A Rented Unit, a Cheap Flatbed, and No Real Plan
I’m Marty Mullins. If you want the honest origin story, M&M wasn’t founded so much as it stumbled into being — it started as a favor and just never stopped. I grew up on the north side of Harrison, the sort of place where helping a neighbor stack hay on a Saturday is its own reward and money never comes up. For a good while I framed houses around the county, and along the way I found myself paying rent on a little storage cubby full of leftover lumber while sitting on a flatbed I’d bought dirt cheap. Folks heard I could haul things, and that was that — a church pew for one family, a deacon’s bedroom set for another, eventually a retiree’s whole house hauled out to Bull Shoals. I had no ambitions of starting a company. I was just the guy who showed up with a truck and brought everything through intact. Once three different households called in a single month, the demand was obvious, and I went down to Springdale and bought a proper box truck.
Why the Sign Reads ‘and Storage’
That second half of the name wasn’t marketing — it answered a problem I kept running into. Time and again a family sells the old homestead, the purchase of the next place slips a week or two, and suddenly an entire household of belongings has no roof over it. My fix was to clear out part of the yard and put up a dry, temperature-controlled building. Now your things can come straight off the truck and wait there, safe and sound, until you can take possession of the new place. There’s no scrambling for a rental unit on the other side of town, no hiring a second crew, no double handling. For a lot of people around here, that building is the whole reason we’re the first call when their two closing dates won’t cooperate.
Everyone on the Truck Is a Local
This is a small operation by design, and that means there are no strangers showing up at your door. Dana — my wife — handles the front office: she sets your date and runs down whatever documentation a job needs, whether that’s an insurance certificate for a lakeside HOA or the paperwork for storage. The movers came to me through people whose judgment I trust around the county. Wade captains the bulk of our out-of-state runs and the long pulls down the highway. The tight, delicate jobs — antique staircases in the old square homes, pianos, anything that demands patience — go to Marty. And Cody takes the lakefront and creek-cabin work, the kind with a gravel approach and almost no room to turn a truck around. They draw a paycheck from us, they show up in company shirts, and not one of them is a day-labor stranger. Hire us, and those are the hands carrying your belongings.
A Single Written Price That Doesn’t Wander
Done right, a move with us is refreshingly uneventful. We take stock of what’s actually going — in person when it’s a full household, by phone or photo for the smaller stuff — and hand you one binding flat rate. The figure you approve is the figure on the bill; we don’t run a clock that keeps ticking while a mover catches his breath on a brutal August day, and we don’t invent a surcharge because a gun safe happens to be heavy. Everything is blanket-wrapped and written onto an inventory before it moves an inch, and the crew that fills the truck is the crew that empties it, be that a few blocks over or several states away. A full $1M in cargo coverage backs the whole thing. Damage something and we make it right — repair, replacement, or settlement — and that’s written into your contract rather than dangled on a website.
We Know These Roads in the Worst Weather
A mover who has only studied a map is a different animal from one whose trucks practically live out here. We can tell you which gravel drives off Hwy 7 turn to soup after a downpour, how much longer the US-412 run genuinely takes than the map lets on, and how a single January ice event can seal off the Crooked Creek crossings and the roads around the lake for a couple of days. That’s why we track the forecast, pad our winter schedule, and refuse to promise a window we can’t keep once everything glazes over. Our territory runs from Harrison out across the county — Bull Shoals, Lead Hill, Bergman, Berryville, Yellville, Mountain Home, and down toward Springdale and Fayetteville. Dial (888) 711-4778 and you’ll be speaking with someone who has personally hauled a sofa up an iced-over cabin stair.