“What is that?”
I asked my brother Ron as I stared at the green-skinned gargoyle with the huge
teeth in the driveway across the street.
Ron had invited my family to have Easter dinner at his house. “Is that a Buick?” I asked. “It sort of looks like one with that massive
chrome grille – but not exactly like any Buicks that I remember.”
“I
think it’s a DeSoto,” said Ron.
“Really? What year?”
“I
think it’s a 1950. It belongs to my next
door neighbor, Warren. He moved in with his
sister not long ago. Warren is old –
maybe in his mid-eighties. He’s not
allowed to drive anymore, so his sister is selling the car. Why?
Are you interested in buying it?”
I’ve
always liked old cars, especially ones made in the 1950s. When I was growing up, cars seemed to change
completely every year. As a young boy I
would impress my father by being able to tell him the make and model year of
almost any car he would point out. I
looked at the car through Ron’s front window.
“It
sort of has a blush of rust, but looks pretty solid. Do you know if it runs?”
“I’m
pretty sure it does,” answered Ron.
“From what I understand from Betty – that’s Warren’s sister – Warren
used it as his everyday car until his doctors told him he had to give up
driving.”
“Do
you know how much they’re asking for it? I asked.
Ron
laughed. “So you are interested. Well, I’m
not sure I have this right, but I seem to recall that Betty told me that
someone offered to buy it for $2,500, and they turned him down.”
“Dad,
you should totally buy it!” exclaimed Anna, my teenage daughter.
I
thought about it for a few seconds.
“That’s still a lot of money,” I said.
“And if they turned down $2,500, they might be looking for a good bit
more.”
During
dinner, I continued to think about the car.
While I love to look at old cars, I never thought I would be able to
afford one. Even if they wanted $5,000
for that thing, I figured it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for
me.
“So
what do you think about that car?” I asked my wife, Susan after we had downed a
few glasses of wine.
“Are
you seriously considering buying it?” Susan asked me.
“Dad,
you really need to buy it,” interjected Anna.
“It’s such a cool car.”
“Well,
if I could get it for less than $5,000, I think it would be really neat to buy
it,” I said to Susan.
“Well,
we would be able to afford that. If you
really want it, go talk to them. Maybe
they’ll give you a neighborly discount since you’re Ron’s brother,” Susan said.
* * *
I
called a few days later. I identified
myself as Ron’s brother and made arrangements to come out and look at the
car. The next day, I drove there and
knocked on the door. Warren’s sister,
Betty, appeared.
“So
you’re interested in Warren’s DeSoto?” she asked, peering at me through the
screen door.
“Yeah,
I’d like to look it over,” I replied.
We
walked across the street to where the car was parked. It appeared that Betty was going to do the
negotiating for her older brother.
“Does
it run?” I asked.
“Yes,
but the battery died. It will need a new
battery to get it started.”
Betty
unlocked the front door. I slid behind
the huge steering wheel with an icon of Hernando DeSoto in its center. What a rush!
I imagined heads turning as I drove around town in this 1950s-sized
behemoth. I slid back out and closed the
door, then crawled underneath the car. I
wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but it seemed like something a person
really checking out an old car should do.
To me it just looked like the underside of an old car. I didn’t see any holes, heavy rust or things
hanging down that looked like they shouldn’t be hanging down. I took that as a good sign and slid back out.
“Let’s
take a look under the hood,” I said, trying to sound like I knew something
about cars.
“Sure. The hood release is inside,” Betty pointed.
I
opened the door again and pulled the hood release handle. Then I released the catch and lifted the
hood. It weighed a ton. I stared for a while at the engine. “Yep, it has an engine,” I thought to myself. After looking around the engine compartment
for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time, I closed the hood. Next I opened the trunk. It looked clean and contained a spare tire
and jack.
“Well,
it looks pretty good to me,” I said. “So
what are you asking for it?”
“What
are you offering?” she responded, tossing the ball back into my court.
I
thought for a few moments how I should handle this negotiation with what looked
to me to be a wiry old lady in her mid to late seventies. If she turned down $2,500 like my brother
said, how high should I go without costing myself more than I had to?
“How
about $3,000?” I offered.
“How
about $2,500?” she shot back without blinking an eye.
“Well,
$2,500 sounds pretty good to me,” I smiled.
“I
just want to be sure I’m finding a good home for Warren’s car,” she said. “He loves this old car. It belonged to our father. We’ve known your brother Ron for years, so I
feel I’m doing right by Warren selling it to you. Another fellow offered me $2,500, but I
didn’t like him and knew he wouldn’t be able to come up with the money, so I
turned him down.”
“Thank
you very much,” I grinned. “ I really
will take good care of it.”
Betty
and I talked a while longer and arranged that I would meet her and Warren on
Saturday to pay for the car and transfer the title. I got in my boring minivan and drove away. In
a matter of days, I would embark on a new adventure in my life – behind the
wheel of a 1950 DeSoto!
