Corky Coker, Chattanooga's poobah of tires, takes another track

All cars have stories, especially classic cars.

Such stories are inevitable, a mathematical function of time multiplied by man's propensity for adventure. Pick an object that's part of everyday life, use it for 10 years or so, and the yarns write themselves. Only with cars, you don't always get to write the final chapter.

You won't often find, for instance, a 1912 Nyberg still in the hands of its original owner unless that person happens to be more than 103 years old, assuming he received it at birth. More than likely the vehicle's bill of sale comes with a tale that, like the car, has moved from one owner to the next, perhaps picking up little embellishments along the way.

Cars, like life lessons, are sometimes passed down from generation to generation. Other times they end hidden in barns or garages, or journey from one family to another through an auction or classified ad. Each transaction builds the legend, burnishing the mythology as new generations take the reins.

But stories, like cars, can surprise us. A beautiful car can conceal a bad transmission. And a successful life can conceal a heart heavy with regret.

Corky Coker's story begins behind a mule. His grandfather, Hardy Corn Coker, a farmer and a mechanic, harnessed the animal to a plow and told Coker to stand on it. Coker had grown up in the country and had seen fields plowed before, so he knew the basic idea: Steer the mule with the reins, stand on the plow to make sure it digs into the soil, easy does-it.

"I want you to take this laying off plow, and plow a straight furrow," his grandfather told him.

So the young man gave it his best shot. Holding the reins and looking behind him over his shoulder, Coker attempted to keep the mule lined up with the freshly-plowed furrow left in his wake. It didn't work.

"When I got to the other end of the garden, the furrow was as crooked as a dog's leg," Coker says. "So my grandfather said, 'OK son, if you want to plow a straight furrow you've got to keep your eye straight ahead on the far end.' And that's the same with life, be focused on your goal while you work and you'll gain success."

They had arrived in Tennessee when Coker's grandfather moved the family west from North Carolina. As the farm flourished, his grandfather also became interested in fixing up old cars. That interest spread to Corky's father and two uncles.

"That's why we're successful today, otherwise we'd be making moonshine in western North Carolina," Coker says. "It was said of Pop Coker that he could make a Model A Ford run better just by leaning up against it."

Maybe it was standing on that plow, maybe it was Pop Coker's mechanical wisdom or maybe it's Coker's signature bushy mustache, but the Coker family found success, and lots of it.

Today, Coker sells tires all over the planet. Custom tires, the kind they don't make anymore. The kind that sell for top dollar, the kind that car enthusiasts lust after when their classic jalopy is ready to hit the open road. Whether it's Jay Leno or Ricky Skaggs, if somebody's got a classic car then chances are they're going to buy the tires from Coker Tire.

Need an old wooden wheel to go with that tire? They make that too. How about a rim? Check. Performance parts? Check. Across Coker's 10 companies, he sells equipment for airplanes, unicycles, cars and trucks. You can Google the words "Coker" and "unicycle" and the company is as ubiquitous as Kleenex or Xerox, Coker says. He has relationships with Firestone, Michelin, Bridgestone and BF Goodrich.

We can reverse-engineer just about anything that was once made," Coker says.

He's done a reality show. He's gone to South America to buy tire molds. He has warehouses filled with classic cars from across the ages. From the funny-looking mass-produced cars that helped spawn the industrial revolution to custom speedsters with leather straps holding down the engine cowl, a person could get lost in Coker's complex in downtown Chattanooga. And that's just his Tennessee operation.

Among his various companies, he oversees 150 workers on the east and west coasts, hundreds of thousands of square feet of warehouse space, and specialty manufacturing equipment that churn out three tractor-trailer loads of wheels, rims and tires every single day to distributors in 40 countries and customers around the world. It's an empire Coker and his father have both worked to build since 1958. It's so vast, he has to check the brochure to make sure he's not forgetting anything.

Coker jokingly refers to himself as the rock star of tires. But building a successful, globe-spanning business takes time, and lots of it. Being an entrepreneur isn't a clock-in, clock-out kind of job. It's not building widgets. It doesn't allow for a lot of school plays, weekends with the kids or lazy afternoons. It's an all-consuming existence powered by an unquenchable thirst to achieve more.

Coker's idea of success was molded by what he saw around him, and by what he aspired to be. His family believed that by working half a day - that's 12 hours, not four hours - success and luck would follow. And they were right. Coker says the business built by his father, Harold, who passed away in 2014, and expanded by Corky Coker in recent years is "wildly successful." The company is making more money than either Coker or his father ever dreamed, though as a private businessman Coker doesn't disclose financial figures.

Coker has led the company for 40 years. And for most of that time, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"In most of my 40 years I wanted to be known as a world leader, a collector, an innovator, a strong businessman, an entrepreneur," he said.

