Story by Harmony Johnson
Photos by Jen Fraser
The rain was light but steady, slowly soaking the neighborhood as Adam Reinke huddled under the umbrella perched atop the open door of the 1992 Chevrolet Beretta.
Kneeling on the damp asphalt, he wedged his broad shoulders beneath the steering wheel. The sun had long since set, so he used a hand-held light to peer into the guts of the dashboard.
Adam could feel his patience slipping away as he fumbled around the steering column, trying to install the new ignition switch. Why was this taking so long? Why did he ever agree to do this in the first place? It wasn’t even his car!
“I’m not a patient guy — with anything I work on,” admits Adam.
Ask the 26-year-old Arden resident about his hobbies and it’s clear that he prefers fast. The BorgWarner engineer spends his days helping to design turbo chargers for diesel engines. Evenings and weekends are for riding his motorcycle or playing ice hockey in Greenville.
And then there’s his other hobby. The one rife with mistakes and do-overs, the one that forces him to slow down, study, dig for answers — and be patient.
Adam began working on cars about five years ago, when his status as a poor college student meant that the only mechanic he could afford was himself. When something broke that he didn’t know how to fix, he quizzed friends or scoured the Internet until he found the solution.
In 2003, Adam and his wife Missy moved to Western North Carolina and began attending Grace Community Church. Less than a year later, he spotted a notice in the Sunday bulletin: The Single Parents Ministry was seeking a mechanic — someone who could do basic repairs, recommend oil and tires, and identify mysterious engine noises.
“I’ve got some knowledge and some tools and the heart to help,” he thought. So he volunteered and has continued doing so for more than two years.
A couple times a month, his phone will ring with a single mother on the other end of the line. Sometimes, she just needs car advice: what to do when the check engine light comes on, when to flush the transmission or where to find a reliable mechanic for more complicated repairs.
“Sometimes they don’t have anyone else to turn to,” he explains. “I can take a little bit of my time to help somebody out instead of being selfish with my time.”
Mostly, Adam replaces brake pads, but he also has done tune-ups, replaced shocks, rebuilt engines and repaired air conditioning. He’s worked on a Toyota Camry, a Chevrolet Corsica, a Ford Explorer, a Ford Taurus and a Honda Accord.
And, of course, the Chevrolet Beretta.
The car belonged to a Hendersonville woman who worked for a housecleaning service. One of her coworkers volunteered with the Single Parents Ministry and asked Adam to help.
The Chevy’s owner spoke almost no English. She and her three children lived in a federally subsidized neighborhood. Her husband was out of the picture.
Her eldest child, a 14-year-old boy, translated, telling Adam what happened. His mom was pulling onto the street in front of their house when the Chevy just died, refusing to move into the driveway or anywhere else.
The mother was worried. Like most single parents, her car was her only mode of transportation. A co-worker had given her a ride to and from work, but how would she get anywhere else?
Adam arrived after work, and by then it was too late to make any repairs. But he gave the car a quick check and decided the problem was a faulty ignition switch. The next day after work, he bought the part and returned to the woman’s home.
As he worked, the rain fell. With his head under the steering wheel, grumbling, he installed the switch. Then he put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Nothing.
“I’d changed the wrong part. In the rain. At night,” Adam recalls, shaking his head. “I guess that’s one of those things you learn. Do a little bit better job of looking into the problem before you start throwing parts at it.”
The lesson wasn’t one his impatient self cared to learn. But it was exactly where he found grace.
Adam tinkered a bit longer and realized the problem was the neutral safety switch, a small device that prevents a car from starting if the transmission is in any gear other than park or neutral, but prevents the car from starting at all if the switch has failed. So Adam returned to the auto parts store, bought the switch and installed it.
The engine promptly cranked.
And the Chevy’s owner repeated one English phrase she did know, over and over.
“Thank you.”
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