Annie R. Vieira

by Annie Vieira

On a beautiful sunny day in June 2005, Brooks Robert Thompson, Kent Hamilton Metcalf, and Ann Robert Vieira, each took their turn crossing the stage of the Memorial Coliseum, accepting their diplomas, and graduating from high school. The summer that followed I will always remember as one of the most magical times in my budding life. It was the summer we were eighteen, it was our last months before we would leave for our respective colleges, and our entire lives seemed to stretch out before us in an eternity of infinite possibilities. At the time, I was the paragon of youthful optimism: I bravely anticipated the beginning of a new adventure in the big city of Washington, D.C., and I had never felt more alive, more sure of myself, or more confident of my place in the world. For me, that summer will forever exist in time as a period of untouchable perfection, the last calm of hopeful expectation before entering the storm that is reality and––to put it simply––life. 

I have thought of that summer often over the last five years. This is not to say that the half-decade since has been terrible, in fact, quite the opposite; however, those of you that know me well understand that life has also not been without its perils. Like everyone, I have experienced my share of grief, heartache, and difficult times. Without rehashing the unimportant details, I guess what I am trying to say is that at a certain point simply surviving began to feel like a full time job. Somewhere along the line I began to lose touch with that self-assured girl that saw the world as the generous benefactor of endless opportunity, the one who was lovingly raised to believe that she could do anything, that she could be anything. In other words, at some point, while I was perfecting the skill of merely enduring on this planet, I began to forget that it is also my right to allow myself the opportunity to succeed, to be great, and to shine. 

I thought about all of this recently as I was re-reading the novella, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, by Richard Bach: Most gulls don’t bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight––how to get from shore to food and back again. For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating. For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight. More than anything else, Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly. As I became absorbed again in Bach’s fable about this idealistic seagull yearning to glean more from life than merely the everyday task of survival, surprisingly, I began to think of Brooks and Kent. 

As the story goes, at first Jonathan struggles with perfecting his ability to fly high and soar as the falcon can––during his initial attempts he loses control, he is unstable, and he falters. But Jonathan is steadfast in his belief that even as a seagull, he, too, is entitled to pursue a loftier dream and that he, too, has the right to attempt greatness. In the beginning, the other seagulls don’t understand Jonathan’s desire to fly and he becomes ostracized from his flock. Soon, however, he is approached by a furtive group of like-minded seagulls who take him in and help him nurture his prowess. The trick, Bach writes, was for Jonathan to stop seeing himself as trapped inside a limited body that had a forty-two-inch wingspan and performance that could be plotted on a chart. The trick was to know that his true nature lived, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once across space and time. 

Today, on July 1st, 2010, Brooks and Kent will finally take flight. At 5:00 p.m. at Urban Studio in NW Portland, Double Decker PDX will celebrate its official launch, complete with friends, family, well-wishers, music, and libation. Over the last eight months, I have had the opportunity––nay, the privilege––to watch Brooks and Kent prepare themselves for this very day. I have been a spectator, an attentive observer, as they have endeavored to teach themselves the art of flying––doing so (not unlike Bach’s seagull) with the odds stacked against them. I have watched them as they’ve faltered and stumbled, but I have also watched them pick themselves up each time and work harder and fight harder for themselves, for each other, and for their dream. I could not be prouder of these two men, and I could not be more honored to have played a part, no matter how small, in supporting their dream and success. But more than anything, I want to thank them for the gift they have given me––and perhaps many others out there who have followed the development of Double Decker PDX. 

As the fable continues, the seagull eventually chooses to return to his original flock in order to teach the others about the limitless joys that can be achieved when you disregard the so-called rules and preconceived expectations––when you realize your true nature lives, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once across space and time. Two and a half weeks ago, I graduated from college. It only took me one trip around the world, two schools, and five years, but I did it. And thanks to the admirable courage of Brooks and Kent and their willingness to unshrinkingly pursue their dreams and happiness, I feel like I have regained a piece of that hopeful girl who walked across the Coliseum stage five years ago. 

So, to the handsome and accomplished Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf: 

Thank you for being my Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Thank you for reminding us all that it is right for a gull to fly, that freedom is the very nature of his being, that whatever stands against that freedom must be set aside, be it ritual or superstition or limitation in any form. Thank you for being two of my best friends––I can think of nothing that will make me happier than to raise a glass to both of you tonight, to your hard work, to Candy in all her glory, to Double Decker PDX, and to many wonderful things and exciting adventures to come. 

The utmost congratulations on everything you have accomplished. 

I love you both. 

by Annie Vieira

In 1759, Benjamin Franklin published, “The Way to Wealth,” which summarized much of his own advice pulled from the first 25 years of Poor Richard’s Almanac. The essay was more or less a condensed treatise of how to succeed in business––and in turn, how to succeed in life. In fact, many frequently recited American proverbs such as, There are no gains without pains; Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise; and There will be sleeping enough in the grave, all originated as Franklin adages. Although his piece is saturated with valuable platitudes, one in particular seemed applicably antithetical to the development of Double Decker PDX: Drive thy business, Franklin wrote, let not that drive thee. 

