A Horse With No Name

Continued "...so you sell these cars..." " all over the world. Look, we open the dealership downtown in fifteen minutes...I can't be late." CC interupted, looking at his watch. Stang pulled back one more car cover, and was startled to find a 1948 Chevrolet that had been converted into an ambulance. Looking through the supplies, he noticed that they were all in vintage 1940's style boxes. Wierd. Given the neighborhood this place was in, Stang just hoped he'd get out of here and get downtown without needing a more modern version of the same vehicle. Stang slowly followed the Camaro in his work truck, and in a few blocks they drove down a street of older homes that people were starting to fix up. He noticed that the people that lived here were black and white, hispanic and asian, gay and straight, and that there seemed to be a real community effort to make things better in this hell hole of a town. To Stang, the fact that people were accepting of each other and working together meant that we'd overcome a lot of prejudice and baggage in our history. It showed that positive change was real if people would work for it and use some creativity. The Camaro turned into the actual open to the public version of the dealership, and Stang was awestruck at the cars sitting out front. It was an odd jumble of stuff, all GM and all brand new, and seemed to lack any organization whatsoever. The car on prominent display in the lawn was a green 1966 Pontiac Catalina four door, joined out front by an olds Cutlass ciera of mid eighties vintage, an advanced design series Chevy truck from the ninteen fifties, an Olds Aurora, and a brand new Chevrolet Cruze. It was just all too odd. Equally odd was the number of people shopping at the dealership. Stang had never seen so many people out on a Saturday ayem, and they seemed to be moving quite a bit of iron, mostly the more modern stuff but a fair bit of the vintage tin also. Finishing the last of his coffee he set that hand made mug down in the center of the trucks dashboard. With a satisfying thunk he felt the tranny shift into reverse and backed in beside a brown 1970ish Cutlass driven by a lean guy in his twenties. Missouri plates on that cutty, and it wasn't new. So people drove from all over to get here. "You should have driven in frontwards. Everyone who knows what they are doing does it that way. Now you've held up other people that want to park." The guy smiled, and then held out his hands for a quick shake. "Just trying to be helpful, but on important matters like this, you've got to think." Stangs Immediate reaction was to want to clock the guy with his fist, but there was something likeable about the guy. Even if he did continue to argue with Stang about everything, big small or indifferent. Which is why Stang chose his usual method of dealing with people like that. Admit nothing, deny everything, and demand proof. "...so back when the Tower of Babel was constructed, people had one language. And Then it all turned to confusion..." The guy rambled on and on and on. "Look, there is no such thing as the tower of babel, a global flood, or any of this. Its just a myth with no evidence or proof." Stang Started in. "We can't be sure of what happened in the past, but we have no reason to believe any of this...." "Other than eye witnesses." The guy in the brown Olds, who Stang was starting to think of as "Cutty" kicked in with excitement. "We have eye witnesses." Stang had heard enough. "Bull$h!" He replied. "The oldest people on earth are maybe 125 years old, and it's doubtful that they are worthwhile witnesses." He pulled off his glasses and shook his head. "In fact, its doubtful that we have really good eye witness accounts of things over 85 or ninety years ago. "But we have eye witnesses to the stories in Genesis." Cutty replied. "One's buying a 76 Monte Carlo right now." Stang had seen enough odd things for one day, and seeing all of these cars brought to life, suddenly in a depressed midwestern town had convinced him that maybe stranger things awaited. "Okay, this I gotta see. But first I need some coffee." Cutty motioned Stang inside the dealership showroom, which was clean and nicely arranged. On the showroom floor was a fabulous green 1957 Cadillac convertible, an Escalade, a gold 2011 Malibu, and an Equinox. The guys got coffee, and then Cutty dumped his and pured himself a glass of hot water. "I actually prefer Tea myself." Stang felt obliged to help Cutty for a minute. "Here's some Lord Earl Grey, it's pretty good Tea." Cutty shot Stang a look that could cut through plate steel. "That stuff...modern and corrupted..I prefer it as people drank it in the 18th century, thank you." Stang walked towards the center of the showroom, trying to bring a little peace and harmony into the discussion. For some reason he kept finding himself liking Cutty, even though the two of them could agree on exactly nothing. "But if we are talking Cutlass, I want this!" Stang chimed in. Front and center in the showroom was a 1972 Hurst Olds Indy Pace car replica, top down and perfectly detailed. He raised the hood, ignoring the disaproving glance from CC, who was now selling a mid eighties Caprice to an undercover narcotics agent. "This would be perfect for me." CC came over and shut the hood quietly, polishing off stangs dirty finger prints with a small cloth he pulled from his pocket. "I'll thank you for not messing with our display. We try to keep a really primo, masculine Olds front and center around here. I don't know why, but things seem to go better with a boyish Olds up front." Cutty pulled Stang away from the gleaming ragtop quickly. "Too Cold for an Ohio winter, and too showy for a normal working class guy like you maybe." Cutty replied. "Come meet Methuselah." Stang followed Cutty out the side showroom door and was greeted by an ancient, bent over man with a beard like a wizzard, long and white. He had at his side a guy in Carhart pants, who looked to be a carpenter and spoke with a strong east coast accent. A very high energy man of obviously eastern european origin was also there with a young girl of elementary school age. To stang it was almost like Dorothy and the Wizzard of oz were standing there with a couple of upstarts. "Methuselah, meet Stang. Stang, meet Methuselah." Cutty smiled like the Cat in Alice in Wonderland, but sadly didn't disappear. "This isn't Methuselah, dude. He's ancient, I'll give you that. But to be Methuselah he'd have to be about 5000 years old. He ain't that old." "How old do you think he is then?" Asked Cutty. "You tell me." "I'll give you...450 years maybe." Stang looked at the guy, sure that he had under estimated by at least a thousand years. "You've under estimated by four thousand, five hundred, twenty six years, twenty eight days, and forty six minutes." Replied the carpenter. Stang noticed that the carpenter was wearing a red shirt with an Indian on it, and it was a Tin Indian. So we had the tin man perhaps to go along with Dorothy and the Wizzard. Only to Stang, it felt a little like Cutty was the one with no brain...but the old man was starting to look a very convincing 5000 years. "So how do you know his exact age?" Stang asked Tin Indian. "You can't know his age THAT closely." "Sure I can...I'm as old as he is." "Your 5000 years old....you sure don't look it!" Stang couldn't believe this, of all things. "Going to the Seashore once in awhile back in Jersey kind of melts away the years." "But according to the Bible chronology, Methuselah died the eyar the flood started." Stang continued. "You can't be here." The old man played with the point of his beard "We were stowaways on the ark." "We?" "My friend from New Jersey and I. Look, it was either that or drown." Stang looked at Tin Indian, doubtful of the whole ruse. "You were on the ark with Noah?" Tin Indian got agitated, and then started playing nervously with the tape measure hanging from his hip. "Look, how do you think I got to be such a good Carpenter? You really think Noah and his sons would have kept that crate floating without my help?" "Unbelieveable." Stang just shook his head. "No, he really is a great carpenter." Methuselah replied. "He helped build a temple in Athens after he studied under Aristotle." "So your a philosopher as well as a carpenter?" Stang asked. "Mostly my passion is cars." Tin Indian replied. "Which is why it is so hard to believe that Methusealh is buying a Monte Carlo of all things. He could have had a Grand Prix." It was the turn of Methuselah to get agitated. "I've waited 5000 years, I'm getting what I want." Tin Indian shook his head. "You could have had a Grand Prix." He waved his hand out towards the lot. "A perfectly good 71 SSJ out there, and you choose a Monte Carlo." Tin man spat at the ground. "If I live another 5000 years..." "You'll need it to finish your Buick at the present rate of progress." Methuselah replied. Tin Indian knew when he was beaten. "Hence the need for another B-59." The guy with the young daughter chimed in "He and I are both getting B-59's. It's kind of a thing with us." Stang looked at Cutty. "So what you've proven here is that the Bible is in eror. Someone who the Bible says died in the ancient world is here in Ohio buying a brand new 76 Monte Carlo, 34 years later...." "After 5000 years, I can take my time." Methuselah shook a finger a little to close to Stangs face for comfort. "Fine, doubt me." Cutty replied. "I bring an eye witness to a 5000 year old event and you still doubt me. Is your mind closed?" Stang wondered if in this strange world someone really could be 5000 years old. He thought to the personal pic in the avatar on an automotive message board he frequneted. Yes, someone really could be 5000 years old, and smart enough to have studied under Aristotle to boot.

