Byline: Selina Pedi-Smith, Pellere Foundation
If you’ve ever had a flat tire, a busted mower, or a car that made a noise no one could quite diagnose… there’s a good chance Bruce Donaldson took a look at it. For fifty years, he’s been the mechanic down on River Avenue in Emlenton – with grease on his hands and stories for days.
Back in December, Bruce wrote an article in the paper sharing some of his memories about the building and his life here in town. It’s a love letter to this region, full of family legacy and the movement of eras. He talked about the days when Emlenton came alive for “new model reveal day,” with brand-new cars hidden in garages until the big announcement. He remembered the dealerships that once lined the streets – Buick, Pontiac, Ford, Chevy, Nash, Studebaker – and the monthly meals their owners shared at Mary Best’s restaurant, now Otto’s. They all figured Donaldson Motors wouldn’t last. But as Bruce noted, with quiet pride: “Donaldson outlasted all of them.”
I had the chance to hear more of those stories recently while taking a closer look at his building. It’s for sale: Bruce is moving south, and Donaldson’s Motors is up for grabs. I’ve been in that space plenty of times (he’s been the savior of several nearly-worn-out riding mowers over the years), but I was always there to talk shop. Dropping off. Picking up. Chatting a bit. This was the first time I went just to look at the building. Really look. And what I saw floored me.
The building Bruce has worked out of all these years is more than a repair shop. His family built it with their own hands – stacking blocks, welding steel – shaping a structure that reveals its bones with pride. Those arched girders overhead? They’re an embodiment of post-war American fortitude, curved with intention and built to last. There’s an unexpected elegance to them: a quiet kind of beauty forged from utility. If you get the chance, stop by and ask to look up at the bare structure above the workshop floor (and you might just spot Bruce’s gorgeous classic green AMC while you’re there, if it hasn’t headed south yet). Every step you take inside, you can feel the history beneath your feet. Smell the oil of a thousand engines. Hear the echo of a hundred thousand conversations. There’s soul in that steel. And story in every bolt.
That got me thinking…about all the other places like this. Spaces soaked in memory. A favorite fishing spot on the river. A porch where neighbors gathered. A hillside perfect for sledding in the winter. A hardware store that always smelled like dust and pipe tobacco. The places that don’t just hold history, but carry it. Not in a grand, museum kind of way. In a “this mattered to me” kind of way.
Where are your memories held?
…What came to mind just now? A little shop, a trail, your grandfather’s garage, maybe? Can you still see it? Smell it? Hear what it sounded like? What did that place mean to you?
If you’re picturing it right now… we’d love to hear about it. Head over to pellere.org in the next couple of weeks and you’ll see a little pop-up where you can share your memory. And here’s the fun part: we’ll post the stories you share (you can stay anonymous if you wish, or not – totally up to you!) and let readers of a future article decide which memory deserves to become a video feature.
Which story will grab the biggest audience?
We can’t wait to see which one lights up the room.