Overlooking the obvious and predictable bus trope (“drive thy business”), Franklin’s aphorism speaks to the general notion of control in business as well as in life. We are an odd species, us humans. Yes, at our core we are driven by the same desires that motivate all animals––sustenance, pleasure, survival––yet we have the added challenge of operating as beings forced to endure the burden of cognition. Our motivation is not simply derived from how to survive on this planet but is supplemented by a yearning to understand our relationship to the world beyond our corporeal existence. Social constructs like religion, politics, and philosophy are all abstract concepts conceived by this very human need to explain the things we cannot understand and exert control in a world where no tangible order exists. In other words, we are a species obsessed with control––obsessed with acquiring it, obsessed with keeping it, and oftentimes obsessed with the fact that we have none. So while I wouldn’t presume to know better than one of history’s most celebrated polymaths––the great Benjamin Franklin––my own history has taught me that the aim to control is an ambition pursued in vain. Rather, the sooner we realize we have none, the better off we will be. Granted, I have never attempted to run my own business and my life experience is admittedly limited in comparison, so if you’re reading this, ghost of Ben Franklin, feel free to shoot me an email and justifiably tell me off. Nonetheless, as Double Decker PDX finds itself months past their initially projected launch date, I’m fairly sure I could garner at least the support of Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf in this supposition. 

“The final week lasted a month,” Kent told me, referring to the time estimation given to them by their mechanic John. “He would tell us ‘it’ll be done next Tuesday,’ then it was ‘next Tuesday,’ and then it was ‘ok, one more week,’ then ‘one more week.’ Then it was down to days, and finally days went to hours, and it just dragged on and on.” Yet, despite the frustration of perpetual anticlimax, Brooks and Kent are assuredly not ungrateful to the man they refer to as “the mastermind” behind Candy’s complete overhauling. “What John did is actually pretty insane,” Brooks said in allusion to the fact that Double Decker PDX commissioned a 100% custom rebuilding of the bus, the likes of which delved into largely uncharted territory. Borrowing an analogy from John, Brooks explained it to me in comparison to restoring a car: “For example, someone says ‘I want you to restore this Mustang.’ Then you can call up this guy and buy the fenders, and then you can call up that other guy and get the engine or get those motor mounts; But with this,” he said, indicating their bus, “for every panel you can’t just call up Bristol ‘cause they don’t make these busses anymore––everything down to every mount has to be custom made.” 

On account of such high demands, John earned himself the appropriately self-appointed epithet of “Engineer” rather than “Mechanic.” However, after hearing the inventory of complex labor accrued by the end of the reconstruction, I would venture more to regard him as a consummate artist and perhaps even a pioneer. Yet, like any creative mind, the gift of vision and artistry often comes at the hefty price of skills like the ability focus or the capacity to successfully manage time and resources. Thus, for Brooks and Kent, those months spent with John were not only an exercise in hard work but a humbling lesson in patience and trust. Despite being there every day (sometimes even putting in a full 12-14 hours), the reality was that they lacked the knowledge and technical expertise needed to accomplish the majority of work. Even with the aid of another mechanic, a talented welder, and a transmission specialist, John was the proverbial brains of the operation––the pivotal center around which all things revolved. For lesser men, the idea of relinquishing complete control and placing the future of their business into someone else’s hands might sound like an unthinkable undertaking; but Brooks and Kent understood that in the long run swallowing their pride would prove more valuable than asserting dominance over things someone else could simply do better than they. With Double Decker PDX there is no “next time,” no “do-overs”––all they have is here and now. There is no margin for error, no backup plan, no safety net in case they fall. For better or for worse, Brooks and Kent have gone all in––betting their money, their reputations, and their livelihoods on each other, on this company, and on John. 

They say hindsight is 20/20, and while I am fairly sure this particular idiom cannot be attributed to Ben Franklin, Brooks and Kent are certainly seeing clearly now that the mechanical renovation of their bus is complete. Without a doubt, John was the right man for the job. Brooks and Kent took a chance by choosing to attempt the unprecedented and the risk has certainly come with its share of additional labor. The unexpected complications included: shifting the leaf springs over the x amount of inches needed to mount the rear axel, making entirely custom suspension bearings, rebuilding the steering gear to incorporate a power steering pump (no other Bristol Lodekka has ever had power-steering capabilities), a custom renovation of the fuel line system in order to turn on and run the engine correctly, a strategically placed engine, transmission and computer unit, an all new drive shaft, not to mention countless other parts all imagined and created by John and his aides. 

Today, as I sit here reviewing the notes from my last conversation with Brooks and Kent, I can think of a multitude of questions about each particular issue, custom part, and the technicalities of it all. In retrospect, however, it all seems rather unimportant. Instead, my only real question at this point would be: “Was it worth it?” Truthfully––after all the anxiety, all the delays, all the unforeseen problems, after going well over time and over budget––was it worth it? Would it have been better for Brooks and Kent to have clung to control and, as Franklin said, drive thy business? They could have listened to all those mechanics before John who suggested they take the easier, less time consuming route of modestly fixing up the bus they had rather than forging blindly and bravely into the unknown world of modern conversions. 

In the end, Brooks and Kent may have respectively shaved 5 years off their lives and perhaps will find themselves going gray at an inordinately young age––but after all is said and done, Double Decker PDX has created a service and business of enduring quality. Brooks once told me that his ultimate goal was to never have to tell a potential customer, “I’m sorry, our bus isn’t capable of that.” No matter what the job, the route, or the destination, Brooks wanted he and Kent to be able to proudly stand behind their business and say, “Of course, Double Decker PDX can do that for you.” So I imagine if I were to ask Brooks and Kent, “Was it worth it?” Without hesitation or uncertainty, the answer would assuredly be: “Absolutely.” 

by Annie Vieira

Sometimes I fear that Brooks and Kent may have been in a beer-happy state when they hired me. I have spent countless hours scrapping ideas, editing, re-writing, and self-consciously criticizing each word I commit to paper. When I first started writing for Double Decker PDX, I was given very little direction. Brooks and Kent had always intended to keep a chronicle of their progress, but planned on writing it themselves and had little idea of where or even how to begin. Then, after that fateful beer-laden evening when I stepped in as their writer, it became me that had little idea of where or even how to begin. Just as Brooks and Kent had to structure and develop the company with cursory experience and only a vague, hopeful vision to guide them, I similarly had never written a blog before––moreover, I had never really written anything of consequence before and certainly nothing that could effect much beyond my own immediate reality. Writing for Double Decker PDX is a task I do not take lightly. While I was raised to approach any job with the proper reverence and hard work, this situation is augmented by the fact that Brooks and Kent are two of my dearest friends. I have an emotional stake in the future of this business that stems from the unassuming desire to simply see the people you love succeed in what they love. I wanted this blog to be about more than merely a business or a bus––I wanted the world to know my friends, to truly believe in the people steering the (literal and figurative) Double Decker PDX wheel, and to root for their success as much as I will continue to do. 

