The Wedding Crashers

Even Ghostbusters vehicles need maintenance from time to time.

One day, Ecto SD was in the shop for some routine service, which meant she spent the entire day parked outside a local business while the work was being completed.

When we returned to pick her up, the mechanic couldn't wait to tell us about what he'd witnessed.

"That thing gets a lot of attention," he said.

We laughed because we've heard that before.

"No, seriously," he continued. "I don't know how many people slowly drove past the shop just to look at it."

Apparently, all day long, people were easing off the gas, craning their necks, and trying to get a better look at the giant white Ghostbusters vehicle sitting outside the building. Some slowed down so much that it was becoming a distraction.

For us, Ecto SD has become a familiar sight. We've spent years maintaining it, improving it, transporting it to events, and sharing it with the community.

But every now and then, someone else's reaction reminds us just how unique the vehicle really is.

To most people, it's not just a car.

It's a piece of childhood parked on the side of the road.

And apparently, it's hard to drive past without taking a second look.

Growing up wasn't always easy. I was awkward, not athletic, and never seemed to fit in. I spent years being bullied and struggling to find where I belonged.

But every summer, I'd retreat indoors and watch a worn-out VHS copy of Ghostbusters. When I wasn't watching it, I was riding my bike around the farm with a toy proton pack strapped to my back, pretending I was protecting the world from ghosts. For a little while, I wasn't the kid getting picked on. I was the hero.

Ghostbusters became more than a movie. It became comfort, hope, and proof that the weird kids and outcasts could still do something meaningful.

Years later, in 2009, I built my first proton pack. Not for a group or a charity, but simply because it was something I had always wanted to do. Then, in 2014, I started a Facebook page called the South Dakota Ghostbusters.

At first, it was just an idea shared with a handful of people. The page picked up a few followers, a few likes, and not much else. But by 2016, people started paying attention. When I asked if anyone wanted to join me at the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk, people actually showed up.

On the drive to the event, we stopped at a red light in what would become the first version of Ecto SD. A man in the car next to us rolled down his window, smiled, and shouted, "You just brought back my childhood!"

That moment changed everything.

I realized we weren't just building props. We were rebuilding memories.

At the Zombie Walk, people wanted photos. Kids pointed and smiled. Adults shared stories about watching Ghostbusters when they were young. Standing there in the middle of it all, I had a realization: this could be more than a hobby.

Something else happened that day. I found my people.

Creative, kind people. Fellow outcasts and misfits who wanted to make others smile and believed that having fun and doing good could go hand in hand.

Together, we started building something special. There was no instruction manual, no roadmap, just trial and error, a lot of passion, and a willingness to figure things out as we went.

What started as one guy with a homemade proton pack became a team, then a community, and eventually a mission.

We decided we weren't just going to dress up. We were going to give back.

Since then, we've attended more than a hundred community events, raised thousands of dollars for charity, and created countless memories for families across South Dakota. Every smile matters, and every memory matters.

My wife has supported this dream from the very beginning. Through the late nights, the garage projects, the events, and everything in between, she's been there every step of the way.

Our son has special needs, and life isn't always easy. This became something positive for our family, something we built together and something we could be proud of.

COVID brought everything to a halt for a while. Events disappeared, the car stayed parked, and it felt like all the momentum we'd built had suddenly stopped.

But we never gave up.

Today, we're finally seeing that momentum return. The crowds, the smiles, the excitement, and the magic are all coming back.

Sometimes I look around and can't believe how far this journey has come, from a kid on a bicycle with a toy proton pack to a community of people dedicated to making a difference.

Because being a Ghostbuster isn't about the uniform or the car. It's about heart, community, and family.

And every time someone smiles and tells us we brought back a childhood memory, I'm reminded exactly why we started.