About Us

The Grease & Threads Story

Grease & Threads was born out of oil-stained jeans, busted knuckles, and the kind of small-town living you can’t fake.

It all started around 1979 in a little Midwest town called Greencastle, Indiana. I was about 14, working evenings from 4 to 8 at Mac’s Texaco. Jack owned the station—one of those full-service places where you pumped gas, fixed tires, and cleaned the shop. It was the kind of place where you learned life’s lessons with a wrench in your hand.

A year earlier, I’d already been working with my grandfather as a logger, skidding logs with a Minneapolis-Moline tractor and helping out on his farm. Work wasn’t just something you did—it was who you were.

My next-door neighbor, Snuffy, was a mechanic for the State Highway. On the side, he was what we’d call today a “metal scrapper”—hauling in junk and turning it into beer money. Snuffy and Jack were best friends, and Snuffy often helped at the station or ran the wrecker after hours. I grew up in Snuffy’s garage, learning the art of fixing, fabricating, and making something out of nothing.

Both Jack and Snuffy had a rule: the beer didn’t come out until 5 PM. But when that clock hit, work stopped, and the station turned into a gathering spot. Farmers, friends, customers—even the occasional police officer—would pull up a seat. Stories flowed as easy as the cold beer.

Jack’s youngest son, Roy, was my best friend. We were 15 and 16, building stock cars in that shop and racing at Lincoln Park Speedway in Putnamville. Roy drove. I wrenched. That was our world.

We were the tail end of the true “gearhead” era. We carried guns in our pickup trucks at school without anyone thinking twice, cruised the strip on Friday and Saturday nights, and, for a time, were more interested in horsepower than girlfriends. We weren’t quite blue collar by definition—we were a breed of our own. We worked hard, played harder, and didn’t need today’s fancy “man toys” to have a good time.

I grew up in a single-parent home. My mom worked every day except Sunday at the local Goodwill, walking to work for over 30 years—rain, snow, or 100-degree heat—because she didn’t have a driver’s license. Money was tight, and back then, I thought I had it rough. Looking back now, I know I was blessed. Blessed with a work ethic, a community that looked out for each other, and a life full of the kind of grit you just can’t buy.

Grease & Threads is my way of paying homage to those days and the people who shaped me. It’s about the smell of motor oil, the sound of a ratchet, the pride in fixing something with your own hands, and the unspoken code of working men who knew how to blow off steam after the job was done.

We’re here to showcase that life—and maybe help folks remember their own version of it.

Grease & Threads. Built on hard work, strong coffee, busted knuckles, and good company.