Hands of Purpose
Larry Witherspoon and the Automotive Training Center use cars as tools of transformation for youth in low-income areas near Atlanta
LARRY WITHERSPOON’S LOVE for cars began as a toddler rolling tiny Hot Wheels across the floor of his family home in a middle-class neighborhood of Cleveland, Ohio. A couple hundred miles away in Detroit, the “Motor City,” Shawn McHargue’s interest in cars was fostered out of practicality more than passion. He learned to repair his own cars as a way to save money. “I’m passionate about working with young guys,” he said. “If it’s working on cars that gets me to do it, that’s great.”
Larry Witherspoon (far right) was able to buy a trailer and the tools to start his social entrepreneurial auto shop thanks to a 2013 Annie E. Casey Foundation grant.
By fate or by providence, the paths of these two men converged and eventually led them to a run-down warehouse complex in East Point, where they operate the Automotive Training Center, a ministry that uses cars to transform the lives of youths in low-income areas.
Like the youth that he and Witherspoon work with, McHargue said he himself has matured emotionally and spiritually during the two years since they launched the program. He described the change as “freedom from things that hold you down.”
The rather drab exterior of the center’s metal buildings contrasts with the neatly maintained interiors and the cheerful atmosphere inside. Gray walls are decorated with posters on “Tire Care” and “How to Read a Spark Plug.” Notes on a whiteboard list jobs to be done, on just about every type of car in the galaxy: radiator repair for a Chevrolet Nova; cooling fan for a Nissan Sentra; two tires for a GMC Yukon; and spark plugs for a Mercedes C250.
The center is Witherspoon’s dream made real. Its development, he said, “has a lot to do with my own personal story.” He begins by telling about his father, who grew up poor in Cleveland and became a high school teacher and coach in the inner city.
Perhaps in reaction to the poverty and hopelessness that Witherspoon’s father witnessed in the lives of the students he taught, he did everything in his power to forge a different path for his own kids—scrimping and saving his modest salary for years so that Witherspoon and his sister could attend expensive private school.
“We knew we had to make the leap if we were going to ever do it. We’ve taken many leaps of faith to get where we are.”
SHAWN MCHARGUE
“I was very aware of the stark contrast between my middle-class life versus my father’s stories about chasing the drug dealers out of his high school,” Witherspoon said. “He really did that.”
Despite his father’s efforts to protect his children, Witherspoon would succumb to the lure of drugs after he left home for college. He had been awarded a football scholarship to his father’s alma mater, Bowling Green University. Breaking in his newly gained independence living on campus, Witherspoon began heavily using marijuana and selling it to fellow students, so much so that he barely made it to class.
“I was close to failing,” he said. “I was dealing with some emotional turmoil I didn’t realize.”
Falling further behind in his studies and afraid of being expelled, he dropped out to join the Navy and was assigned to a submarine in the Pacific. “I thought the military would be a good way to get some experience, responsibility, leadership skills,” he said, “but I was still dealing with some personal issues.”
He seemed to hit a dead end when he became involved in a fight and was charged with assault. “I had been drinking,” he said. “My mind was clouded.”
For several months, he was under house arrest, confined to the vessel while his fellow seamen were on shore leave. His prospects at that point seemed dim.
“I was left looking at my life,” he said. “I was really an emotional mess. I was stressed. I didn’t know whether I would end up in jail or dead. I wanted to find positivity in my life. I became a man of faith at that point.”
Although he had been raised in the Roman Catholic Church and had memorized “all the prayers,” it was at that low point that he said he finally understood real faith. But he made it clear to God that his surrender was conditional: “I remember saying, ‘Jesus, I’m messing this up. I’ll give you a try, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll try something else,’” he said. It worked. Witherspoon changed his behavior and his life.
When his time in military service was up, he returned to Bowling Green, and, through a friend who had also been arrested, he began attending a nondenominational campus ministry. There, he met other young adults trying to establish their identity and discover their purpose in life. No one seemed to judge him or his friend on the basis of their past. He felt he belonged.
By working hard and avoiding the pitfalls of the past, he managed to graduate. He landed an internship in the procurement department of a nuclear power plant in northwest Ohio, then hopped to a job in production for Frito-Lay.
That’s when friends introduced him to a fellow Bowling Green alum named Michelle. They hit it off and began dating, even though she was living in Orlando. Wanting to be closer to his new love, and also seeking to change directions to work with nonprofit organizations, the prospect of relocation made sense to Witherspoon. So, he took a leap, moved to Orlando, found an opportunity with a youth ministry there, and, in 2009, Witherspoon and Michelle got married.