My first objective for the blog was to introduce Brooks and Kent as co-owners as well as people and individuals. I had no idea how to describe my friends or where I should begin, until one day I walked to a coffee shop, bought myself a latte, and told myself to just sit down and write whatever came to mind. Some of what I wrote that afternoon ended up in the blog and some of it will remain nothing more than barely legible thoughts jotted down in a notebook; however, what that exercise did was force me to really consider my friends in a way one doesn’t normally appraise their buddies. I thought about how I saw Brooks and Kent after years of knowing them, but also how someone else might see them––be it a client, a vendor, a financier, or even another employee. It occurred to me that not everyone would see them through my eyes, as hard-workers, loyal friends, and as two people with genuinely good hearts and the best of intentions. It is an unfortunate truth but we live in society where each of is susceptible to judgment and scrutiny based on little more than our appearance. As reprehensible as this may sound, we are all guilty of it and no one is impervious to it––including Brooks and Kent. 

Allow me to paint you a picture to illustrate my point. Imagine, for a moment, that you are a hard-laboring, long-hour working auto-mechanic, your capable hands are protectively sheathed with an indelible layer of calluses, you have dirt under your nails, your boots are worn, and your pants are covered in grease. You are sweating under the hood of whatever car you have been diligently working on all morning when in walk Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf. You look at them with their young faces and confident smiles. “What can I do for you?” you ask, and they launch into some long-winded story about doing a full restoration and renovation of a double decker bus. These spoiled kids have no clue the amount of Daddy’s money this will cost and how many hours I would have to invest into their little hobby, you think as they ramble through their list of ideas. “You guys are in way over your heads,” you tell them with zero effort to disguise the contempt in your voice, “I think you boys are in the wrong place.”

Now take that scene and replay it––in some variation––about 12 times over and you might have a small idea of what Brooks and Kent experienced in their search for a mechanic. From workman to investors to clients, the effort to appear professional but not pretentious, young and fun but not naive, and innovative but not untrustworthy, could render even the most experienced businessmen rather ineffectual in the endeavor to please everybody. It wasn’t long before Brooks and Kent registered this inescapable fact and quickly realized that if they were to succeed as professionals all they could do was remain committed to the values, image, and standards they decided upon for themselves––the rest, they hoped, would follow as fate intended. 

After returning from Boise and seeing a double decker bus up close and in person, they had a clearer picture of what work their bus would ultimately require and a stronger vision of what they, in turn, wanted to do. Their initial plan was to maintain as much of the original bus as possible. Through online searches they came into contact with Mark Golding, the head of the British Bus Club, who advised them to use the original engine with new modern brakes––an avenue which seemed most economical and was really the only way they knew how to get the bus into working condition. Time and again, the boys would find a mechanic who sounded encouraging on the phone, then visit the shop a few days later where said mechanic would take one look at these two young men, hear the copious amount of work they wanted done and the time frame they wanted it done in, and waste no time sending them on their way with an explicit and resolute “no.” Each time they entered a shop it seemed as though the decision had already been made. Few mechanics were willing to give them the 5 minutes to hear their pitch, much less the 5 months it would take to do the actual work. As to why they were continuously turned away, I can only speculate; however, words like entitled or yuppies come to mind. Whether it was indeed the result of an underlying prejudice toward their age and fictitious perception based on their customary attire or people truly just did not have the time, one thing was clear––if the world of Portland auto-mechanics was an exclusive club, Brooks and Kent had certainly been blackballed. 

Eventually, however, while browsing double decker internet forums, Brooks and Kent found a photo of a bus owned by Mike Hale, owner and founder of Hale’s Ales, a Seattle based brewery and pub. From the picture, Brooks noticed a difference in the wheels and decided to contact Mike for any inventive recommendations. Mike told them that rather than keeping many of the original parts, he instead had done a complete modern conversion of his bus with an International DT466 engine, as well as modern air brakes, axels, and transmission. In the meantime, just when they were acclimating to feelings of rejection, Brooks and Kent finally found a mechanic who’s enthusiastic British ex-business partner encouraged him to take the job. Soon after, the two men met Brooks and Kent at NW Auto Works where the bus was parked at that time. The mechanics toured the vehicle and listened to the alternate approach suggested by Mike Hale. Yet, despite their initial interest, they were quickly intimidated from accepting such a substantial undertaking. “You boys are crazy––that is just way too much work,” they told them. “How about we just rebuild the original motor and then teach you how to drive it?”

Now, while this may sound like a kind offer––if I may interject for a moment––I would like to expound on how this proposal left both Brooks and Kent feeling slightly indignant. Primarily, for those who don’t know him, if I was asked to describe Brooks Thompson, the first things that would likely come to mind are (a) Brooks Thompson could sell ice to an eskimo––granted that eskimo might walk away wondering what the hell hit him, but happily with ice in hand nonetheless. And (b) Brooks Thompson can drive just about anything. Seriously. You could probably put some wheels on a lump of dirt and Brooks would figure out a way to drive it. In other words, Brooks is a maestro of vehicles. Put that man behind the wheel of even the most recalcitrant or temperamental of cars and he will find a way to coerce it into submission. To assume otherwise is akin to the assumption that one could teach Beethoven to play the piano or instruct Vince Carter on how to dunk a basketball... well, maybe not quite... but you get the point. 

