The Auto Trader

500 Words

Mom, at one of my brother’s baseball games. Image by dad. Notice his beautiful Cleopatra donned in silver & turquoise jewelry that he taught himself to make.

This one’s for

Tom Cox

It’s short and sweet.

Who by the way is a fantastic follow (if you enjoy British people).

As a follow-up to my recent story “Soul Sacrifice” …my extremely visually impaired and most beautiful 87 year old “mum” called me last night to remind me of the story when she was traded for a car dad wanted.

I loved my dad, but he was over-the-top with buying, fixing, driving and selling cars for hobby (+ a little extra immigrant income), that the California DMV once got after him to open a dealership. We lived on Urbana Avenue in Arleta, Pacoima, in a small yellow house with a flat white rock roof. He bought and sold cars faster than an auctioneer could speak.

It was the early 1980’s on an extremely hot summer day. Dad found a car he really desired to own fix-up and eventually sell in Auto Trader (car bible of the past, in case you weren’t familiar). Mom was his only sidekick in his endeavors to get a car home, unless he bartered a delivery off the back of a co-worker’s flatbed.

Dad made the appointment and off they went to Burbank. I believe it was a TransAm or the dreaded Torino he “made me drive” to Jr. College after my old Fiat lost its brakes in a canyon, sold to me without a windshield wiper motor. The reason dad tapped kicked my ankle, when he joined me on my first ever Auto Trader adventure, was because dad knew it was not a good car and refused to work on it. He called it “Fix-it Again Tony.” F I A T

Drove that beloved 5-speed car, that held a giant-sized rescue mastiff, (with the top down), through that canyon using the center emergency brake while mom, dad and my little brother were away on holiday.

Back to the story. They arrived to find the seller barefoot, bare-chested, belly over shorts, sweat wreaking havoc all over his face. They spoke for awhile about the car, dad with his list of questions, skeptical face I can still picture, ready to strike a bargain. But first, “I’d like to take it for a drive.”

Owner: “Do you have a deposit or anything you can leave with me before you do?” (it was customary back then, i.e., watch, credit card — kid you not)

Dad: “Well, I can leave my wife.”

Mom was killing herself last night remembering this story. “Off dad went, giddy as a young boy, leaving me with this large sweaty man. I could see he was uncomfortable, so he began to tell me stories of chauffeuring Robert De Niro and other stars around the valley, leaving me far less worried.”

You can’t make this stuff up.

Happy Wednesday everyone!