely awesome, but it’s Jim Dailey that deserves every bit of the credit.

Without Jim and his expertise that car would not exist today. My husband and I are so lucky that he came into our lives. He made a huge project doable when all others wouldn’t… and he made it affordable when all others couldn’t.

Jim Dailey has earned that National VCCA Certificate of Achievement above all others for his efforts in restoring and preserving an important part of our American History, the Chevrolet.

MY DRUNKIN’ CAR

From the ‘Battered Bugs’ collection

She’s old and frail and painted black;

A cute little thing with a trunk in the back.

This picture shows a thousand words;

The residue from flying birds.

For long she lay beside the road;

Too drunk to move, out in the cold.

She drank too much and slid on her trunk;

When she tried to get up …she crashed on her front.

We helped her back up on her wheels;

But her radiator blew and her tires squealed.

To drive anywhere we cannot go;

My car is drunk and needs a tow.

So here at home is where I’ll stay;

‘cus my drunken car can’t take me away.

She’s seen better days… I know for sure;

But for a car that drinks, there’s only one cure.

She’s been a good ride for a lot of years;

She’s older now and grinds her gears.

With a scratch on her fender and a dent in her door;

A leaking transmission and a hole in the floor.

She’s got no suspension and in the rain you will soak;

You can follow her travels by watching her smoke.

She used to be dry, no problems to seek;

But now I believe she’s beginning to leak.

It started with water, just a little at first;

But as time went by…we can’t quench her thirst.

Then came the oil, a can here and there;

And now the cans are everywhere.

She’ll drink anything that she can get;

Clear and cold or dark and wet.

She drinks more than I’ve ever seen;

But she really prefers plain old gasoline.

She says she’ll quit… but I don’t know;

Without this stuff she just won’t go.

I’d love to spend money on a long vacation;

But my broken old car needs a full restoration.

She’ll dollar and dime me I know it for sure;

But it’s the only way to find her a cure.