Nicole Brodeur / Times staff columnist
Volvo drivers venerate their beloved Oddvar

	HARLEY SOLTES / THE SEATTLE TIMES Current and former customers of Oddvar Ogland, left, attended a party yesterday to say goodbye. Ogland sold his Volvo repair shop in Ballard after 35 years. At right, with a bumper sticker on his back, is Dr. John Ensinck, who drives a 1973 Volvo P1800ES. "He is a man of great integrity, and is a wonderful friend," Ensinck said.
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And don't go on about yesterday's party, to which 1,000 loyal customers were invited to toast the towering, bushy-browed, ponytailed Norwegian with a mouth of blue and a heart of gold.

Ogland didn't want the fuss to be his; it was all for the customers.

"You ever see 'Patton'?" Ogland asked one recent morning as I followed him around the shop, hoping for something I could print. "George C. Scott won an Oscar, and he didn't show up! Maybe I won't, either!"

Of course, he did — in a Hawaiian shirt, no less. He even danced.

And so did most everyone who has brought their Volvo here and left with more than a tune-up.

Coming to Oddvar's year after year, service light after service light, is like visiting your family for the holidays. You're nervous that something is going to blow any minute, but when it does, you find you kind of love it. The car runs great, and knowing Oddvar is being part of something special.

Ogland, 62, is one of the people who define Ballard. He is Norwegian, a former fisherman and a Volvo purist who has built a successful business by breaking every rule in the book and improving on others. He will curse until your ears burn, but then come dig you out of the snow.

That he chooses to dodge the spotlight is no surprise. Ogland has never put up a sign or placed an ad and only got listed in the business pages of the phone book by mistake. He cares only about his customers and his longtime love, Dixie Johansen, who kept the place running with a steady grace and perfect script. They have been together more than 20 years.

The shop opened in 1969 as British American Motors, after Ogland had already had colorful careers as a fisherman and as a mechanic for the Seattle School District.

Don Wengard was with Ogland then, left for a while, and came back to help out for a couple of weeks when Ogland and Johansen went to Norway.

"That was in 1984," Wengard cracked.

	HARLEY SOLTES / THE SEATTLE TIMES Clarke O'Reilly dances with Karen Bonnevie at yesterday's garage party beneath a Volvo 262 C Bertone. Bonnevie owns a similar Bertone, one of four Volvos she brings to Ogland's shop.

Wengard is retiring with Ogland. The other two mechanics — Rich Breen and Dan Smart — will stay on with new owner Mark Brotherton, who will call the place Ballard Family Auto Repair.

"They're big shoes to fill," Brotherton said. "But it will be the same honest work, fixing the cars right."

Yesterday, the place was still Oddvar's, transformed into a party space. Lights were strung over greasy tool boxes, a Bertone sedan was lifted 10 feet in the air, and a band plugged in to play dance music.

People filled out name tags, including the make, model and mileage of every car they ever brought to the shop. They unveiled plate after plate of food, from crab legs to deviled eggs. There was a 7-foot cardboard cutout of Ogland for people to pose with, a book of collected Oddvar stories to page through. There were dogs and kids, wine and beer. Even the sun.

Just beyond the chain-link fence, the street was lined with Volvos: 740s, 240s, 144s. Turbos, diesels, wagons and sedans.

"What other relationship would bring this kind of response?" asked David Levy, a longtime customer and one of the party organizers. "It's never, 'Hey, honey, the dry cleaners is closing, let's go say goodbye.'

"But we trust Oddvar with our lives."

As the place filled with people, it also filled with Oddvar stories.

There was the time he found the golf ball in someone's gas tank; and when he drove through a snowstorm to take a torch to a frozen emergency brake ("You're outta here," he told the owner, and left). People told of dropping their cars off at the shop, and finding them sitting in their driveway that night, the keys and a bill inside.

There was the violinist who came in, saying his car was in trouble. When Ogland got in and turned the key, the engine burst into flames. The violinist looked stricken, and Ogland quickly figured out why: His Stradivarius was in the front seat. Ogland retrieved it and, while he fixed the car, the violinist played for the whole shop.

	HARLEY SOLTES / THE SEATTLE TIMES Chuck Williams enjoys lunch and a beer on the hood of a Volvo 544 in the yard at Oddvar Ogland's shop. Williams owns three Volvos that Ogland has serviced.

The Cruver family has brought 10 cars to the shop. A man named Karlito inherited his parents' 1967 122S; Ogland was its only mechanic. Brent Rogers has been bringing his 1972 142E to Ogland since 1976. It's got 360,000 miles on it.

Ogland has serviced Dr. John Ensinck's P1800ES since 1979 — and Ensinck has serviced Ogland, as well.

"I'm the only doctor he trusts," Ensinck said. "And I can tell you that he has a great old heart."

Ogland has complained bitterly about Ensinck's car — he thinks P1800s are the devil's chariot. But each time Ensinck brings it in, Ogland fixes it up and drives it to the doctor's house with his bike in the back.

"I treasure him," Ensinck said. "He is a man of great integrity, and is a wonderful friend."

Most of Ogland's customers will continue with Brotherton, who sent mechanic Chris Campen to work beside Ogland for the last two weeks to get to know the shop.

"It's been eye-opening," Campen said. "I wish I had the past five years to work with him.

"And even though it is legally changing over," he said, "this will always be Oddvar's."

Always Oddvar's, but without the dogs, Martha and Dutchess, dozing on the black couch in the office. Without the huge cartoon of Oddvar on the ceiling in the shop ("Ya-know Loo-see, dis ain't da right fuel pump, but b'God we'll make da son of a bitch fit").

Brotherton is likely to update the place, replacing Johansen's four Rolodexes with a computer and a second phone line. He may even buy some cream for the coffee.

Ogland and Johansen will stay in town for a while, then move up to their place on Camano Island, where Ogland has built a 3,000-square-foot garage for his cars.

Any last words? I asked Ogland.

"Nope."

Outside, John Langmeyer was walking in. "One last chance to get yelled at," he said, and joined the happy crowd.

Nicole Brodeur: 206-464-2334

Copyright © 2004 The Seattle Times Company