“Don’t need all.”
“They’re cheap.”
“That’s not enough reason.”
Ethan heard Raymond’s voice in his own answer.
Do not buy because something is old.
Do not buy because it is cheap.
Buy because you understand what problem it can solve.
The second purchase performed better than the first.
Less money tied up.
Higher demand.
Faster sales.
Ethan began tracking requests he could not fill.
Whenever somebody called for a number he did not have, the number went into another card file.
WANTED.
If the same number appeared repeatedly, Ethan actively searched for it.
That system transformed his buying.
Inventory stopped being a collection.
It became response to demand.
By summer 1991, nearly a year after Whitford’s auction, Bell Farm Repair had visitors from several counties specifically because of Ethan’s plates.
Some came with numbers written on scraps of paper.
Some carried broken plates.
Some carried entire planter bottoms.
One farmer drove ninety miles.
He entered the shop holding a folded note.
“You Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“Guy at Miller Feed told me you might have this.”
He handed over a casting number.
Ethan read it once.
He no longer needed the card file for many numbers.
“Third row.”
“Far end.”
Raymond watched.
Ethan walked straight to the shelf.
Reached behind two plates.
Pulled out the correct part.
The farmer stared.
“That’s it.”
Ethan checked the number anyway.
Always verify.
Then handed it over.
The farmer turned the iron disc in his hands.
“How in the world do you have one of these?”
Ethan smiled.
“Bad financial decision.”
Raymond, listening from the next bay, yelled:
“First honest thing he’s said all week.”
The farmer laughed.
Word spread farther.
An agricultural equipment newsletter published a short classified notice.
OBSOLETE PLANTER PLATES
IH - JD - AC - MCCORMICK - OTHER
MANY CASTING NUMBERS
CALL BELL FARM REPAIR
ASK FOR ETHAN
The first call from another state arrived in August.
Ethan thought it was a joke.
The farmer lived in Missouri.
He owned an older planter used for sweet corn.
Needed matching plates.
Ethan had six.
Shipping became another problem to solve.
Cast iron was heavy.
Packing mattered.
Raymond showed Ethan how to cut cardboard circles, sandwich the plate between them, wrap the edges, and use a box strong enough to survive being dropped.
“Assume the shipping company hates you personally.”
Ethan did.
The plates arrived intact.
A money order came back with a handwritten note:
Good fit. Keep my number if you find more.
Ethan kept it.
The business grew without anyone officially deciding it was a business.
There was no grand opening.
No sign.
No incorporation.
Just shelves behind a repair shop and a teenager who knew where things were.
By age seventeen, Ethan had more than fifteen hundred planter plates.
Not because Whitford’s inventory multiplied.
Because farmers began bringing him old parts.
Some wanted cash.
Some traded.
Some simply donated boxes from barns after hearing what he was doing.
“Better you have them than the scrap yard.”
The scrap buyer who had mocked Ethan eventually became a source.
His name was Frank Dorsey.
One morning Frank arrived at Bell Farm Repair with his truck sagging under several old crates.
Ethan came outside.
“What’s that?”
Frank grinned.
“Your retirement plan.”
Inside were hundreds of dirty plates from a dealership liquidation.
Ethan inspected the first few.
Mostly common.