brad hafner: stories
Brad Hafner was born October 14, 1928. After his father’s death in a car accident, Hafner and his siblings were raised by their mother in South Buffalo, where Hafner attended Public School 70. In his final year of high school, he dropped out to enlist in the Navy Air Corps. After finishing his service and receiving his diploma, he held a few jobs before responding, in 1958, to a salesman-for-hire ad placed by West-Herr Ford.
This is where I find him, 65 years later, in the spring of 2023. He’s seated behind his desk at West Herr’s Hamburg Ford dealership on Camp Road. On the desk before him is the book Hidden Treasures: or, Why Some Succeed While Others Fail, an 1887 collection of essays on extraordinary men–Millard Fillmore, John Jacob Astor, James Madison.
“Guess what the theme is,” Hafner commands in his signature firm, gravelly voice. Then there’s a pause. He sits looking at me, marinating in the silence, until he’s satisfied I’ve waited long enough for the answer. “It’s hard work! Not this, not that, just hard work.”
Hafner himself is one of Buffalo, New York’s living legends. Much has been written about the now Chairman of West Herr Automotive Group, but you’d be hard-pressed to get the man’s true essence without witnessing it yourself.
He’s vivacious, gregarious, extremely funny, a natural-born storyteller. It’s his storytelling, even more than the stories themselves, that sets Hafner apart. He’s mastered the art, he loves it–because it’s the moments contained in the stories plucked from one’s life that matter most, more than any accolades (of which Hafner has received many).
The bottom line, Hafner believes, is that we’re all made up of stories, and that we should all tell more of them.
Over the course of my conversation with him, Hafner spills dozens of these small narratives, vignettes from a life truly, fully lived. Most are colored by humor; all of them start or end with some gem of wisdom: “There are so many tears, so much sadness in the world. We should laugh more…let me tell you this story,” he’ll say. Then the story.
There’s the Christmas Eve Hafner’s mother took him down to the corner of Seneca and Bailey where they gathered one of the scrubby firs left by the Christmas tree seller at the end of the day, dragged it onto the streetcar (free on Christmas Eve) to take home and decorate.
There’s the “Wrong Way Corrigan Parade,” South Buffalo’s celebration of Douglas “Wrong Way” Corrigan, named for his supposedly mistaken transatlantic flight from New York to Dublin in 1938. (Hafner wasn’t able to march in the parade, short the 15-cent Cub Scout fee; but some 75 years later, a West Herr colleague who knew the story well gifted Hafner a Cub Scout scarf, which still occupies his desk drawer.)
There’s his election to President of the Maloney Shamrock Club, the neighborhood pub. “What does that mean, that you drink the most?” His mother asked him when he shared the news.
There’s the time he went straight from a corporate event to a wake, forgetting to remove the name tag required at the former: “HI, MY NAME IS BRAD,” the sticker shouted as he navigated the solemn funeral home.
There are no fewer than six stories of Hafner saving lives–his neighbors, passed out as their refrigerator leaked invisible chemicals into their home; a two-year-old who tottered over the edge of a dock on the lake in Canada.
Over his 65-year career as car salesman, partner, owner, and chairman at West Herr, Hafner has amassed an impressive collection of gifts–countless containers of cookies and candy, books (Hidden Treasures being the most recent), a handmade wooden cane, that treasured Cub Scout scarf.
Each one has a story of its own. Hafner knows exactly who gave him each gift, when, and for what occasion. He won’t talk about a gift without also talking about why it matters to him, why the person behind it is an important part of his own life’s story; it’s proof of the rich relationships that the very best car salesman–which is just what Hafner is–is capable of forming, not simply for the love of the selling but for the love of the people with and to whom he sells. It’s this love, these relationships, that give credit to the lasting success of Hafner’s West Herr dynasty.
“I love the customers,” Hafner gushes. “Some of my customers I’ve worked with and sold cars to for over 50 years.”
These customers, and the West Herr team–over 2,000 strong today–are the reason he’s 94 years old and still spending his days at that Camp Road office. He prefers this office, forgoing newer, plusher, quieter options at other West Herr locations. He’s right; the West Herr on Camp Road is busy. On a snowy Tuesday afternoon, it’s buzzing.
“I keep my door open,” he explains, “so people can drop in and say hello, and I can see people walking by. It’s just better here than being in a corporate place.”
Here, Hafner can find what he loves most: Lots of life. Hustle and bustle. Smiles, chatter. So many customers. It’s all the life surrounding him during his days that feeds his hunger for and love of the work. Energy feeding energy.
Many of the salespeople here have been with the company for over 20 years, and at the mention of Brad Hafner, they light up, tell a Brad story of their own–the time he took everyone out to lunch on a whim, his best joke. “They don’t make them like Brad anymore,” they’ll say.
These people admire and care for Hafner; they’re proud to have him in their space, proud to know him.
As our time together dwindles, Brad pulls out a small boombox. He fiddles with the buttons until he finds the song he’s looking for; a rich, deep, melancholic voice, smooth, sings a catchy song, thoughtful, not rushed. Brad listens; the sound sparks a sweet memory – he doesn’t share it right away, but I can see it in his eyes.
“That’s me,” he tells me. “One of the employees came and recorded it for me, me singing. For my grandchildren.”
The song is George Burns’ “Old Bones.”
To sit with Brad Hafner, to see the twinkle in his eye as he laughs at a memory, is to witness the beauty of age. He embodies the easily forgotten truth that age is a lovely thing, that with it comes grace, joy, and–most importantly–a deep gratitude for the story it contains.