Dow: It’s not a Cadillac that stops

When I recall John Steinbeck’s Joad family and their harrowing journey from the Oklahoma Dust Bowl to California in the historical novel, “The Grapes of Wrath,” I am reminded that not much has changed in human nature in the last hundred years. The Joads’ 1926 Hudson Super Six Sedan, converted into a truck, broke down while transporting a large family and household goods.

The choice then is the same as the dangers of the road today: fix it yourself or find a suitable traveller. In either case, don’t expect expensive negotiations to stop – I’ll bet it won’t. They will go around.

Don’t ask me why, but for someone who has followed a classical education, I have spent most of my life in auto repair and body shops. I can identify a good mechanic and I can identify engine, transmission, wheel alignment, brakes, belt, exhaust, cylinders, gears, timing belt, carburetor…oh, you name it…problems from sounds and smells.

My formal driving education began with marriage. I donated a ’65 Ford Mustang to a series of used cars inherited (rather than cheaply bought) from my in-laws. Then my husband met a fellow engineer who had an incurable love of cars. He would buy a new one and immediately start reading the specs for the next one.

As an aside, I’m sure he was single. We eventually had enough wealth to afford two cars, both bought from a co-worker: an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme and a Volkswagen Beetle, which we drove for a long time.

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The first problem started with Volkswagen. It was running fine until my husband pulled it across the country and it crashed into an Oldsmobile without removing the gear or putting it on the tow dolly. In our next city of residence, the car came into regular use at the German Car King store. It was in the wrong part of town (I know these parts well with all my car experience), and King displayed a large sign that said “CASH only, No Checks.” Our car was started so often that soon the King started accepting our checks.

We sold the VW for less and got a worse car: the Chevrolet Citation. Wow! – how was this ugly structure ever created? We bought it from a co-worker who has become a friend of ours, believe it or not, named Swindle. This new car had cracked “boots”, allowing dirt to enter the axles. It had an annoying habit of stalling at intersections when turning left. It had a lot of other problems, but from the outside and inside, it seemed to be in perfect condition. One good feature was that our kids refused to drive it. We said: “Ads or nothing.” They didn’t choose anything. The seller also washed his hands.

Meanwhile, the Cutlass was still running … until … we went to my in-laws’ lake one summer (for a week that turned out to be summer).

Apparently, no one thought to check the water and the engine overheated and exploded. While I was stuck, a truck picked up my husband and kids (they thought this was great) and the car was towed to the lake resort. My brother-in-law had done legal work for Glenn (my first summer as it turned out), a prominent mechanic from Angola, Indiana, who was supposedly “the best.”

He always had stubble, never a real beard, and a small (unlit) cigarette in the corner of his mouth; so he was difficult to understand. Typical of people in small towns, Glenn’s customers appreciated the value of the business over time. Glenn would scour junk yards from Northern Indiana to Michigan for replacement engines.

After this move, he would take the second part engine to his mechanic friend (another week’s delay) and then report back that things were still not right. My husband flew home, leaving me with one credit card and Glenn. After several attempts at a “used engine,” I insisted that Glenn order a new, genuine part, which I had previously recommended.

Ordering took a lot of time and exhausted our credit limit on the card. Meanwhile, my in-laws took us to the beach with them for a vacation while we waited for car parts. After the car was ready, I borrowed $50 from my brother-in-law and happily accepted homemade cakes from my sister-in-law for the long drive home.

First rest stop, the car pulled out. I opened the hood, checked everything Glenn had described, and tried to start the car. We were out in the middle of nowhere. No money, no credit card, no phone (we used a long distance credit card at the time, but someone needed a pay phone), it was hot and we only had my brother-in-law’s cookies and a jug of water (for the engine!) What? who stopped to help? Tractor pulling equipment to remove tree stumps. The man said, “There are two garages in town, and you don’t want either of them.” Somehow he pulled the car with his tractor.

I got to the “OK” garage, and the first words out of my mouth were, “You’ll have to talk to my mechanic!” It turned out to be a different little problem. Not only did we make it home but the Cutlass lasted for years with its Rolls-Royce engine!

The following Christmas I received a framed photo with Glenn’s headshot, cigar and all. It was autographed, “To my best client. Love, Glenn.

I still have that picture.

Marie Elizabeth Shade Dow has been bouncing between Little Rock, Arkansas, Avon, and Missouri for years, mostly pursuing music, beautiful snow, and the good life.