Words + Photography by Shanna Lucas

Relieved to have found a fuel stop, I steered my car into the gas station's rugged drive, and assumed a parking spot on the unlined pavement. This was the first station in miles, and I had just traveled from the Gulf with my mother, putting us at the cusp of the Southern Texas Plains. It was early afternoon, and there was still a ways to go before we made it to Central Texas-- my collegiate home. My mom hopped out for a quick smoke while I navigated from the lot into the corner store in search of snacks and a restroom.


I was met with slight panic when I found a public stall door in the hallway marked "women" that resembled something like that of an indoor outhouse. Did they really have single public stall toilets in the hallway? I exchanged a worrisome glance with a mother in line behind me, before braving an entrance. Any restroom is better than none? Thankfully, there were more stalls inside. I sighed with relief.


Oh Texas...


When I returned to the car, it was time for me to take watch while my mother went inside the corner store.


I was left to reflect on my week. I had just spent Thanksgiving break in Dallas, only to be catapulted into a long road trip weekend for a baby shower hosted by soon-to-be parents: my twin brother & beloved sister-in-law. I still carried lots of emotion from the weekend's festivities, but overall I was exhausted, ready to be home and in bed watching whatever stress-free tv show Netflix would throw my way. Final exam week was approaching fast, and I needed rest. The driving I had done so far had me appreciating the Texas landscape that differed from home's never ending shopping centers on i35. Had this been a solo trip, I might have pulled over to photograph the landscape's current state of reclaiming; barns and businesses stood long abandoned, vulnerable, and engrossed in the growing vegetation.


I grew a little sad, considering I had my camera with me. As a full-time college student, when do I ever have time to road trip in my home state? Muchless photograph on the road?


Just like that, as if the universe heard me, I looked up to see an old GMC truck pull into the rigid lot. The driver invented their own parking space at the face of the lot's muddy exit. Standing before our vehicles, loomed a store front sign on a dusty, metal pole which creaked with each gentle gust of mid-afternoon autumn air. The truck's bed was rusted beyond belief, and hanging on to its life by what I can only term as 'zip-tie status.' This truck seemed close to death, and yet beyond it. How it held itself together and ran was impressive as it was astonishing. And yet, there it sat, resilient in the parking lot, displaying all of its character to myself as its only onlooker.


Could this be my one photo opportunity?


I looked around, contemplating if this was a safe area to pull out my camera. With almost everyone at the station busy rounding up children in the parking lot, I retrieved my Canon 6D Mark ii from the back seat, locked my car, and approached the passenger door of the rusted GMC. At its wheel, an older gentleman sat waiting with the truck windows slightly pitched.


I breezed over, giving careful effort to be seen by the driver as to not startle him. When I reached the passenger side window, the driver exhibited a rather distrustful look, as perhaps anyone should when being approached by a stranger in a parking lot. Wielding a camera rather than say a holy book, or loafs of price-marked baked goods for a cause, I took no offense at how uncanny my approach might have been. Was.


Speaking over the glass, I inquired: "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw your truck-- I just love old trucks like this, and yours has a lot of character. I'd like to know if I might be able to photograph it?"


He took a moment, registering my request, before replying with, "Well, Sure. Do you want me in the truck or outside of it?"


"Whatever you are comfortable with. If you do not want to be in it, you do not have to be." Truly, I hadn't even thought about photographing the truck to feature the gentleman within it, but I loved the prospect. I am a portrait photographer after all. Still, I did not want to inconvenience him by insisting he leave his truck.


He followed up "I do not mind being photographed" with a muttered, "I think." In hearing this, I was delighted. This was more than the photo opportunity I had planned for. A strange thrill it was to get to meet and photograph strangers, particularly for the stories that almost always emerged from these type of character-enriched photo-ops.


I wrapped my arm within my camera strap to create a kind of confine and met my right hand with the camera's handle.


My camera was now apart of me, as I was now apart of it. A usual ritual.


On the way to support the base of my camera, my free left hand flipped the power switch. As I prepared to fire, I realized too late, and certainly upon habit, that my lens cap had yet to be removed. I was caught. Embarrassed, I quickly popped the cap from my 50mm f/1.2 lens and slid it into the back, left pocket of my worn American Eagle jeans.


Ready.


Aim.


Click.

"The Junk Yard Broker" || Wendel the junk yard broker sits in his GMC truck for a portrait, holding a bag of breakfast tacos. Cusp of the Texas Southern Plains. November 28th, 2021. By Shanna Lucas.

In this moment, as if upon cue, he went into story-time mode.


A truck with so much character had a storyteller of an owner, and the moment was all too good. My eyes quickly turned to stars all-the-while maintaining respectful listening and a watchful eye.


I quickly interrupted him to request if I could record his story.


I laughed. "I want to remember this," I told him. He enthusiastically agreed, and waited for me to pull out my phone to begin recording.


He began again with his story, and so too did an afternoon with 77 year-old Junk Yard Broker, Wendel.


