Return to Harlan

Harlan is unusual for a county seat in that neither the main east-west or north-south streets pass through the center of town.  It might be a perfectly pleasant place but there’s little of interest to a tourist passing through on the way to Lincoln, so it was almost a surprise when I took a right at the sign that pointed to the business district.  I wasn’t hungry or thirsty and I didn’t need to take a break.  Maybe I was just curious, or maybe my thoughts were spinning back to a long ago December.

One Christmas break I decided to drive from Lincoln to New York rather than fly.  That way I could see a bit of the country and meet my friend Jay at the Out-R-Inn in Columbus.  All was going well when I get passed by a car somewhere in western Iowa.  The woman in the passing car’s passenger seat has a look of disgust as she stares at me.

“What’s wrong with her?” I thought.

I looked in my rear view mirror.  Smoke is pouring out of the Escort as far as the eye can see.  That’s pretty far on I-80 in western Iowa.  I pull over and see oil dripping off the engine.  There’s also a sign for a 24-hour service station at the next exit, a mere mile away.  I drive slowly to the service station.

“My car blew a lot of oil back there, can you take a look?”

“I’m not working on cars today.”  So much for the 24-hour service.  “There’s a Ford dealer up in Harlan, though.  I can refill your oil and you should be able to make it.”

Off I go to Harlan.  A couple miles up the road the car starts making giant sucking sounds.  It’s the transmission that’s blown, not the engine.

I don’t remember much about Harlan but that the Ford dealer was on a side street just off the courthouse square.

The service department takes me in right away after hearing my sob story.  The mechanic opens the hood and sets a funnel on the engine block while he grabs the hose for the transmission fluid.  I gasp in horror as he completely spaces out and starts pumping the fluid into the funnel without putting the funnel in the transmission fluid reservoir.  There is transmission fluid all over the engine and shop floor before he realizes what’s happening and stops pumping.  Yikes!

I thank him for the fluid and decide that if the transmission’s really gone, I’ll take my chances on a place closer to Des Moines than to allow him to replace it.  The transmission didn’t last until Des Moines, but with another topping off with fluid it did last until I found a competent mechanic.

As you can see the Harlan Theatre opened in 1882 as Long’s Opera House.  It was converted to a theater in the 1930s and has been owned by four generations of the same family since the late-1950s.