Two years later, his ministry internship ended, and they decided to move again, this time to Atlanta. Through a friend of a friend, Witherspoon had heard about Historic South Atlanta, the area that has benefited from the work of Bob Lupton and Focused Community Strategies ministries . Witherspoon felt in his gut that this area of Atlanta sounded like the kind of place where he could make a difference—though he had yet to discern how.
“When you put hands and feet to a purpose, and you commit yourself to a person, then you’re going to succeed.”
DAVID McCOY
“They tell you when you move you should keep your eyes open and your heart open and just look around,” he said. What he noticed in South Atlanta, he said, were a lot of young men who seemed rootless. They reminded him of his experiences in Ohio.
“My father’s side of the family lived in housing projects,” he said. “I spent a lot of weekends there. As a kid, I never knew why there were policemen in the courtyard outside their house on Friday and Saturday nights without fail.”
As he got to know the young men in his neighborhood, he said, the lessons he learned from his father and his father’s family began to coalesce.
“I felt like I had to do something to help them. They seemed to be either going to jail or back from jail and had zero job prospects. Some had dropped out of high school. I had had these great opportunities with a supportive family, and they didn’t have that.”
The wheels began turning (so to speak). Witherspoon began to believe he might be able to perform a ministry by sharing his love of cars.
“I wanted to start an auto shop that would hire these young people,” he said.
He applied for a grant with the Annie E. Casey Foundation, and, at the end of 2013, he was awarded enough to buy a trailer and tools. That’s when McHargue entered the picture.
AFTER A DETROIT CHILDHOOD plagued by the threat of gangs, McHargue, now 28, moved with his family to Orlando at 16.
His neighborhood in Florida “was a totally different environment,” he said. “I saw more of what life could offer.” He stayed in Orlando for nine years, earning a degree in nonprofit work from Central Florida University while serving as youth director at a church.
After marrying his sweetheart, Sarah, he started raising funds to become a missionary. The newlyweds were preparing to move to Ghana when, he said, he had a clear message from God that he needed to go to a closer destination—Atlanta—instead.
His previous experience with the city had consisted of visits to Stone Mountain Park and the World of Coca-Cola. Nevertheless, he and Sarah changed direction and arrived in town with no jobs and no place to live.
He found work wrapping sandwiches at a Chick-fil-A, and she started substitute teaching. They rented a house in Historic South Atlanta.
Automotive Training Center in East Point serves as a ministry that transforms the lives of youth through hard work and mentorship.
Through friends, McHargue met Witherspoon, and the two men learned they shared concerns about providing guidance and engagement opportunities for youth in the city. McHargue’s daily commute took him past street corners where young men loitered. So many windshields in cars in that area were broken by thieves, he said, that some people started leaving their cars unlocked to prevent the damage.
As the two men grew closer, Witherspoon shared his vision of a training center to teach auto repair to young people like those in their neighborhood. When McHargue agreed to be part of it, Witherspoon suggested that he try to find work in an auto shop to gain experience.
McHargue and Witherspoon began educating themselves in preparation for setting up their center. McHargue worked at Pep Boys and Anthem Automotive, absorbing all he could from the veteran mechanics at Anthem and earning his seal of excellence from the National Institute for Automotive Service Excellence, a nonprofit organization that promotes quality work in vehicle repair.
While McHargue was working at Anthem, Witherspoon was making a living delivering uniforms to businesses. In the evenings, the two of them hauled the trailer bought with Casey Foundation money to people’s houses, taking a neighborhood youth or two along as students, to make car repairs in driveways. Because they had no vehicle of their own strong enough to pull the trailer, they borrowed trucks for the repair runs.
MORE THAN JUST A BRIGHT IDEA
Epiphany, which marks the 12th day after Christmas and the traditional commemoration of the arrival of the Magi and adoration of the Christ child, comes from Greek, Old French, and Latin words for “insight” or “idea.” So, when First Presbyterian Church of Atlanta (FPC) launched a brand-new social venture initiative, it seemed only fitting to choose Epiphany as the project’s name.
FPC set aside $72,000 (revenue from a film shot in the church), and church members gave another $180,000 for a total of $250,000 to fund innovative approaches to social challenges, and some 88 applicants submitted proposals to a committee that narrowed the pool to 22.
Each Epiphany semifinalist received hands-on coaching from experienced mentors within the church before making a final pitch to a panel of judges, Shark Tank-style. Five finalist organizations were named in early 2019.