Kent’s indignation, on the other hand, was precipitated by an entirely different supposition. If I were subsequently asked to describe Kent Metcalf, the first thing that might come to mind are the many ways in which Kent is dad-like. Not only would it not be terribly far-fetched to mistake Kent and Brooks as a babysitter diligently caring for his charge, but the guy also dresses better than any 23 year-old I know. That said, beyond the scruff and the dapper threads, even in spirit Kent seems wiser than most––an old soul perhaps. And the notion that he would allow factors like time and cost to weigh out over safety and reliability, is not only contrary to his very nature but overlooks the crucial fact that providing a service of the safest and highest quality has always been and will continue to be the highest priority for Double Decker PDX. 

In the end, Brooks and Kent stood by their principles. They ultimately found a mechanic who specialized in the custom building of cars rather than a standard repair mechanic. Shortly after finding their mechanic John online, Brooks and Kent pulled up to NW Auto Works to find John already crawling under, over, and around every inch of their bus. John embraced the concept of a modern conversion and eagerly welcomed the complexity and hard work it would surly necessitate. Most importantly, he understood the ethos prompting the renovation––that it wasn’t about perverting the heart and soul of the bus, but rather preserving the historic beauty while adding the security and reliability of a newer vehicle. From there, things began to fall into place. Within days, Brooks, Kent, and John drove up to Seattle to take a closer look at Mike Hale’s bus. A week later they purchased a pristine condition International 4700 donor truck that matched perfectly. And now, nearly every day, Brooks and Kent make the drive out to Troutdale where Candy continues to be lovingly renovated by John and his protégé Hilario while patiently awaiting her public debut. 

by Annie Vieira

For any young, fledgling entrepreneur, there is no greater movie than 1999’s made for T.V. Pirates of Silicon Valley. The film––which documents the creation of the personal computer and the inception of Apple and Microsoft––depicts how, according to an Apollo Guide review, “over less than 30 years, a band of shaggy nerds rose to become the richest people on earth.” Who can forget the scene in which a long-haired, bearded Steve Jobs, dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and threadbare cutoff jeans, presents his business plan to a doughy, bald, suit-wearing Monument Bank executive who stares back at him managing to look incredulous, bored, and constipated all at once? As The Guess Who’s rousing 1970 kiss-off anthem, “No Time,” plays in the background, the bank montage then cuts to a retrospective interview with Steve Wozniak who laments, “Whenever Steve went to a bank to get a loan, it was like they were Eskimos and we had a refrigerator to sell them.” Finally, after a demoralized Jobs leaves District Savings & Loans once again empty handed, the audience sees him emerge from a contemplative bathroom moment subsequently sporting no more than a mustache to keep him warm.

“Where is your beard?” a younger Wozniak asks him with disbelief.

“In the bathroom. I shaved it off,” Jobs deadpans.

“Well, how come?”

“‘Cause banks don’t like beards.”

It is a piece of cinematic poetry––the ultimate sell-out moment. One can just imagine that with each stroke of his razor, Jobs not only pares down his hair but is simultaneously shaving off tiny pieces of his soul. And, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, a similar moment of clarity is likely experienced by every idealistic entrepreneur at some point in their budding careers. Remaining loyal to ones individuality and vision is unquestionably a significant part of cultivating a new business; however, in reality there are times when playing the game can be equally as crucial. According to the Small Business Administration, half of all small businesses fail within the first five years––as such, it is foreseeable that a certain amount of compromise will become necessary in order to achieve enduring success.

For Double Decker PDX, this compromise did not involve a physical transformation, yet, their quest for financing nonetheless taught them a similar lesson in flexibility. In the last year, SBA loans hit a failure rate of 12%, making bank lending to small businesses extremely risky and––consequently––infrequent. Furthermore (like Steve Jobs before them), Brooks and Kent faced understandable prejudice regarding their age, making an already inauspicious fiscal climate increasingly inhospitable. Although their initial funds came from leftover T.M. Endeavors revenue, by the time Brooks and Kent took possession of their bus in December 2009, the money well had run dry while the laundry list of expenses merely continued to grow.

“Kent had gray hair for like a month and a half,” Brooks joked, when we sat down to discuss this phase in their company. “It’s true,” Kent laughed, “I had to dye it back.” Although they reminisced on those not-so-long-past days with good humor––with a payroll including mechanics, a lawyer, a P.R. firm, painters, window installers, upholsterers, an electronics vendor, and a website developer––the pressure to obtain financing weighed heavily on Brooks and Kent. Despite their efforts to make light of the experience, the stress of watching their financing resolve itself then fall apart again on multiple occasions was difficult to endure.

For months, even while still looking to simply purchase a bus, Brooks and Kent labored diligently on perfecting the Double Decker PDX business plan. When it was finally complete they started by shopping it around to the big banks. They suited up and headed out to Bank of America, Umpqua, Key Bank, and West Coast Bank looking professional and prepared, but were sent away each time with the same response: “We’re not lending right now,” they were told; Or sometimes even, “We like you guys, but you’re young and have almost no credit history––I’m just not sure there is much we can do for you right now.” Refusing to be discouraged, Kent took to the phone book and made calls to every credit union in the city of Portland until they eventually caught a much needed break.

After being refered to one of the executives at Wells Fargo, who all but promised them an SBA Express Line of Credit, they waited diligently by the phone for details or directions toward the next step. When no reply ever came, they began making daily calls only to be told, “Oh, Ms. So-and-So is in a meeting, she will have to get back to you,” or, “I’m sorry, she just stepped out of the office.” Whether they merely experienced a stream of bad luck or it was their age that made the quest for financing difficult, Brooks and Kent realized that in order to reach their ultimate goal they might have to become more flexible in their vision of how to get there.

