Chapter 11

After the Navy ... where I learned all sorts of useful shit ... like SCUBA, parachuting and gunsmithing ... the government sent me home ... with ruined teeth from excessive fluoride and a poorly healed fractured vertebrae from a fall onboard ship.

I had a GED gained by testing but mom decided I needed a real diploma and enrolled me in the 11th grade. Two years later I had a genuine high school parchment.

I went from one of the youngest kids in school to one of the oldest.

Across the street from my best friend David’s house was an old lady who had lived there since Noah crashed the Ark ... and in her garage was a 1928 Buick Master 8. (Think long bodied coupe with two doors and four seats.) The factory original green Buick had been on blocks since the stock market crash of 1929: So there weren’t a lot of miles on the clock.

The tires and wheels were in the basement and the battery had been on a Tungar Battery Charger (General Electric) (trickle) since 1929. The horsehair interior was green except for one spot where the sun had shone through a knothole in one board in the garage ... that spot was faded to grey.

Once a month the husband had poured a little gasoline in the carburetor and started it. Then he performed all the standard maintenance ... greasing the zerks, checking the antifreeze and changing the oil and paper filter every three months; adjusting the valves, replacing cracked lines and hoses and generally made sure it would run if needed.

He died.

The widow didn’t know what or how to do the necessary and sold it to me for two hundred dollars. Except for the 1949 Olds fastback, the Buick was my first running car. I sold it to finance my first year of College.

I did drive it to Ferris Institute the first week. A rich parent delivering his daughter for her freshman year saw the car. (If you don’t know Ferris ... let me tell you ... it’s the school of last resort. My grades were terrible. A 1.98 average. A girl as pretty as she was had to be as dumb as a box of rocks. The light in her eyes was the sun shining through the back of her head.)

“What’ll you take for the car?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“Four.”

I hesitated, four hundred was a one hundred percent return on my investment. “Umh.”

“Okay, okay, okay ... five.”

My eyes lit up ... he had a deal.

“Take a check?”

“Sure.”

I almost rubbed my hands together. Five hundred ... yeah!

I knew where I could get a good running 1930 Chevrolet two door sedan for seventy-five bucks. I was already planning on channeling the body and bobbing the fenders when he handed me the check. I put it in my pocket.

“Take me to the bank?”

We took the Buick. He loved it.

We needed a notary public. I presented ID and the title. The notary checked the particulars and even compared vehicle identification numbers.

I signed the title and handed it over.

He folded the title, stashed it in his wallet and smiled. “I’d have gone ten,” Thinking he’d screwed me, he was laughing.

I looked at the check and started laughing ... the check was for five thousand. I opened an account immediately. The teller called the bank the check was drawn on ... confirmed it and issued me a bank book. I was still laughing.

“What?”

“I was agreeing to Five Hundred.”

Ever seen a grown man stomp his hat flat?

While he was making a felt pancake I was getting his daughters dorm phone number.

Promising ... very promising. Not wife material ... but definitely promising.

Ferris is a suitcase college. Everybody goes home on Fridays. That weekend I bought the Chevy.