Back in the day, long before a 1960 Pontiac Catalina convertible would be priced out of reach of all but the most wealthy, these cars were a dime a dozen on used car lots all over the Great Southwest.  In the late sixties, early seventies you could pick up a nice, clean example with 8-lug wheels, a 398 cubic inch V8 and a tri-colored interior for eight hundred bucks.

That’s exactly what Ashton Dimmit did.  Ashton graduated in the half of his class that made the top half possible.  Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a good looking kid who meant well, worked hard, and was as likable as any dim bulb you’d ever want to meet.  While a lot of his classmates were going off to college after graduating, Ashton Dimmit went back to Jim Bowie High, “Home of the Fighting’ Knives”.  Not as a student, but as a janitor.

Still living at home, no girlfriend, and a steady job with benefits, Ashton went down to Manny’s Motor Mart and picked out the white over red Catalina ragtop, put $400 down and Manny financed the rest at $40 per month for the next twelve months. Even though this would have been back about ’73 or ’74, and there were Camaros and Trans Ams and Mustangs in the student section of the parking lot at Jim Bowie High, Ashton’s Catalina was still one of the best looking cars of the parking lot. “It’s from back when cars had style,” Manny told Ashton when he was worrying about whether he could afford it or not. “You drive this baby, and you’ll be getting more butt than a toilet seat.”

Making references to toilet seats is probably never the best pitch to use when attempting to sell something to a janitor, but with the attractive financing and unmistakable good looks of the car, Ashton signed on the dotted line and drove the Catalina home. The new ride coupled with the new position made Ashton kind of an attractive and exotic figure to girls that he had shared some classes with the year before. Turns out Manny knew what he was talking about.

In fact, Ashton became so popular with the high school girls at Jim Bowie that they took to going into the Girl’s Bathroom throughout the day, putting on fresh red lipstick, and then kissing the mirror, leaving their bright red lip imprints on the surface of the mirror for him to find at the end of the day.  While he appreciated their efforts, the time he had to spend getting the waxy red marks of love off the mirrors every day soon became a major task.  

Administration turned a blind eye to the flirting that took place, but when Ashton began having to work overtime to clean up the mirrors in the Girls’ Bathroom and the budget was affected, they were forced to take action.  Initially, concerns were voiced during morning announcements.  But like all morning announcements, that one went unheeded as well.  Ashton went into Principal Paulson’s office with an idea.  “Here’s a list of the eight or ten girls I think continue to be the offenders.  Call them into the Girl’s Bathroom for an after school meeting and let me show them just what is involved in cleaning up after them.”

The girls were told in Home Room class that they would be required to be in the bathroom for a meeting as soon as the final bell rang. They were surprised to see Principal Paulson and Ashton both in the facilities waiting for them. “Girls,” the principal started,” It’s important for you to see the consequences of your actions. Mr. Dimmit . . .”

The girls initially chuckled at Ashton being called Mr. Dimmit. They’d only ever known him as The Sexy Janitor, or Ashton. The smiles disappeared from their faces when Ashton went over to the first stall, opened the door, dipped his mop in the toilet, wrung it out, and proceeded to clean the mirrors with it. There was never a problem with lipstick on the mirrors again, although it was not uncommon for Ashton to find some fairly explicit notes with loopy letters and hearts used as dots above the ‘i’ placed under the wiper on his windshield, or tucked away in his glove box.

That summer, once school was over and before all the janitorial projects that could only take place over the summer could begin, Dimmit boarded the Lone Star Flyer at the train station in Fort Stockton to visit his cousin Austin.  He settled in, got out the Road & Track and Motor Trend he’d purchased for entertainment along the way.  Before he could even get two pages into the first magazine, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met sat down right next to him.

Wanting to strike up a conversation with her, and not divulge the fact he was a janitor, he asked, “Business trip or pleasure?”

She looked over at Dimmit, smiled, and said, “Business, I’m afraid.  I’m going to the Annual Nymphomaniacs Convention of Greater Texas in Fort Worth.”  Dimmit was shocked at his luck.  Here he was, stuck on a train with a gorgeous woman who was going to a nymphomaniacs convention.  This was better luck than landing the janitorial position, buying the Catalina convertible, or having high school girls throw themselves at him.

“What are you going to do at the convention?” Dimmit asked.

“Guest lecturer,” she answered.  “I use information learned on my own journey to put to rest some of the misconceptions that exist out there about female sexuality.”

“Really!”  Dimmit noted.  “That sounds interesting.  What type of things do you talk about?”

“Well,” the woman explained, “for example, the myth that African-American men are the most well endowed.  It has been proven that the honor for that distinction actually goes to Native American men.  Another misconception is that Frenchmen make the best lovers.  Actually, studies have proven that men of Mexican descent are consistently the most satisfying lovers in the world.  Interestingly, by my own personal experience, I can attest that the lover with the most stamina is the Southern Redneck.”

The woman looked at Dimmit and blushed.  “You’ll have to forgive me.  I shouldn’t be going on like this.  I don’t even know your name.”

“Tonto,” Dimmit replied.  “Tonto Gonzales.  But my friends call me Bubba.”

Dimmit ended up getting off the train in Austin only long enough to call his cousin and tell him something had come up, and going on to Fort Worth for a week, instead.

The year or two that followed were good to Dimmit.  Well, except for the treatment he received from Miss Webster, the senior English teacher.  Miss Webster never cared for Dimmit when she had him in class; she was ruthless when he worked as the janitor at Bowie High.  She kept telling him he was wasting his life in janitorial services.  That he was selling himself short.  That he was nowhere near reaching his potential.

In fact, the constant harping on him for falling short of his gifts made Dimmit eventually quit his job at Jim Bowie. and leave Fort Stockton.  He packed up everything he owned in the massive trunk of the Catalina and headed east to Houston in search of a new beginning. 

Twenty years later, Miss Webster was forced to quit her position at Jim Bowie for medical reasons. She was diagnosed with a rare and usually fatal syndrome. Doctors in Fort Stockton told her that her only hope was in Houston, with a specialist trained specifically in treatment of her condition. A doctor by the name of Dimmit.

Miss Webster booked the next train to Houston and checked into the recommended medical facility.  Her weakened condition dictated that she immediately be put on life support, the trip from Fort Stockton having taken its toll.  Just as she was going under, Mrs. Webster looked at her doctor and said, “You know, doctor, you’ve never shared your first name with me.  What is it?”

He was just about to tell her his first name when she went limp and died.

Dr. Dimmit realized that the janitor had somehow unplugged her life support so he could plug in the vacuum to finish cleaning her room.  “Damn it, Ashton.  Sometimes I can’t even believe you’re my brother.”

The moral of the story?  Know when you’ve found your calling.  Be happy with what you’ve got.  Sometimes being a janitor with a killer Catalina is really all you need.