THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 19, 1996 TAG: 9605150049
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY KRYS STEFANSKY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 161 lines
HE CAN STOP toilets from overflowing, fix leaks in the roof, hook up ceiling fans, paint rooms - the man is a-MA-zing!
``There's people who think I am God,'' jokes John Koehler.
On this evening, Koehler is at Joyce Dial's house. He's just slipped her bathroom shower door back on its track and is about to perform another miracle. Using only his bare hands and two molly bolts, he will fasten Dial's paper towel holder to the wall above her kitchen sink so that it will never, ever fall into the dishwater again.
Hallelujah.
It used to be that pretty much anybody was handy to some degree. But today, along with the secret of how to sew on loose buttons, people have lost the ability to help themselves. They have houses, jobs, kids, responsibilities. So much to do, so little time. And no idea how to do it.
Never fear. In neighborhoods all over, for a few bucks an hour, there's always some multitalented fellow like Handyman Jack, Lag-O-Mar John or a man called Bubba. These tinkerers, fiddlers, Mr. Fix-Its can do it all. They come to the rescue in times of trouble, breakage, or general dysfunction. They are a helpless homeowner's best friend.
And some are great entertainment.
``It just kept coming off. You know me, I don't know how anything works,'' Dial says with a giggle while watching Koehler from a kitchen chair in her Ocean Lakes home.
Koehler, who bills himself as Handyman ``Jack of all trades,'' gently lays aside Dial's paper towel holder and pulls out of the wall the two feeble little nails that have failed to hold it up.
Minutes later, he rehangs the holder.
Dial sings out, ``Oh my goodness, I've got my towel rack back up.''
And Koehler grins, looking like he thoroughly enjoys being a hero.
It was in his genes to become a handyman.
``My dad was a tinkerer like me,'' says the Buffalo, N.Y., native.
The household genie looks ordinary enough - brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses. Just the 25-foot Stanley tape measure clipped to his jeans pocket gives him that aura of expertise. A slight detour to this profession led first to the Navy.
Koehler's 20-year career there will end in about 18 months. Then the 38-year-old ordnanceman plans to turn this sideline into a full-time job.
He got into the handyman business about four years ago, after he'd fixed just about everything for his neighbors for free. One of them said he ought to do it for money.
Helping out neighbors also led John Harris into becoming a handyman. The former career Marine Corps infantry officer started his business last summer and has been so busy that he's had only two weeks off since.
Now, instead of storming the beaches, he's leading one-man assaults on anything not ship-shape in Virginia Beach's Lago Mar neighborhood. He calls his solo operation Lag-O-Mar John.
With Harris at the point, in the middle and bringing up the rear, lawns get a brush cut and a trim around the edges. He single-handedly takes down trees, power washes houses, cleans out gutters, spit shines windows, mulches, plants and prunes.
He likes to get in, get the job done and get out. He does not paint.
I don't like to paint,'' he admits. ``I'll do some paint, but it's so time consuming and there are so many painters, the competition's so keen.''
By taking just certain jobs, he's become a kind of suburban specialist.
``I'm busy because I enjoy taking care of a few customers. I'm at the point where I could hire help and expand, but I might not get the quality I'd like,'' says this yes m'am, no m'am kind of guy.
His customer list includes a lot of retirees.
``They don't climb ladders, they don't like to do anything that requires a lot of lifting,'' says Harris, who's 46, still drill-sergeant trim and a tad modest. ``I still run a lot, but the hair's grown out and I don't get to the gym as often as I'd like to - especially in this business, because it's a long day.''
Summer isn't here yet and already Nathan ``Bubba'' Johnson is putting in long days. That's all right, he says, because ``I know I've done a good job when people tell me, `When can you come back again?' ''
The 44-year-old Johnson is a common sight all over Norfolk's Larchmont and Edgewater neighborhoods, where he's made other people's yards his business and where they trust him to decide when it's time to cut the grass.