Ultimately, after exploring nearly every financial recourse imaginable, and what felt like a life-time’s worth of false hopes and disappointments––like most things in life––the funding for Double Decker PDX seems to have worked out the way it was meant to. Eventually, Brooks and Kent found two personal lenders who saw their youth as a virtue rather than a liability. These unnamed benefactors have chosen to lend to Double Decker PDX for reasons that go beyond the aim of economic turnaround, but because they support the cause and were able to see the potential in Brooks and Kent as individuals.

For two guys fresh out of college with no credit history to speak of, it is no small feat that Double Decker PDX was able to secure adequate funding. Despite the overwhelming stress of financing their business, Brooks and Kent learned an invaluable lesson in compromise and the notion that––if you can let go of how you think things should be or how you thought they would be––sometimes, if you’re really lucky, things will work out better than you initially imagined. 

by Annie Vieira

Last week, the Double Decker PDX blog left its readers undoubtedly on the edge of their seats waiting for an answer to one of the most pressing questions this blogger has faced thus far––the state of Brooks Thompson’s cajones.

But, before we address such a crucial topic, let us take a moment to imagine and appreciate the overwhelming exultation that Brooks and Kent likely experienced as they drove off the McNally Properties’ lot that cold December morning in Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. After all the planning, disappointments, and hard-learned lessons, the boys pulled away in a double decker bus... and not just any double decker bus––their double decker bus.

Although Brooks and Kent both verbalized retrospective feelings of excitement, I have mostly speculation as I attempt to recount their experience. I have to imagine that the feelings surpassed mere enthusiasm and crossed into the realm of elation or perhaps even flirted with pure, euphoric bliss. At 22, as a student on the cusp of graduation, I still have yet to understand that feeling of accomplishment––that unequivocal sense of personal pride that accompanies one’s first significant purchase. Be it a car, a house, a double decker bus––I suppose there are few things in this world that can be so effectively emblematic of one’s personal achievements and, dare I say, individual worth. My intended implication is not that a person cannot achieve self worth in the absence of material property; however, it is my hope that one day, if I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to make a purchase of consequence, that I will allow the weight of such responsibility to manifest itself as a triumph rather than a heavy burden indicative of a future in encumbered adulthood.

On that account, it is perhaps this moment––more so than any other pivotal event in their young lives––that Brooks and Kent truly became men. This bus was theirs. The engine was theirs, the four wheels were theirs, the frame was theirs, their names were on that title; and as such, the responsibility was theirs, the payments, the insurance, the safety––all theirs. So, to return once again to the issue at hand: maybe even more than his ability to navigate the streets in a giant bus, it is Brooks’ willingness and capacity to shoulder this responsibility that reflects on the state and existence of his cajones. If I had been sitting across from Mac McNally that morning, my response might have been, “I’d say Brooks definitely has balls, and you know what? I’d say his buddy Kent over here has a pair too.”

And so began Candy’s maiden voyage as a member of the Double Decker PDX family. The boys rolled off that lot with Brooks at the helm and Kent as his first mate. Quickly, however, that initial excitement was eclipsed by the realization that they were to drive the 200 miles from Lake of the Ozarks to the train station in Kansas City in nearly freezing weather aboard a bus that––at the time––was without heat. But as the trip continued, if the boys (bundled up in long underwear, ski socks, jeans, multiple shirts, sweatshirts, coats, hats, gloves, and hand-warmers) had any lingering doubts about their purchase, it quickly dissipated as signs seemingly began to appear. First, it was the abandoned double decker bus they saw in a parking lot as they drove through Harrisonville. Then later, it just so happened that the cab driver who picked them up from the train yard coincidentally had recently started his own charter company after renovating a school bus. It was as though the stars had finally aligned. Yet, as we have learned, nothing is quite that simple when it comes to Brooks and Kent. When they arrived at the airport and sat down to eat a pre-flight lunch, they thought they were finally home free; however, mid meal the boys received a phone call from the train yard. “Guys, we’ve already used up the entire can of starter fluid and we still can’t get the bus started, ” they were told. With only 35 minutes before their flight was to take off, Kent found himself negotiating with the airlines about the possibility of a later flight, while Brooks stayed on the phone racking his brain for any way possible to get the bus started. Ultimately, with only 15 minutes to takeoff and before they had even begun the security process, Brooks and Kent got the call that Candy was up and running and had made it onto the train. One week and a whole new set of mishaps later, Brooks and Kent’s very own double decker bus arrived in Portland.

by Annie Vieira

For those that have been dependably following the development of Double Decker PDX, do not mistake my recent silence for inactivity. Although my personal preoccupation with studying and preparation for finals can make it feel as though life has fleetingly arrived at a gridlock, it seems that time certainly does wait for no man. While I have spent the last couple of weeks lost in my own reality of Shakespeare, MLA format, and #2 pencils, Brooks and Kent have remained interminably hard at work. If this website––with it’s new format and design––can act as a paradigm for the progress of the business in its entirety, I am undoubtedly impressed at the difference a month can make. It is this very realization that inspires me as I begin my final term of college. Three and a half months ago, Brooks and Kent had just completed the last finals of their college careers; and merely two days later were on a plane to St. Louis, Missouri, on the cusp of making perhaps the most important purchase of their entire lives.