"People say why don’t you get a new car or a new truck?"

“This one is better,” Wendel always replies.


25 years ago, Wendel built his GMC truck out of junk.


Through the years, the GMC has seen 7 motors, “over a million miles,” and roughly 20,000 cars towed “on record.” Wendel made sure to emphasize 'on record'.


“I’m a junk yard broker," he said. "I buy heavy equipment, cars, and dispose of all of the cars, maybe sometimes on location. But if you look at the bed, you can see how I’ve dumped them off. The dips are in it, all the way down to the ribs. That is the tell-tale sign that it has done its job. I’ve run out of gas, I’ve driven it with my acetylene torches down in the carburetor and run down the street with acetylene-- which is dangerous. You can’t go fast and its a waste of time, but yes - I’ve been through 3 transformations, 7 motors, and the same rear end. It’s a badass.”

Now at the driver’s side of the truck for this on-the-fly interview, I caught sight of my mother approaching from the station’s corner store. With an evidential watchful eye, she pulled and sparked-up a cig from a brand new box of Misty Light 100s as she walked. In a matter of seconds, she was in between our vehicles, careful not to interrupt. Small clouds of smoke dissipated behind her.


Her eyes were legible. What the hell are you doing missy?


Soon after, a woman sporting a rockabilly-esque hairstyle approached the vehicle, crossed my mother’s path, and tossed a black plastic bag through the passenger door, straight into Wendel’s lap. As Wendel fished out a can of chewing tobacco and salsa for his breakfast tacos, he turned to her and began shouting over the womens' exchange of hellos.


“Honey!” He shouted. “I told her a story about this truck, and she is going to photograph you! I asked her when you get in.”


I had a good laugh, as Wendel’s demeanor at the beginning of our encounter had shifted greatly from distrustful stranger to storyteller of a modern epic. Unfortunately, with how spontaneous things ended up being, we never got around to photographing Wendel’s girlfriend.


Because, he invited us to his museum.


"I've got a museum of cars. You and your mom can come visit, if she will allow it. You can take photos for your portfolio and leave any time you'd like."


He quickly turned and yelled to my mom out the side of the passenger window:


"CAN Y'ALL COME OVER FOR 20 to 30? SHE WANTS TO COME OVER AND LOOK AT THE MUSEUM."


I laughed. After a brief conversation with my mom, we did just that.


He privileged us with a tour of the site. There were impressive lines of vehicles that stretched for what seemed like miles. All different makes and models. A few Model Ts. '22s and '24s. He showed us a motorcycle he was building by himself in a makeshift garage inside the trunk of a tree house.


The Tree house

“I'm planning to build an elevator, so people can stay. Like one of those 'air-b' things," he said.


I believe he will accomplish it.

Before we had left the station, the last thing Wendel had said on recording was that his house had recently burned down.


"Its only about $200,000 in damage with no insurance. I'm living in my camper right now. Little old camper. Airstream 3500. I just put a chrome wheel on it today," he said half-optimistically.


Aside from the heavy burns, broken glass, and lack of walls or insulation- the fact that the home was still standing was a good sign of Wendel's handiwork.


We talked some of photography, which self-prompted the quest to find a telephoto film lens in the house. He instructed me not to follow as some of the flooring was dangerous to traverse. A short while later, after some clashes here, and thuds of debris moved there, Wendel emerged with a large camera lens. The glass retained a stain from the smoke on its corner, and parts of the metal had warped, no doubt from the heat of the house fire. He handed it to me for inspection, and together we marveled in silence at its transformation. I think we had both pondered if it would still work, and what photos could come from it if it did. I handed it back carefully, and then he abruptly chucked the lens into the front yard.


Thud.


It took its resting place in front of his Cocoa-cola lawn chairs and prized, wooden donkey.


The following photographs are of his house that had burned as well as precious items that had been recovered. Notable to me was his collection of presumed Hot Wheel cars that while burned, retained their metal shapes. Through his openness and hospitality, not only was I able to see neat cars from a time I had never known, but I was able to see the resilience and character built within this 77 year-old veteran and Junk Yard Broker.

"The Unmasked Caped Crusa-deer"

by Shanna Lucas

November 28th, 2021.


During my time with Wendel, I never once heard him speak of the COVID-19 pandemic. With how far into the country he had been, it made me wonder if the pandemic had even existed. I had some confirmation at the site of Wendel's rescued, faux deer head in the front yard and the fabric medical mask it bore underneath its plastic chin.

"Wendel's Airstream Window Photography Exhibit"

by Shanna Lucas

November 28th, 2021.


Wendel shared a fascination with photography, though it had been some years since he had practiced behind the lens. Pictured above are the photographs given to him from people he has met. Before my mom and I got back on the road, he asked me what I thought about the black and white picture of the wooden dock on the pristine water. I do not remember what my response had been, only that he was very interested in my response. So I will leave it to my readers.

How does the black and white picture move you?

November 28th, 2021.