When they see his trademark red ball cap turned backward, his long stride tucking back pavement, they wave.
``It's a good feeling walking through the neighborhood and having them say, ``Hello, Bubba.' Feels like the president,'' he says.
This morning, behind the brick gate posts and wrought iron fence of a home on the Lafayette River, Johnson has planted begonias, raked out flower beds and has set his sights for the afternoon, when the dew will be off the grass and he can mow. As usual, he's been up since 4 a.m.
``Have to,'' he says. ``I've got to keep all this stuff going.''
``All this stuff,'' is the maintenance of flowers and lawns, swimming pools and windows and other odds and ends of dozens of homeowners in Norfolk and even a few in Virginia Beach.
A well-tended home pleases him.
``I get a joy out of seeing something turn out real pretty,'' he says.
He likes getting to know the families he works for, too.
``The children come to the window in the morning and holler, `Morning, Big Bubba,' and sometimes, the little ones, they ask me to come on the other side of the house with them,'' he says, gesturing toward a toddler play yard on the river side of the home, ``so they can swing.''
Johnson has tried other work. He's washed pots in a cafeteria, worked for several bricklaying companies, busted up concrete, done laundry, shingled roofs.
``I've worked in a lot of different places, but I like this better,'' he says.
Something about spending the day outside makes him feel good. He was even out in Larchmont during last winter's ice storm. ``Me and the Contel man,'' he says.
``I used to weigh 265 pounds. I had a big stomach and everything, but all this work,'' he says, gesturing at the piles of pine needles and shrubs in need of pruning, ``and all the walking, all the walking is very good for you.''
Yes, Johnson has a reputation for always being on foot.
``Cause I can't drive,'' he says, leaning over to whisper. He's tried to learn but never really felt he needed a car. ``Besides, it's cheaper to ride the bus. It's a dollar and a half, three dollars round trip. You can't beat that.''
He often walks from home to work and back again - a round trip of about 7 miles. That's a long day in summer. ``I put in sometimes 13, 14 hours a day, sometimes longer than that when the swimming pools open up,'' he says. ``Yes, I open 'em up and I shut 'em down.''
He'll take the bus to the Beach but gets off several miles from where his customers live and walks the rest of the way. He walks so much that people think he goes everywhere on foot.
``I saw a friend of mine one time when I was helping a guy move some stuff to Florida,'' Johnson says. ``We'd stopped in Montgomery and when he looked up and saw me, he hollered, ``Good Lord, Bubba, don't tell me you walked all the way to Alabama.'''
Johnson laughs and stops when something suddenly catches his eye. ``I've got to do those windows,'' he says, studying the house.
Joyce Dial shudders to think that John Koehler may one day take his towel-rack-know-how and red Nissan truck full of tools and move out of the area after he retires from the Navy. ``He's been just a blessing to me,'' Dial says of Koehler, how is is practically on 24-hour call.
``Anytime I call him, anytime of day, on Sundays or at night, he comes. He goes over to my mother's house, my aunt's house and my cousin's and fixes things, too,'' she says.
It was at Dial's mother's house where the handyman performed one of his most memorable feats.
``It was Sunday morning. We were just getting ready to go to church and water started coming out of the toilet and wouldn't stop. It was running into the living room,'' Dial says.
Koehler showed up, showed them how to turn the water off next time, then plunged the toilet once and turned to go.
``They all looked at me,'' he recalls, laughing, ``and said, `That's it?' '' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos
CANDICE C. CUSIC/The Virginian-Pilot
``BUBBA'' JOHNSON
``I get a joy out of seeing something turn out real pretty,'' says
Johnson, who walks up to 7 miles a day to work on yards in Norfolk.
RICHARD L. DUNSTON/The Virginian-Pilot
JOHN KOEHLER
He got into his part-time career about four years ago, after he'd
fixed just about everything for his neighbors for free.
by CNB