In an indisputable alliteration, it would be safe to say that the boys had been bested by Boise. They left Idaho feeling slightly humbled, a little smaller, but certainly more knowledgeable. Brooks and Kent remained somewhat disheartened until surfing the internet a few weeks later when they caught their first glimpse of Candy. At the time, Candy was owned by Patrick McNally, the founder and head of McNally Properties––a leader in the commercial and residential real estate market in Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. McNally Properties is run by Pat, along with his wife Patty, and their two sons Morgan and Mac. The McNally family had been using Candy as billboard advertising and become quite memorable around the Osage River area as the “double decker bus realtors.” Although they had invested a significant amount of money into the restoration and maintenance of the bus, the time had come that the cost-benefit no longer made sense and they reluctantly began to pursue a sale.

Though their experience in Boise had left them apprehensive about becoming too attached to a bus without seeing it, Brooks and Kent couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of hope and excitement. This bus was everything they wanted––rear loading, good condition, reasonably priced. When Brooks spoke with Patrick McNally on the phone and learned he was selling for significantly less than the original asking price, he and Kent erupted into a silent but elated celebratory dance in their kitchen. They immediately used PayPal to wire Patrick a 9% down payment, and booked flights to Missouri in order to leave as soon as their last finals were complete.

The next three weeks passed slowly. As each day went by, Brooks and Kent feared that another buyer would come along with a better offer. But, as they flew across the country that Saturday morning in early December, they were feeling hopeful and far better prepared. This time, they knew better––rather than carrying a large amount of cash, they had their banks verify the funds; and they promised themselves there would be no signing of paperwork or titles until they had properly discussed and sufficiently ruminated on any decision.

When they arrived in St. Louis, they were picked up at the airport by Mac McNally. Brooks and Kent instantly felt better about this situation––he picked them up in his fully functioning 4-door sedan and chatted amiably with them during the 2 and 1/2 hour drive to Osage Beach where the bus was parked in a lot adjacent to their company warehouse. When Candy’s double decks came into view in the distance, the boys were filled with irrepressible excitement.

That excitement only continued to build as Mac gave them the detailed tour. “Cosmetically,” Kent later told me, “she was damn near perfect.” Even a test drive could not deter them from this purchase. But still, Brooks and Kent had learned their lesson, and decided to wait on committing to any exchange until after a good night’s sleep. That evening, at Mac’s suggestion, Brooks and Kent deliberated between the four walls of Lake of the Ozark’s finest dining experience––Wobbly Boots. Between bites of a delicious Missourian cuisine of pulled pork, baked potato, and mac and cheese, it became clear that both boys felt a strong connection to this bus.

A couple of cocktails later, Brooks and Kent were walking to their hotel but decided instead to head back to the McNally Properties’ parking lot. Under the cover of darkness they were able to examine the bus without anyone else watching. There was no pressure, no expectant looks––it was just Candy and the boys. They hung out inside for a while, getting a feel for her and bonding with the vehicle. “That’s what really sealed the deal,” Brooks told me, “going back that night.”

The next morning at 5:45 Brooks and Kent met Mac at the parking lot to tell him the good news. Mac started the engine and let the bus warm up while they did the paperwork and signed the title. Although he was happy to make the sale, Mac was visibly emotional about parting with the bus. “Are you ready for this?” He asked them, referring to their upcoming drive. “This thing takes a pair of testicles,” he said, gazing contemplatively at the 30 foot long, 13.5 foot high, 8 foot wide, 16,000 pound vehicle. “I’ve got balls, Brooks––but the question is do you have the balls?” 

by Annie Vieira

As the tour of Mark’s vehicular home continued, the inventory of issues soon swelled from a list of minor repairs into a novel sized catalog of major issues. First it was a split in one of the tires and some considerable body restoration––all do-able repairs. Then, when Mark started the engine, Brooks and Kent took note of the not-so-understated cracking noise emerging from the motor––slightly troubling, yet still a rectifiable issue. But eventually, when he lifted the cover concealing the gas tank, the boys finally began to worry. Not only did it hold a paltry 8 gallons worth of gas (practically nothing for a 16,000 pound vehicle), but a continuous leak was hazardously dripping diesel right onto the grass below. Furthermore, Mark informed them that the only way to fill the tank was through the utilization of a makeshift channel––essentially a green garden hose acting as a duct. 

Amazingly enough, despite the significant drawbacks and advice from their parents swimming around the back of their minds to “sleep on it” regarding any major decisions, Brooks and Kent were still ingenuously optimistic. With the substantial pressure from Mark they were thinking, “We can still figure this out, we can do this,” Kent later told me. So they followed Mark inside, pulled two $100 bills from their pockets, and signed their names on the title. Afterward, Mark walked them back to his abandoned car which restarted after the addition of some gas and a couple of hard smacks to hood, then dropped Brooks and Kent off at a Red Lion. 

Over dinner that evening, Brooks and Kent ordered a couple of cocktails and toasted each other feeling pleased with their new purchase. Their good spirits continued even as they left the restaurant and began the walk back to their hotel. Needless to say, Brooks and Kent stood out like sore thumbs as they sauntered happily through the streets of downtown Boise. Their Oregonian uniforms of jeans and Gore-Tex seemed to impress the antithesis of the camo-wearing, dip-chomping locals ogling them as they passed. In my experience, I’ve found that all it takes in life is the smallest criticism from one person to make you suddenly begin to question everything about yourself––in Kent’s case this particular trigger came from a girl leaning out the window of a giant, menacing, raised pick-up truck. “Hey you,” she called down to him, her voiced laden with unconcealed mockery, “nice red jacket!” And with one well-placed blow right to the kidneys of Kent’s Patagonia-swaddled fashion ego, their optimism finally began to wane. 

Back at their hotel, the second-guessing set in. Brooks poured over their insurance looking for any potential issues, while Kent decided to double check with AAA about their policies. When AAA ultimately backed out, the boys then toyed with the notion of renting a U-Haul to tow the bus back themselves. Brooks and Kent went to bed that evening with an unshakable feeling of uneasiness, each quietly harboring a subliminal hope that they might find a reason not to surrender the rest of their neatly bundled $100 bills. 

