Born in New York, Phil grew up in an upper-middle class neighborhood. Both his parent had nice jobs and he went to a private school. His parents always hoped he'd get the best education and be able to surpass them and live even more well-off than they themselves were. Phil, however, was never as attracted to common education as he was to cars and other contraptions. He didn't love science so much as he did inventing, or math so much as how much was necessary when making blueprints and the like. So he studied engineering and mechanics in his free time, even finding himself stopping by auto shops every now and then to ask the mechanics questions. They had no problem with a cute kid, all bright eyed and excited to learn their craft, hanging around as long as he followed safety protocols.
He found himself off the beaten path when he was 14 and his dad's car broke down. Without so much as a word to his father, Phil had the problem fixed before his old man even got off the phone with the mechanic. After the shock wore off, his parents spoke with him, and after a quick trip to the shop that they didn't even know he'd been going, they got praises from the workers and recommendations for different schools that would better cater to his interests. They'd made up their minds.
From then on, Phil went to a trade school for inventing, electrical engineering, and mechanics. He graduated with perfect grades and his parents' blessing to open his own shop as soon as possible. He never did finish a common high school education, and sometimes found himself lacking in places. Surprisingly, it never bothered him much.
It didn't happen at first; Phil picked up a job down in Boston and from age 19 to 22 he worked happily there. Once he felt comfortable and experienced enough, he opened his own shop near a scrap yard in Edenridge, South Boston and set to work.
He was 38 when a
young boy with a bruised face got caught pulling scraps of motorcycle parts. After a quick talk with the scrapyard owner, he grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck- noticing the flinch and filing it for later- and set him down at a station, telling him to get to work. The shocked boy went at it with his borrowed tools until closing.
"Jesus kid, you just did the work of three grown-ass men! How old are you?"
"12, and my name ain't 'Kid'," He'd grumbled back.
"Well, maybe if you'd
tell me your name," Phil replied with a roll of his eyes, not letting it show how shocked he was at the boy's adeptness.
"...Mordechai Boaz. My brother calls me Decky."
"Well, Imma call you Mo-Bo, how 'bout that?"
"What?! No don't call me th-"
"Alright Mo-Bo, let's get you home!"
The boy had looked less than thrilled, but admitted that he needed to make his brother a late dinner. Phil didn't comment on that either.
Phil had left the boy with a parting comment about an open door policy, but never expected to see him again. Especially not the next day. But the kid kept coming back, working on his little motorcycle project and even helping the other mechanics. And if the boy was doing the work, Phil was damn well going to pay him for it; under the table until he could be legally hired, of course.
He always brought his
brother with him after that, and the boy just stayed quiet and out of the way, acting like he was an intruder and inconvenience. That's when Phil started keeping candy and around the garage and ice cream in the mini-freezer. Danny began talking and showing his real personality after that.
When Mo-Bo started Freshman year, he was still at the garage all the time, and Phil made him get a work permit from the school under the pretenses of an internship. Given how popular and cemented Phil's Garage had become in Edenridge, the school didn't put up much of a fight about it. Despite not being too fond of the boy skipping school, Phil didn't mind having him away from those parents as much as possible. Danny actually seemed to enjoy school, and had stopped showing up as much once he hit middle school.
He began bringing a young lady around sometime during his sophomore year. She'd just sit on Mo-Bo's stool, sucking on a lollipop and letting her hands linger as he worked. Phil didn't even pretend not to notice the track marks on their arms or their red eyes, but they didn't seem to care about showing them. He confronted them a few times, but that just led to Mo-Bo not coming around for a few days, and Phil decided he'd rather the boy be high and around, than high and dead in a ditch. He stopped asking.
After Mo-Bo found out about his little girlfriend's eating disorder, things began slowly changing; Mo-Bo stopped showing up as much at the shop, and started going to school. He was at the shop almost every night after school instead of out partying, and the track marks faded as he began filling out into the man Phil new he could be. The man had been jealous that the boys began to get a new father figure in the form of Antoine Beauregard, but Phil new a good man when he saw one, and also knew that his own tiny apartment could barely house him, let alone the two boys he'd grown to love.
Life carried on like normal for a little over a year; his boy had an apartment and was free of his parents, he had finished building his motorcycle from scratch and it ran beautifully, and Phil's Garage was still a staple in the Edenridge community.
He should have known it wouldn't last.
He heard the news from the TV in the corner of the garage first. A few hours of wracked nerves later, they released the names of the Victims. That was when he felt the first twinge in his heart; Danny was gone. Mo-Bo was nowhere to be found. Less than a day later, the boy was at the Garage, crying into Phil's dirty coveralls as he explained that he'd just buried his little brother and he just had to
get out. That was the night that Phil watched his son in all but blood drive off as his other was already six feet under. That was the night that a young Lanie Lancester turned away from him in tears as he told her Mo-Bo had left an hour before her arrival.
Another twinge of his heart caused him worry, but he figure it was the emotional pain of loss; until that twinge turned into pain and his breathing became labored. The trip to the hospital after his heart attack a few hours later had the 43 year old taking it easy for a few weeks before he was back to work. But he knew his limits, and let one of his buddies and mechanics, Eddy Garnere, take over most of the heavy lifting for him while he focused more on the paperwork.
Ten years later, and the 53 year old just couldn't handle the next heart attack when it came. After his funeral, his lawyer pulled out his will and made a call. That was the night that a grief stricken Decky hopped on his motorcycle and headed back to Edenridge. It took two days to get back; just in time for the Ten Year Anniversary of the death of someone else he loved.
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