Originally published Saturday, April 18, 1998

By JON HAHN  
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

There's a place along Highway 99 in Lynnwood where thousands of old wrecks go, sort of like the Sargasso Sea of cars.

It ain't pretty, this 8-acre plot of a lot of wrecks surrounded by an 8-foot fence. But then, Ferrill's auto parts yard was here before this was Lynnwood. And with third-generation Brian Ferrill running the operation, it isn't going to go away any time soon.

"Sure, we get a lot of 'Not in my backyard' criticism," said the rather academic-appearing, 31-year-old redhead. "But you've got to remember, my grandfather started this before there were any backyards around here!"

In the mid-1950s, grandfather Cecil Ferrill was running a small service station in Fremont and parting out several cars at a time. "My grandmother told him that if he was going to keep doing that, he was going to need his own wrecking yard," Brian said.

Grandmas can be prophetic that way. Cecil Ferrill went up north and bought eight acres in the middle of nowhere, just handy to the west side of Highway 99 in the 18300 South block. It was the first of a long string of automotive businesses on this busy stretch of highway.

And the Ferrill car-parts empire has grown along with the family, with another 7-acre yard in Everett and an 8-acre lot just outside Tacoma. Brian's sister, Mandy Kindle, is about to open a you-pull-it customer self-service car-parts yard there, just beneath the used parts store run by Brian's older brother, Steve Jr.

And their dad, Steve Sr., still keeps a hand in the business, even though part of his was blown off in a mysterious mail bomb incident at the yard store seven years ago. "Dad's original plan was to retire when he reached 50, but he's still president of the corporation and he says he's having so much fun at work that he doesn't want to even think about retiring," Brian said.

Mindy's husband and a step-brother also work for the widespread Ferrill's operation. "I know people would rather we go away, but then, where would all these go?" Brian asked rhetorically, as he sweeps his arm over row upon row of battered hulks. He is temporary master of these testimonials to man's inability to control himself and his vehicle.

Few windshields escape the tell-tale spider web pattern where an unbelted human was temporarily airborne. Spent air bags are limp in the damp spring air, probably well worth whatever their owners spent on them.

"Can you believe that the guy walked away from this Lincoln Town Car with only a couple broken ribs?!" Brian asked incredulously. The large hunk of Dearborn iron had an almost horseshoe-shaped front end from meeting a utility pole.

"The emergency people and insurance companies are much better now about cleaning up cars after accidents, before we get them," Brian said. "There are no more teeth stuck in the windshields or brains scattered all over the roof-liners."

He didn't say that for shock value, but when you look at some of these cars, you have to wonder how anyone might have survived, let alone walked away.

With the exception of the pull-your-own parts place his sister is opening, the Ferrill yards strip the cars for the parts you want. They're open for business 8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. weekdays, till 5 p.m. Saturdays. High-demand items are already removed and available at the front-end shop.

Some vehicles, such as the 1997 Ford Taurus near the front of the Lynnwood yard, are so new they just sit around, waiting for demand to catch up. Others have outlived their used-part usefulness and, like the old Yugo near the front of the yard, will go under The Hammer.

The Hammer is a huge welded steel-beam framework device that Grandpa Cecil built. It looks like an ancient Roman siege machine. "The arm is lifted up, a forklift puts the car underneath, and then the arm is dropped," Brian explained. "It makes a pretty heavy 'Boom' bass sound."

Those smooshed vehicle bodies are then trucked to a local steel mill for melting into steel that -- who knows -- could eventually become someone's new Lincoln Town Car. Or a No. 2 can of Wenatchee apple sauce.

More than half these vehicles are initially towed here after being "totaled," not only by their drivers but also by their insurance companies. It takes the more than a dozen workers here several hours to test, assess and begin dismantling a car. Motors and transmissions are pulled, along with sound systems, doors, bumpers, fenders, taillights . . . you name it.

Refrigerant gases, coolants and the various auto fluids are recovered to minimize environmental hazards. Some cars are towed to local fire departments for rescue crews to practice on. Some cars show the marks of rescue-crew saws and power jaws, evidence that people had to be cut out.

Some wrecked-car owners eventually trace their cars here to retrieve things they suspect they left in their cars. And you can bet some of them see what's left of the car and walk away from Ferrill's feeling lucky they can walk away.

Jon Hahn is a staff columnist who writes three times a week in the P-I.