A Non-Cookie May/5/1998

[WebMistress]

This Ode is about my, now retired, Mobil Engineer friend that I have mentioned in my posts many times. His name is Clark Kibler whom I met in the '70's when he moved to Plano when working for Mobil as a Senior Engineer in Fuels & Lubricants. I've learned so many things from him concerning automobiles.

He's an original California street rod guy, growing up with many of the well know rodders we often discuss on the BBS. In fact, the 11 minute hot rod movie that someone posted, was taken in his old neighborhood. I forwarded it to him & he couldn't believe it, he was trying to remember who lived in some of the houses that saw in the film.

By this time (2006) he has built about 60 cars of all types. His daily driver at present is a 1937 Commercial Delivery, sometimes called a 'Pie Wagon'. He currently has 3 projects going on: '33 Coupe w/429 Ford; '31 Roadster on '32 frame; T-Touring w/flathead mill. He sold his Bonneville '27 T racer to his nephew. I've been talking to him to consider coming to our Nats with his T when he gets it done. We'll see…..

Dixie & Major were his Collies of which Major is still with him.

The reason for this Ode was the mispronouncing of his last name, done by some of the guys that knew him very well. I just got tired of hearing it pronounced incorrectly. The first three letters, Kib, are said like kid, except with b sound on the end.


Ode To A Non-Cookie

I know this guy whose name is Kibler,
With some that insist on calling him Keebler.
For me, those people will forever remain ROOKIES!
They've never realized that Kibler is not about COOKIES!

Also, in his life, there are no crackers,
What he really needs are more Bonneville 'backers',
Cause, salt and dough do not really mix,
Unless it's the dough upon which I will soon affix.

Kibler has never aspired to be,
A chef in the kitchen, don't you see?
But, he lights up to the brim with joy and glee,
Cause in his shop, a Saucier, he concocts, True and Free!

For a Keebler, the recipe is clear and nice,
It's flour, sugar, butter and spice.
But, for Kibler, his recipe is patented and done,
Its coolant, grease and Mobil 1!

When one visits his abode, there's no evidence of Batter,
But, one might hear wrenches spinning, creating a clatter,
Or the sound of a torch, causing hot molten splatter,
Creating cookies from that would be a difficult matter!

The swapping of names has created an illusion,
Which must be treated with much diffusion.
This clouded view has not produced dissention,
But it has brought on some apprehension.

It's a problem at home, I'm sorry to say,
Manifested quite often, in nefarious ways.
Within the shop and family activities,
This 'cookie thing' is wrought with liabilities!

In family activities, the Kibler's are never quite sue,
If they're dealing with friendly people, or just 'sweet tooth lures'!
There must be confusion as to what the Kibler's have with them,
When going on a family outing or just to the gym.

Poor Dixie and Major, who are always happy,
They're not sure if they have a 'cookie' or a 'daddy'.
And to Patti, his wonderful and beautiful wife,
My condolences for having to live through this 'pastry strife'.

I may have found why the public's judgment is laggin',
I heard someone say, "They got cookies in that there Pie Wagin'!"
So, therein lies one false belief,
That has given the Kiblers a lot of grief.

In Kibler's shop it has been much the same,
From telling some stories, I must not refrain.
And dealing with the problem must be a strain,
Me thinks that with each incident, he takes salt by the grain.

His shop, attic and patio are so very neat,
A culinary barnyard for Raceway and Street.
And standing out among all is one special rig,
The big smiling face of a FRESH, CLEAN, nine inch 'PIG'!

There are things happening, within his shop,
That can cause one to reflect a lot.
Not real often, but just enough,
To make you want to spit out your snuff.

Upon his drill press, one morning did lay,
A large Keebler cookie, all fresh for the day.
This must have made ol' Kibler sore,
Cause, one minute later that cookie sported a half inch bore!


At another time, he was gonna shoot some paint,
And upon pulling the trigger, he did almost faint.
For, out of the gun cam chocolate chips and pecans,
Causing him to toss his cookies on the lawn.

On a later date, Kibler was welding on a frame,
When all of a sudden, over him, the strangest feeling came.
Removing his helment, and looking over his shoulder,
Brought on a sight that could not be much bolder.

Bags of cookies and crackers and several fried pies,
With "Keebler" stamped in their foreheads, above their eyes.
Were dancing vociferously in a manner that was crazed,
Evidently brought on by his arc welder's rays.

They were dancing on top of his current thirty-three,
Then he wondered aloud, "How can this be?"
"If they're going to act like this and be a bore,
The least they could do is find me a door!"

Who ever is perpetrating these dastardly deeds,
Must be hiding out back, and in the weeds.
They must immediately be made to stop,
Before, from contention, Kibler does drop.

So, let's have no more confusion between Keebler and Kibler,
Sans having seen him on occasions, as an 'after dinner nibbler',
Of those round things, found packaged on Tom Thumb's shelf,
With BIG, BOLD PRINT, and a Little Green Elf.

I've never seen Kibler GREEN, even when he's sick,
And if one argues the point, he'll 'FLICK HIS BIC'.
For, most of his life has been lived as a rebel,
Even unto his shop, he's a creative 'Tasmanian Devil!"


As a musician would say, "This Kibler is really cookin'!"
But, for what that means, give the term a good, hard lookin'.
For he doesn't stop, creating a lot, out of his shop,
And there's no cot, for Z's to cop, for eternally he hops.

Over forty cars, he has built, I know,
And some of them, he has sold for dough.
But, don't think my mind is suddenly slow,
For, in the oven, this dough does not go.

It's usually used to create another,
One hundred thirty-plus runnin' 'mother'.
So, take the cookies from his name,
Let the next car he builds, add to his fame.

Now, please treat this guy and his name with respect,
By not saying or spelling it with any neglect.
It's so easy to say and spell it correct,
Making it perfect, with no defect.

If that is done, then I venture to say,
That this 'cookie-thing' will go away.
To a place it certainly deserves to be.
Being, the land of bad memory and senility.

Not remembering his name is what the herein if about,
Which brings to mind an old statement that's stout.
Better to appear a fool, silent, with no words to spout,
Rather than say the wrong name and remove all doubt!

The last thing I'll say is simply this,
There is a place, with a dark abyss,
For those who, Kibler's name do miss,
And at the bottom, they'll find no bliss.


So, speak very carefully, least you be transported at once,'
To this cavern for those who are eternally the dunce.
It may cost a lot, if you must be clever,
Cause ignorance is correctable, but stupidity is FOREVER!

Herman T. Quackenbush May 5, 1998

Aka: T-Pilot with Pups

Aka: John Eplen