By Doris Theriault
Let me warn you before you begin reading, this is yet another Prescott love story.
I grew up in Montreal, Canada, and spent my working years in the harbor area of Los Angeles. I'm a city gal through and through. While in Los Angeles, I commuted for an hour to work each way. I'm used to fast freeways, fast cars and even more relevant to this story, fast-talking car salesmen.
Six years ago, my husband and I became captivated with all the charms of Prescott and made this our retirement home. In the spirit of enjoying our free time, we toyed with the idea of purchasing a convertible car. It's crazy and impractical, but it would be our second car, and we could have fun with it almost year round in this great climate.
I was doing some plein air painting at Sharlot Hall Museum a few weeks ago, when I happened to look up and across the street to the McIlvain Motor dealership. Sitting next to the showroom was a sweet little turquoise convertible with a sign that read "Extra Clean" on it. It might as well have said, "Buy me" as it begged for my attention.,
No sooner had I gotten home, I called the dealership to get details on this cutie. I was in luck, I was told, because the price has just been reduced that very day. The city girl in me heard warning bells ringing loud and clear. I've heard all these great sales lines many times before. It turns out that the price reduction was true. My husband had seen this car a few weeks prior, but had disregarded it for some reason or another.
The man who gave me this information, the owner and only salesman, Mr. Joe McIlvain, invited us to take the car for a test drive whenever convenient. We showed up bright and early on a Saturday morning. I asked him if he wanted our names, the car keys for the car we were leaving behind, or a signature on anything before we left. I'm used to city ways and know for a fact that you just don't get in a car that you don't own and drive away. Mr. McIlvain said, no, that he trusted us with his car and that was all there was to it. Actually, it's not all there was to it - there was about an hour's worth of conversation, wherein we learned more about this native Precottonian and his way of doing business.
During this conversation, I asked him why he thought this great little car hadn't sold yet, and he answered, with a sheepish grin and a gleam in his eye, that he had grown very fond of the convertible and might have priced it accordingly. As is often the case in his business, this was the second time he was selling the car, having sold it to the previous owner as a program car, serviced it over the years and then took it in trade when the former owner wanted a truck instead. It seems that customer loyalty is a big part of McIlvain's success.
His office is a living museum of mementos of times past and present. As he relates a story that happened 50 years ago, he pulls out a newspaper article or a picture to document it. There are piles of papers, plaques, photos and memorabilia everywhere, and each piece has a story to tell. With any luck, you get to hear a dozen or more of those stories on each visit.
We took the little convertible on a test drive up to Jerome, where we had breakfast before returning to town via Interstate 17. This allowed us to test the car in a variety of situations. When we got back to the dealership, we had a few things that were of concern, which Mr. McIlvain duly noted in the course of an hour or so, with many more colorful stories.
In three or four days, we received a call from the shop manager, telling us that the items in question had been fixed and the car was ready to check out again. When we called later to make an appointment to pick up the car, we couldn't reach Mr. McIlvain. He had gone to the high school in order to give some money to their swim team, one of his favorite causes.
He must have helped many a cause over the years because his office walls are full of thank you notes, messages from graduating classes, Christmas cards and more thank you cards. He has obviously been an active part of this community. How refreshing to see someone giving back to the community that supports him!
Eventually we reached him and made arrangements to take the car out again. We could take it for the weekend, if we wanted. No questions asked and no papers to sign!
By now, we knew to allow plenty of time when visiting the dealership. At first, the city gal in me wanted to move on with the test drive, the details of the purchase, etc. but this 82-year-old gentleman dispels any need to rush. In a big city, I would have taken a test drive with the salesman sitting next to me and breathing down my neck about a decision. Not in good old Prescott... things here are leisurely, friendly and very trusting. What a breath of fresh air!
Our test drive proved very satisfactory and we decided to purchase the car. This meant spending an hour and a half giving Mr. McIlvain our legal names for the sales documents. During that time, we found out more about his father, Mac McIlvain, who began his career by running a taxi service with a Model T Ford. It was located across from the courthouse square and was often used to drive the miners up to the Bradshaw Mountains. Mac then opened up a garage, and eventually the car dealership in 1919. We admired a picture of young Joe, all decked out in his cowboy finery, to attend the Prescott Frontier Days with his buddies, Budge Ruffner, Bob Boy Barrett and Joe's brother, Pat. Mr. McIlvain served in the Fifth Air Force during World War II. We found out that he has a special place in his heart for any customer who has also served his country.
We heard stories about former customers, among them a recent one who also bought a convertible. Mr. McIlvain had tears in his eyes when he told us that soon after purchasing the car, the man had a stroke and has been unable to drive or enjoy his new car.
We were told about the scrapes he got into as a kid, the chow mein his family used to eat on Friday nights at the local Chinese restaurant, how his family lost everything during the depression. We got to see pictures of the famous snake dance done by the Smoki in their heyday. In a short time, we were family, and finding out about the trials and tribulations of early Prescott. We were interrupted once by a phone call from his wife. It turns out that she was just checking up on him.
He told us, in confidence, that when he and his father heard about the crooked dealings of Phoenix car dealers in the early 1940s, they shook hands and vowed to always be honest with their customers. I'm told that there are generations of people in Prescott who always buy their cars from Mr. McIlvain because when they were young and broke with no credit record, Mr. McIlvain agreed to sell them their first car with simple interest. Those cars and the payments are gone long ago, but the loyalty that such trust engenders lingers on.
To pick up the car, pay for it and sign the tons of papers took two and half hours. I looked at my watch with a smile - this could have driven any time-conscious person crazy, but instead it was pure joy at seeing a way of life, a way of doing business that is hardly ever seen anymore. We had talked so long that by the time we were ready to leave, most of his staff had gone home. At 82, he insisted on taking the old screwdriver off his desk and removing the license plate himself.
Finally, the car was pulled up in front of the dealership by Mr McIlvain himself, and we accepted the extra set of keys. After shaking our hands and thanking us for the purchase, he slipped a ten-dollar bill in my husband's hand, telling him to top off the tank with gas, much as a concerned parent would do to a child taking his first car out for a spin. We waved as we left, promising to send pictures....
(Doris Theriault now considers herself a "former city gal.")
Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number: (pb126f1i5)
Reuse only by permission.
Across from Sharlot Hall Museum is a museum, of sorts, in the McIlvain Motor Dealership. Along with newspaper clippings of donations to organizations, you will find more than one copy of this photograph of Pat McIlvain, "Budge" Ruffner, Bob Boy Barrett, and Joe McIlvain at the 1928 Rodeo.