He was those things. Coker sponsors races across the country, hosts events for aftermarket car part enthusiasts, and is seen as a leader in the industry. A sharp businessman, he didn't fall prey to the urge to expand into markets in which he couldn't dominate. He bought many of his competitors. He hobnobbed with celebrities.

As Coker tells it, at the end of one event, Lee Greenwood came out to sing "God Bless the USA." Standing next to a yellow race car that had just finished the race, Greenwood belted out the famous tune, leaning into the vehicle to steady himself. As Greenwood came to the chorus, he reached back brace against the car. Greenwood's hand found the white-hot exhaust pipe, and the line came out, "And I'm proud to be an Ameri-CAN!" This year, Jay Leno will be waiting at the finish line of that same race, Coker says. Hopefully he avoids any hot tailpipes.

With all the money, the toys and the celebrities, Coker was on an upward trajectory. And still, he was letting the best years of his life slip behind him like a freshly plowed furrow.

In 2014, the same year his father passed away, Coker came to the office and his director of marketing asked if the company should put together a story detailing his 40 years as head of the business. Forty years was a long time. What had he been doing? More importantly, what were his children doing? His grandchildren?

"It's real easy for guys like me who are entrepreneurs and type A guys to say, 'oh honey, oh son, oh daughter, I'm working hard, I've got to travel and be out late because I want to build this for you,'" Coker says. "But that's most often not the case. More times than not it's about building your own pride and doing things for yourself."

For Coker, that was the car alarm going off in the middle of the night. At 60 years old, he realized this wasn't his ballgame anymore. He didn't need to work 12-hour days, he had plenty of money. He had been doing it for himself, not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. What he needed was someone to share it with.

"You can be successful at business and building your own acclaim and be a failure as a father and a husband," he says. "I feel like I was a lot more successful at being a businessman and industry leader than being a father, a grandfather and a husband."

So he did one of the hardest things that a hard-charging businessman can do. He took a step back. He put a chief operating officer in charge of the company. He delegated responsibilities. He started going to school plays, spending weekends with the kids and celebrating lazy afternoons. Spending time with his family became an all-consuming existence powered by an unquenchable thirst to achieve more.

"I don't want anything else. I've arrived now, I don't need any more businesses. I'm getting a lot of do-overs now," Coker says. "I realized that you spell love, t-i-m-e."

It's tough to let go. At one point, Coker approved all the marketing, made all the business decisions and helped to drive sales. He fired people, mentored those who needed help, and worried about strategy. That's all in the past. Now, he mainly deals with research and development, which he enjoys, and works on his ever-growing collection of classic cars, trucks and motorcycles.

"I don't make all the decisions now," Coker says. "It's tough for a strong ego, but you realize that it's for the best of the organization, and you know, it's what scripture says anyway, he who is last will be first."

Scripture is more important to Coker now. He talks about his grandmother praying for him. His wife praying for him. He calls his wife a Proverbs 31 woman, referring to the Biblical text that many interpret to describe how a woman of noble character should live, and how her deeds support her spouse.

"What I probably want to be known as now is God's faithful servant," Coker says. "That's what I want, that's it."

Of course, there are plenty of opportunities for successful businessmen to consider other pursuits. Politics is one such draw. Coker's father was heavily involved in Republican politics. He served on the Hamilton County Commission for 20 years, was appointed to the National Highway Traffic Safety Commission by former U.S. President Ronald Reagan, and ran for Congress in 1988 but lost to Marilyn Lloyd. Corky Coker helped manage his father's campaign. Posed a direct question about whether he'd run for office, Coker demurs.

"I'll tell you this, and you can write it down," Coker says. "I am running," and he lets the pause hang in the air, "for the county line."

Walking through the offices and manufacturing facility of Coker Tire and Honest Charlie in downtown Chattanooga, Coker introduces everyone by name. He knows every machine, every piece of inventory, and just about every car, though there's some discussion about the exact age of a particular Volkswagen Beetle. There's a special woodworking shop to make spokes for old wooden wheels. There's a lathe that once manufactured aircraft engines that Coker has repurposed to make high-quality wheels.

It's unclear how many cars Coker owns, but there are dozens arrayed around his downtown property. His father owned dozens more. Coker's first vehicle was a 1932 Model B pickup truck, but he doesn't have it anymore. Inside one warehouse in a place of honor sits a different old vehicle. It's a Model A Roadster that Coker's grandfather lovingly restored at age 92 from spare parts stored in baskets, and even hand painted it as a tribute to Coker. Pop Coker lived to age 97. Nearby the Model A is a child's hearse with original hand-crafted woodwork on the sides, though it needs a little work. In another warehouse is a car his daughter ran into and damaged. She was upset because it was his favorite car.

"I said, sweetie that's just scrap iron," Coker says. "It's just stuff."

This article appears in the June issue of Edge magazine, which may be read here.