At 6:00 a.m. the following morning, Brooks and Kent waited for Mark to pick them up in front of their hotel by which time he was to have closed out his storage unit and emptied his belongings from the bus. After waiting patiently, Brooks called Mark to discover he was not only still sleeping but also had yet to complete any of the necessary tasks. Mark rushed over and brought the boys back to his friend’s yard where they watched him unload two-stories worth of stuff. He then insisted they accompany him to another friend’s welding studio to pick up the customized part which would allow them to attach the U-Haul to the axel of the bus. After some inquiry as to why the part was at the welders, Mark reluctantly admitted that the piece had snapped the last time it was used. “The bus can make it,” Mark told them, sensing their hesitation, “it can totally make it. Trust me, you guys will be fine. It’s not a problem, this thing is in great shape.” Yet, despite Mark’s dubious change of heart from his previous concern, the remaining cast of characters consulted in Brooks and Kent’s Boise predicament had a rather different opinion of the situation. To give you a general understanding of the majority outlook I have assembled a highlight reel from conversations with the various adjudicators: 

“This is the hands down worst idea I have ever heard.” -Kent’s loving father, Charlie Metcalf. 

“I don’t know what you guys are thinking. Don’t do this.” -Metcalf Family friend, and experienced hauler. 

“Um, I’m not sure this is such a great idea...” -Anonymous Boise Welder, and sole ally of Mark. 

At this point, Brooks and Kent––using their hawk-like sense of perception––began to hone in on the oh-so-subtle intimations that they perhaps should not purchase this particular bus. Sitting in the backseat of Mark’s car as they returned to his vehicular home, Brooks and Kent exchanged discreet but panicked text messages that possibly said something along the lines of: “Dear Brooks, I’m having visions of death, maybe we should not buy this bus. Sincerely, Kent.” And in response, “Dear Kent, I completely concur. How do we get out of this? Sincerely, Brooks.” 

Although they were in agreement that the incredibly low price, the poignancy of Mark’s despair, and their hope to return to Eugene in time for their Monday midterms with bus on hand, were not reason enough to buy the vehicle––Brooks and Kent had never actually driven a double decker bus; They were hesitant to walk away from the opportunity to do so and decided to delay imparting the likely devastating news to Mark until after a test drive. Brooks and Kent watched from the lawn as Mark unloaded a few remaining effects before firing up the engine. First, he secured a few of the animals in the car, then hopped back on the bus, pulled out a rifle and quickly stowed it in the trunk.

While Brooks settled behind the wheel for his maiden double decker voyage, Kent remained in the passenger area of the bus. As they drove through the neighborhood, Kent took notice of an oddly shaped lump bouncing up and down on the only remaining couch. Standing guard over this  curious mound, staring at him with haughty contempt, was the wisest looking dog he had ever seen. Kent was preparing to stand his ground and fix a steady, unyielding gaze right back at the canine, when he realized the curious mound was in fact Mark’s 22 year old daughter passed out on the couch. For the entirety of the ride, while the potholed pavement violently bounced her, Mark’s daughter neither acknowledged Kent’s presence, much rather spoke or even moved. By the time Brooks re-parked in the side yard, the circumstances had become so increasingly bizarre Kent was completely ready to cut and run. 

Brooks and Kent felt terrible when they told Mark they would not be buying the bus after all. They told him they just didn’t think the bus could make the trip home, they told him things might have been different if maybe they had simply had more time or a better alternative if it were to break down. They told him they were sorry but they just didn’t think it was right for them. And still Mark pushed: “Well, you’ve already signed the titled,” he told them, “I don’t think I can just cross out your name... I mean, you’ve already signed the title!” When Mark walked away for a moment to make a last-ditch phone call to another potential buyer, Kent made a cursory assessment of the situation. His mind swept over the look of desperation in Mark’s eyes and images of a rifle-laden trunk flickered in his thoughts. “Brooks, I think we have pissed this guy off,” he whispered, “I don’t want to make him drive us all the way to the airport. Let’s just start walking and call a cab from the road.” 

Despite lingering dissent from Mark, Brooks walked into the house, crossed his name off the title, initialed, and rewrote a bill of sale stating he did not in fact purchase the bus. Mark nonetheless insisted on giving them a ride back to town, and although he seemed more disheartened rather than angry and vengeful, both Brooks and Kent were thinking, “This is going to be one hell of an awkward ride.” So there they were yet again––400 miles away from home with the pleading eyes of a man on the verge of desperation staring back at them... only this time the man knew they had their bags, computers, those pockets full of crisp $100 bills, and happened to have a rifle sitting in the back of his car. Sitting shotgun next to Mark, Kent noiselessly pulled the directions to the airport up on his I-Phone and vigilantly followed the progress of the car while various scenarios involving some combination of wrong turns, empty fields, pockets of money, and guns played out in his mind. 

However, Brooks and Kent’s initial instincts about Mark were right––he was simply a good guy who had fallen on hard times. Safely at the curb, the boys expressed their regret that things did not work out, said there goodbyes, and entered the Boise Airport. No sooner had they stepped through those revolving doors, both Brooks and Kent turned, looked at each other, and wordlessly erupted into a fit of relief-filled, anxiety-releasing laughter. 

