We Can All Breathe Easier…

In January of 2004 — darn near eleven years ago — I posted this article about a very wonderful man I knew. I felt like posting it again…

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Over on Pico Boulevard in West Los Angeles, there's a McDonald's just a few blocks east of Overland. It was built on an interesting piece of land…the former location of Heyler Automotive, which was a terrific place to take your car to be fixed. Heyler Automotive was opened in 1937 by John and Emilie Heyler and in the fifties, they turned the operation over to their son, John Junior, more commonly known as Jack. As a mechanic, Jack Heyler was too good to be true. He was nice, he was honest, and he knew his business. When I took my old Buick in to be fixed, if it wasn't something major, he'd do it for nothing or almost nothing. If it was something major, the job was done on-time and correct, and for far less money than someone else might have charged. You didn't even need to ask for an estimate; you just knew you'd get the cheapest price that was humanly possible.

Most of all, Jack was accessible. At any given moment, he had cars all over the place needing immediate repair and at least a dozen employees to supervise. Still, if you needed to talk to him for car-related advice, he would always make the time. At first, I figured I was getting special treatment because I was a neighbor. He and his lovely family lived three doors down the street from me and my parents. But after I sent a few friends to him and they received excellent service without even dropping my name, I was really impressed. Jack Heyler proved it was possible to run a good, benevolent, efficient business and still make money.

Unfortunately, Jack's health began to misfire, most of the woes falling under the category of Progressive Pulmonary Illness. Some of that was almost certainly related to a lifetime of breathing exhaust fumes and handling old motor oil and other toxicities. At about the same time, the McDonald's people decided they really, really wanted to open an outlet in that area, and Heyler Automotive seemed to rest on the only hunk of land that would work. After turning down huge offers for years, Jack finally took one. In 1983, the garage was torn down, the Golden Arches went up, and Jack Heyler retired from the automotive business. Sort of.

He did not sit idle. Oh, he devoted some time to his boat and to his study of old trains and planes. Mainly though, he became a full-time volunteer for many groups, state and national, that sought to regulate automotive safety and emission standards. Even when his respiratory problems became acute and all recreational activities had to be curtailed, Jack dragged himself to meetings (or later, rolled in via wheelchair) to do what he could to lobby for safer, cleaner-burning vehicles and improved handling of chemical waste relating to cars. He was a very effective witness, testifying before various city councils and state legislatures around the country, as well as Congress, and some called him the Father of Onboard Diagnostic Technology II, which is standard on all new cars and which allows emissions (and other) problems to be quickly located and corrected.

Here's Jack being inducted into the Hall of Fame for the Automotive Service Councils of America.

John "Jack" Heyler died the day after Christmas at the age of 74. The Los Angeles Times, in a piece that unfortunately cannot be accessed online, said that his efforts resulted "in major improvements in national and international standardization and vehicle emission control." Even before we lost him, the California Automotive Service Councils of California made him the first inductee into their Hall of Fame and the Service Technicians Society established the Jack Heyler Award which encourages leadership in that field. In 2001, he received the prestigious Outstanding Achievement Award from the Automotive Aftermarket Industry Association.

The last time I saw Jack was maybe a year ago. I was visiting my mother and he was being brought home from a medical treatment, gaunt and frail in a wheelchair and with oxygen lines plugged into his nostrils. As they lowered him from the van on a little elevator, he saw me down the block and waved, and I ran down to shake his hand and say hello. He immediately asked me, "How's that Lexus running for you?" I told him, "Great. Almost as good as that old Buick Skylark you used to keep running," and that was about all I had the opportunity to say. If I'd had another moment, I'd have added something like, "I can't tell you how much I admire what you've done, devoting so much time and energy to helping clean up the automotive business. You are as wonderful and decent a human being as I have ever met."

Since I didn't get to tell him, I thought I'd tell you.