One engine would not turn.
One had obvious regulator damage.
Another lacked its wheel assembly and part of the control housing.
From twenty feet away they looked exactly like what Blaine Garrison later called them.
Trash.
Cedric spent nearly fifteen minutes inspecting them.
No tools.
Only eyes and hands.
The seized engine did not concern him because he was not yet sure he needed that engine.
The missing wheel assembly meant almost nothing.
The third generator’s rotor appeared intact.
The second unit had a carburetor that looked recoverable beneath the dirt.
Several housings had protected interior components from direct weather.
Copper remained.
Fasteners remained.
Starter parts.
Capacitors.
Switches.
One damaged generator contained pieces that could complete another.
Raymond’s lesson returned.
Count the steps.
Cedric was still counting when Blaine approached.
Blaine Garrison was in his mid-forties then.
Broad shoulders.
Grease permanently embedded around his fingernails.
He had spent most of his adult life repairing tractors and engines.
Garrison Engine and Tractor was the largest independent repair business in the area.
Farmers trusted him.
His mechanics knew their work.
Blaine was not stupid.
That mattered too.
Cedric’s later success did not require Blaine to be incompetent.
Blaine’s mistake was narrower.
He saw four machines individually.
Cedric saw one pool of usable components.
Blaine saw repair jobs with poor economics.
Cedric saw training material bought at scrap price.
And perhaps, beneath all of that, Blaine saw an eighteen-year-old boy who had not earned the right to disagree with him yet.
When Cedric asked the price, Blaine laughed.
Howard watched from several yards away.
He did not intervene.
After Cedric paid $31.60, Howard helped load the four machines onto the delivery truck.
Blaine walked over before they left.
“Howard.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not trying to insult the boy.”
Cedric could hear every word.
Blaine continued.
“But a man has to know when something’s finished.”
Howard looked toward the truck bed.
Then at his son.
“Maybe.”
Blaine smiled.
“Everything worth keeping in those generators was gone ten years ago.”
Howard gave a small nod.
“We’ll find out.”
That was all.
They drove away.
For several miles, neither father nor son spoke.
Finally Howard asked:
“You know what you’re doing?”
“No.”
Howard glanced over.
Cedric added:
“I know what I’m going to check.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It’s the best answer I’ve got.”
Howard drove another mile.
“Thirty-one dollars and sixty cents.”
“I know.”
“You have more money?”
“A little.”
“How much is a little?”
Cedric told him.
Howard whistled.
“If this goes wrong, your mother’s going to remind me I let you do it.”
“I paid for them.”
“She’ll still blame me.”
Cedric smiled.
Howard did too.
Then his father became serious.
“Don’t keep throwing money at them just because you already spent some.”
Cedric looked over.
Howard had never used the phrase sunk cost.
He understood the principle perfectly.
“If they’re junk, they’re junk.”
Cedric nodded.
“I know.”
Howard tapped the steering wheel.
“But if you make one run…”
He glanced in the mirror at the machines.
“Tell Blaine.”
Cedric looked out the window.
“No.”
Howard laughed.
“Why not?”