In past weeks, I have regularly referred to some of the unique struggles Brooks and Kent will face as they build Double Decker PDX. Stories like their Boise trip are undoubtedly amusing, but beyond their quality as barstool fodder, I think it is important to recognize and credit these situations for what they truly are––the building blocks of a company, the legs on which a future business will stand. When one chooses to carve their path down the road less travelled sometimes it is important to screw things up so, at the very least, the next time they will know how to do it right.

by Annie Vieira

Forevermore, I will remember Christmas Eve 2009 as the day Candy was born. Although technically the old gal has been up and running since 1959, December 25th will always be the day Candy became a part of the Double Decker PDX family. Before that inaugural Portland journey out of the train yard, through St. John’s, and to the mechanic’s garage where she will reside for next month or two, Candy seemed like little more than a hypothetical––an ivory-towered figment of a future reality. But that morning, that distant hypothetical transformed into a tangible present and it became entirely evident that this bus was so much more than four wheels, two decks, and an engine. To properly describe the emotions of that morning feels like a near impossibility, like mere words couldn’t begin to do justice to the true joyousness and total sense of pride emanating from those moments. As I watched Brooks painstakingly maneuver her through traffic with Kent by his side, it only seemed proper that this new family member receive a name. And henceforth, because of her cherry red exterior and her bodacious set of double Ds (decks that is), she became lovingly known as Candy.

 While Brooks and Kent continue to pour their time and devotion into Candy, all the while learning her special quirks and each idiosyncrasy that is unique to her, it hardly seems feasible that they nearly ended up with a different bus––yet that indeed was initially going to be the case. In fact, the bus they were originally interested in purchasing necessitated a visit to Boise, Idaho, a trip that now symbolizes Double Decker PDX’s first encounter with those infamous “learning experiences” our parents are always harping on about.

Three days subsequent to finding this particular bus online for an outrageous bargain, Brooks and Kent had booked one way tickets and were on a plane fully equipped with an envelope of neatly stacked $100 bills just begging to be spent, and their sights set on driving back to Oregon the following morning in their new double decker. After landing in Boise, they met Mark, the seller, who intended to drive them directly from the airport to the bus. Mark was an older British man with thinning gray hair and a well groomed mustache. He was kind and well dressed in dark slacks and a neatly tucked in oxford shirt. He seemed normal enough, so Brooks and Kent loaded their luggage into his car and off they went.

En route, however, while stopped at a light, Mark’s car sputtered to an abrupt and untimely death. With no other options, he rolled them into a nearby gas station. “Just leave your stuff here,” he told the boys, “it’s not far, we’ll walk the rest of the way.” So against their better judgment Brooks and Kent left their bags, their computers, and all of their belongings to began the mile hike through the streets of Boise.

As they walked, Mark filled the time with an incessant stream of words––probably finding it easier to share the intimate details of his life with two, polite young men he would likely never see again. The real reason for the low price, as it turned out, was simply that Mark needed the money. Although he was a self-professed former millionaire, he had fallen on hard times and was living on the bus parked in a friend’s side yard with his 22 year old daughter, 15 year old son, and their menagerie of dogs, cats, and even a couple of fish. Mark’s primary career had been as a moderately successful mystery writer, but most recently had been running a local company that threw Murder Mystery parties around the nearby Treasure Valley. Unfortunately, due to an ongoing battle with an unspecified mental disorder, he had found it difficult as of late to maintain steady employment. And to make matters worse, he was also embroiled in a bitter custody battle with his ex-wife of whom was a diagnosed manic depressive.

Despite his troubles, Mark was a difficult man to dislike. He was good-natured and honest, and expressed significant concern about Brooks and Kent’s plan to drive the bus back to Oregon in its current shape. Their strategy was to drive it as far as they could despite its dilapidated condition––they crossed their fingers that if it were to break down they would be within 100 miles of Portland so that they could use Kent’s AAA membership to have it towed the rest of the way, and worst case scenario if they made it at least half-way home they could pay an extra $50 to have it towed twice as far. But like only a father would, Mark continued to express significant concern about the trip. He worried about many of the dangerous roads between Boise and Portland, particularly that they wouldn’t make it past the legendary Dead Man’s Pass (also known as the “Oh Shit!” Pass) just outside of Hermiston. The more Mark talked, the more Brooks and Kent wanted to buy the bus from him. Not only did they want to return from their trip with a successful purchase, but they liked Mark and it was clear he needed the world to cut him a bit of a break.

By the time they turned the corner onto Mark’s street and the big, red bus came into view, Brooks and Kent had fallen completely in love with the idea of buying this bus. The incredibly low price coupled with the unbearable anticipation and their genuine fondness for Mark, had them running on pure emotion as they were given the official tour.

“Seriously Annie,” Brooks said with a laugh as he and Kent recounted their adventure over lunch a few weeks later, “looking back at this, I honestly don’t know what the hell we were thinking.” From the moment Brooks and Kent stepped onto Mark’s bus, it was obvious that this particular vehicle was not that ivory-towered figment of their future reality. With three people living there, the bus was crammed with stuff––there was a queen sized bed upstairs where Mark’s daughter slept, and the downstairs was packed with computers, a television, and piles of clothes (some of which belonged to the inhabitants and some of which were clearly the moth-eaten legacy of long past Murder Mystery parties). The entire interior reeked of animals and a fine layer of hair was working its’ way over nearly every object, surface, and square inch of naked floor.

With each ding and crack that was uncovered, Mark’s demeanor slowly began to change and he started to push the sale with more and more force. Suddenly, the perilousness of the roads was merely a trivial consideration, and of course after some contemplation it occurred to him that Dead Man’s Pass probably wouldn’t be an issue... Finally, when he revealed to Brooks and Kent that he needed a $200 deposit from them to simply close out the storage unit where he was keeping the spare parts, it became inescapably clear that Mark hadn’t just fallen on hard times but that he literally no longer had a dime to his name. So there they were: stranded 400 miles away from home, no car, no bags, no computers––nothing but a crisp pile of $100 bills burning a hole in their pockets, and the pleading eyes of a man on the verge of desperation staring back at them.....



by Annie Vieira