There are two kinds of car lovers, says Colby Coash.

There are car lovers who like hot rods.  They like to soup them up, put red flames on them.

Then there are car lovers who like to see things restored, back to their original.  

“I’m in that second category.”

 In fact, Coash owns a yellow 1974 Corvette which he bought 10 years ago as his “summer car.” 

But Coash hasn’t had a chance to drive it since last spring. He wasn’t able to attend the big Corvette rally in the Black Hills  this summer.

He’s running for the state Legislature from District 27.

That means he’s been walking  a lot. Capitol Beach, The Ridge, West Lincoln, the Country Club.

It’s Coash’s first political race and he’s unknown outside his professional and church communities.

So he’s walking door to door almost every night and on weekends. The Corvette is garaged, its picture on his office shelf a reminder of  life before the campaign trail.  

Cars have been the backdrop for important parts of Coash’s life.

First there was the black 1966 Cadillac hearse his dad brought home when he was 15 years old.

It was big enough to carry all 20 kids in his Bassett High School class.

“That’s what we did in a small town. We did a lot of driving around.” 

The car became a project that father and son could work on together. 

Because of cars, Coash got a taste of how government worked.

The 14-year-old Coash was focused on one objective — buying a car. He washed dishes at a drive-in restaurant on the weekends and a couple of nights a week after school, saving money for a car.  “I was really focused on that.” 

Then his boss said she was probably going to have to cut back on his hours because state senators were looking at a bill putting more limits on student workers. 

Coash was incensed. “Someone in government is going to tell me I can’t earn the money I want to earn to buy this car.” 

So his dad got out the address book, called their state senator, Jim Jones, then handed the phone to teenage Coash.

Jones listened, said he’d check it out, and Coash got a note soon after from the senator saying he would not be supporting that bill. 

That was the first time Coash saw the connection between government and ordinary people.

It took some of the mysticism out of government, turned elected senators into real people, he said. 

“Apparently the bill never passed because I continued to work Saturday and Sundays.”

That  experience is “what really set me on the path (toward the Legislature),” he said.

Coash eventually bought a ’90 Mustang,  which he took to the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. There he got a degree in theater, planning on a career that combined theater, acting, teaching.

Instead, after graduation, he found a home in a small company that now provides consulting and management services — such as staff training,  payroll, human resources — to other companies that work with people with disabilities.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting to do. But the work really spoke to me. I was one of those fortunate enough to find their life’s work early.

“I could put my talents to work and help people sell more tires, or be better factory workers. But I get to spread a message of treating people well.”

Coash’s work has taken him to the Capitol, to hearings, and discussions with senators and staff.

He discovered few senators who really understood the issues relating to services for people with developmental disabilities. One, former Sen. Dennis Byars of Beatrice, was term limited from office two years ago.

Having so few senators knowledgeable about the issues is “a disservice,” he says. “People with disabilities deserve to have a voice as well.” 

When Coash watched the Legislature, he also saw older people who own their own business or had established careers.  

There were only a few people like himself: Young people, still paying off student loans, buying their first home or thinking about it.

“Where’s the person who understands that perspective?” he wondered. 

Coash could bring his persistence and ability to work with others to the Legislature, said Roger Stortenbecker, his boss and chief operating officer of Collaborative Industries.

Coash “doesn’t give up when the answer is no. He keeps working and turns it into a yes,” said Stortenbecker.

“That’s a useful talent for a senator, to be able to see many sides and come up with a reasonable compromise,” he said. 

“He lives his life like that. So I know it's not just a put-on.” 

Work and the campaign have consumed Coash’s life the past six months.

His wife, Rhonda, formerly a social worker at Madonna, is now the full-time “Colby manager … my support, my handler, my organizer.  She takes care of the little things — like does my tie match — so I can focus on the big things.”

This year there is no herb garden, another hobby on hold. Two years ago, Coash grew  mint and hosted a Kentucky Derby party, with mint juleps.

He doesn’t lift weights or run at the gym any more.

But there’s no need for a gym when you walk five or six miles a day, said Coash, who hopes the handshakes and conversation will translate to a win in November. 

Reach Nancy Hicks at 473-7250 or nhicks@journalstar.com.