Two of them—Refuge Coffee and the Automotive Training Center—are featured in this issue. Other grant recipients include Eviction Assistance Mobile App, which helps tenants facing eviction navigate the housing court system; PadSplit, a technology platform to help working Atlantans find safe, affordable housing; and Purposeful Pecans, a new product envisioned and baked by Meals on Wheels of Atlanta in their kitchens to generate revenue to provide meals for vulnerable older adults.
WHEN WITHERSPOON HEARD ABOUT A MINISTRY at McEachern United Methodist Church in Powder Springs that repaired cars for people in need, he contacted the ministry founder, David McCoy, to ask for his help starting a program teaching at-risk youth. McCoy became a mentor to Witherspoon and McHargue.
Part of McEachern’s ministry is accepting donated cars to repair and pass on to people in need. When someone donated a huge SUV—a 2002 Chevrolet Suburban—to the church, McCoy knew it was too big and not fuel-efficient enough for the people he served who were awaiting cars. But it would be perfect to pull a trailer. Witherspoon and McHargue still have it.
The SUV was a big boost, but working in the daytime and hauling the trailer and tools around town to repair cars at night was wearing. Witherspoon and McHargue needed a shop, and they needed to decide once and for all whether to take a risk and invest all their time and energy in their project, or give it up.
They chose to take a chance.
“It was nerve-racking to make that big jump,” Witherspoon said. “We knew we had to make the leap if we were going to ever do it,” McHargue said. “We’ve taken many leaps of faith to get where we are.”
In November of 2017, about three years after Witherspoon shared his vision with McHargue, they gave up their day jobs to operate the Automotive Training Center full time.
On his uniform delivery routes, Witherspoon had seen the complex of metal buildings in East Point. What they lacked in charm, they compensated for in affordability and convenience.
To take his business acumen to the next level with his nonprofit, Witherspoon attended the LEAD Institute, operated out of Peachtree Presbyterian Church. He received training on everything from fundraising and board governance to time management.
“The LEAD Institute is a crucial part of the Automotive Training Center’s success,” Witherspoon said.
ATC’s first class cohort was “a great group of guys,” Witherspoon said. An early point of pride was a young man named David, who had spent a third of his life in detention centers and prison. He channeled the energy he had used in criminal pursuits, including robbery, into learning about cars. “He worked hard and asked a lot of questions,” Witherspoon said. After passing the course, David was able to get his driver’s license reinstated, and he now holds a part-time chauffeuring gig while doing auto repair on the side.
“He pieces together jobs to make a living to support him and his girlfriend,” Witherspoon said. “He’s found out there are honest ways to make money. His life now is quite a contrast to breaking into people’s houses.”
Part of the mission for Witherspoon and McHargue is to teach their students about more than tires and spark plugs by bringing in guest speakers on topics such as leadership and communication, and through building up trust so that they can address issues one-on-one. “We’ve found out that when we open up the hood of a car, our students tell us all kinds of things about domestic abuse, homelessness, dropping out of school,” said Witherspoon.
Current student Jaquan Allen, 22, like Witherspoon, grew up liking cars, especially older American “muscle cars” with lots of power. He was raised on the west side of Atlanta and attended college at East Arizona University for two years playing football, but lost interest and dropped out after his father’s death from colon cancer.
“After my dad died, things went downhill,” he said. He felt lost.
Allen was working for a lawn-care service and trying to determine what to do with his life when a friend introduced him to McHargue. Now halfway through the course, he enjoys combining his love for cars with skill building toward a steady job.
He has formed a plan for his life. He wants to finish the course, find a job in a small repair shop, and eventually to own his own repair business.
Lana Mayard, 26, one of three women trained by the center, said Witherspoon and McHargue “helped me to understand that I don’t have to give up. People have trials and tribulations. You have to learn to balance it out and move forward.”
When Mayard arrived at the shop, she was homeless even though she was working. The minimum wage she earned preparing fruit baskets was not enough to pay for a roof overhead, so she slept on park benches until one day she heard about the training program. She is now working for a Toyota dealership and is saving money for an apartment.
David McCoy has kept up with Witherspoon and McHargue since they came to him for advice about five years ago, and he has served on the center’s board.
“You can throw money at a problem all day long,” McCoy said, “but when you put hands and feet to a purpose, and you commit yourself to a person, then you’re going to succeed.”
That success could make a difference for generations to come.
“I feel like we’re changing the trajectory not only of the lives of the students who make it into our program and graduate,” McHargue said. “We’re changing the lives of their future families.”
