My story starts with my grandfather, David Goodlad. Because of religious bigotry he lost everything after joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1906. His hardware store in Nuneaton, England, had been prosperous but after his conversion his neighbors refused to buy from his hardware store, and his bank failed to renew his lease, so his business closed. He never financially recovered from this setback. He moved with his family to Canada and then the United States, eventually to Heber, Utah, then later relocated to Salt Lake City to support them. My grandfather was a spiritual man whose experiences led him to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ at all costs.

My dad, Ivor Goodlad, was born to David and Lillian Goodlad in England. But they migrated to North America when he was only three months old, and he mostly remembered being raised in Salt Lake City. As was the norm in England, Dad was expected to leave school after seventh grade to help support his family. He did so, leaving behind his hope of someday attending college. Dad always had a strong desire for further education. He took college classes into his 70s. He honed his mechanical skills as a railroad mechanic working on steam locomotives. Later, he spent over thirty years at Stauffer Chemical, retiring as their Maintenance Manager with equipment covering many acres. When a piece of equipment failed, Dad prayed for a solution to the problem and was guided to mentally visualize the problem and then direct his employees on how to fix it. Known as “the magic wand man,” he attributed this ability to divine guidance. After his retirement, he was replaced by a college degreed engineer, with a second engineer soon added due to the heavy workload that Dad had handled.

Dad grew up poor and wanted to spare me his hardships and the bias he experienced from his lack of formal education. In providing for my material comforts, he neglected to teach me the value of earning something for myself and facing the consequences of my bad actions. We were prosperous but not wealthy. But I never had chores, and I got almost everything I wanted. As I entered my confusing teenage years, I made many poor choices, and Dad often intervened to shield me from the consequences of my bad decisions. There is no question that I grew up loved. I think my parents tried too hard to protect me from life. My lack of self-discipline and self-esteem became a hurdle later. Maturing was a long road for me.

Dad set a strong example by the way he treated my mother, Lucille. Once, when Mom was on her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, Dad walked through the room and said, “My queen will not do this kind of work,” and finished the job himself. Now, when I see something that needs attention, I try to remember that if I don’t handle it, Kathy will have to. I try to see take care of the problem before she has to.

Dad was always ready to help those in need. When an employee showed up for work intoxicated several times at Stauffer, Dad was told to fire him but chose not to. Rather, he encouraged him to attend AA meetings and even took him there to get started. The man stayed with Stauffer until after Dad’s retirement and often shared his rescue story at our home. Dad served as a bishopric counselor for nearly 20 years before becoming the bishop of a singles ward at age 73, serving for three years until Mom passed away.

Also at 13, Dad bought me a 292 Ford V8 engine to “play with”, which sparked my passion for cars. I soon became a skilled mechanic, able to tune vehicles for performance. I seemed to have an instinct for mechanical things. I once tuned a friend’s 1956 Chevy dual four-barrel setup in exchange for a non-running but hot-rodded 1936 Ford Coupe. I was too young to appreciate the beautiful hot rodded flathead Mercury engine it had. I could only see that it wasn’t a “modern” Chevy engine, and I sold the car quickly. At the age of 16, my dad bought me a fast 1955 Chevy, and I got a ticket for racing on my first night out. There were many more tickets in my future. At 17, he traded it for a 1967 Sunbeam, hoping to slow me down. I wasn’t allowed to drive it to school at first, but I was promised it would be mine after high school graduation. (I wasn’t planning to finish high school then.) When I graduated it became mine.

Dad usually drove nice cars, like Cadillacs and Buicks, but he bought a pink Rambler station wagon in 1959 after a bad Buick experience. I thought he did it to ruin my high school experience. Sometimes, when my Chevy was down I was stuck with the Rambler. It was PINK!! Now, anything goes when building a street rod, even old Ramblers. Maybe even pink ones.

I seriously considered dropping out of high school because I just didn’t see myself belonging there. My grades inconsistently swung between A’s and F’s, depending on the mood of the semester. In a math class, Mr. Glasser, a former business owner turned teacher, became a pivotal figure in my life. He saw my struggles and invited me to his beachfront home for hamburgers, sodas, and conversation any time I needed to talk. He listened, offered guidance, and finally convinced me that I was worth educating. This changed everything; I finished high school and achieved high SAT scores. While others doubted me, Mr. Glasser said, “I knew he could do it.” Thank you, Dan Glasser.

Shortly after graduating from high school, I was hired by George Chevrolet as a lot boy. My job was to keep new and used cars clean and customer-ready, including washing hundreds of vehicles. I enjoyed being around cars and ensured that they all looked great. They once had a 454 cubic inch Corvette in the showroom. It was rated at 460 horsepower, which left me dazzled. A customer wanted to take it for a test drive before buying it. The salesman came to me to get it ready, including a warm up run on a freeway. That was a fun drive!

My boss, who was a tyrant, once became angry over something unrelated to me but told me that he wanted me to spend the entire day washing cars, doing nothing else. While washing cars, one of his salespeople asked me to get a car ready for his customer. I explained my instructions. The salesman insisted that my first priority was to provide customer support, and surely the general manager wanted me to do that first. I finally did what the salesman wished, and my boss then saw me working on the customer’s car and fired me on the spot. I told the salesman and some other coworkers as I was leaving. They all went to my boss and told him that if I left, they would leave. I was called back and rehired. I appreciated the team’s support.