Keeping the Past Running
It’s 1963 and Cleophia Neyland and his 7-year-old son, Namon, are busy at Cleo’s Auto, their cluttered auto repair shop, where they work on an array of cars from the 1940s and ‘50s. Fast-forward to 1997. Little has changed at Cleo’s Auto.
Neyland and his now 40-year-old son are still working fender-by-fender at the cluttered shop, and the cars they fix are still primarily from those two golden decades.
“I don’t fool with new cars. There’s too much junk on them,†says Neyland, 83, who adds that the newest thing he’ll touch is a 1964.
Waiting to be fixed in the South-Central Los Angeles shop are a 1932 Chevy coupe, 1940 Buick Super, 1948 Pontiac Silverstreak, 1956 Chrysler Newport 250 and 1957 Plymouth Belvedere.
“These cars don’t have all those unnecessary hoses and switches on them, and I can make them run sweet,†Neyland says.
The front door to the storefront repair shop is on Florence Avenue, but all the action takes place out back near the alley on Halldale Avenue.
Mike Whitmore’s cherry 1950 Chevy Deluxe with glasspack mufflers rumbles to a stop in the alley. Out from behind a chain-link fence emerges Neyland, who sticks his head in the open, shotgun-side window. A few seconds later, Neyland retreats to behind the fence.
“Mike just needs a light switch,†says Neyland, known as “Memphis Slick†because of his Tennessee roots.
“I’ve known Cleo ever since I was a kid,†Whitmore says. “I know whenever I have a problem with my car, or with my life, I can come get some advice from him.â€
Three minutes later, a 1954 Cadillac pulls into the alley. Out comes Neyland again. A few seconds go by, and the smooth running Caddy pulls away.
“He needs a hubcap. We’ll get one at Pick-A-Parts tomorrow,†Neyland tells Namon.
The father and son have 108 years of auto mechanic experience between them. Cleo, born in 1913 in Memphis, began helping a local mechanic when he was 8.
Namon goes by the name “Mr. 56†because he was born in 1956 and for years only worked on cars made in that year.
“By the time he was 12, he could take a motor apart,†boasts his father.
Decked out in greasy overalls and a knit cap, 5-foot, 4-inch Cleo, who moved to Los Angeles in 1959, is a bundle of energy. One minute he is crawling under a shiny red 1957 Plymouth Belvedere to fiddle with the transmission. The next, he scales the jacked-up, bulbous fender of a 1956 Chrysler to get a better angle on the engine. All the while he is talking nonstop.
He daydreams about what he would do if he won the lottery. “I would buy this whole block, Florence from Halldale to Brighton, and make it all an auto repair shop. I’d stay open 28 hours a day! I’d have special mechanics for Ferraris and Jaguars and Rolls-Royces. I don’t gamble, drink or smoke. This is what I love. This is my fun.â€
“My dad is an excellent teacher,†Namon Neyland says.
Mostly it’s just the two Neylands working, but once in a while Cookie Toliver, 44, helps out. “He’s a fun, lovable guy,†Toliver says of Cleo. “He can get mad at me sometimes, but it’s just to make me learn more.â€
After giving a few tips to his son on how to mark wires, Memphis Slick takes a break and spouts a little philosophy.
“There’s only three things you can do on Earth: Look at it, talk about it and enjoy it. And there is only one thing that you have to do, and that’s to die. It’s funny. You can have a $100 bill, but if you break it, it just kinda disappears and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. When you have some money, don’t waste it. Don’t say ‘I got $1,000, I’m gonna take a trip in June.’ You may be dead by then.
“Take the trip now. Enjoy life while you can.â€