Utterly brilliant and true....

Continued "So this is for sale?" Stang asked...."how does that work?" "Check, cashiers check, visa, MasterCard, bank transfer, we're not picky. here is how it works. Your allowed to buy 5 cars. Due to demand, we can only sell 3 of your 5 as pre-75 models, although the newer stuff is popular too. I can get you anything GM post-41, and our sister operation handles pre-41. You pay GM list or dealer invoice of what it would have sold for originally, and your only allowed to buy as a 5 car lot. So it's 5 or nothing..." Stang added things up...for about 4 grand, he could have a 1950's Cadillac, an Impala convertible, or an SS396 Chevelle. Time to raid the 401K and take home a few cars...."So I could buy this wagon?" "Take your time, we have a waiting list so it's best to choose 5 cars you really want. But I can get you to the top of the list....since you were so helpful. We have lots more than just this wagon...."

Kneeling next to the car, Stang knew the real test would be in the tires. He'd helped a friend restore a 58 Chevy once, and noticed the subtle differences between the original spare in the 58 He'd helped restore with the reproductions they had bought from Coker Tire for that particular Bel Air. "These are original Bias Ply tires, and not repops." Stang ran his fingers over the tread. "Where on earth did you find these, and why did you put such rare tires on such a generic Chevy?" Stang again regretted the sarcasm in his voice, but CC didn't seem to mind. "We've got tires like that on all our 58 Chevy's, but most of them come with white walls. And those are not 52 year old tires...." "So what your saying is....?" Stang stood up and squared his shoulders, banging his knee on the Biscane in the process. This wasn't a dream. "Keep pulling back covers." CC smiled "Help yourself..." In succession, Stang found a bronze and cream 54 Buick 4 door, a grey no options 56 Oldsmobile 2 door coupe, a 75 Eldorado, a police spec 82 Caprice, and a 95 Buick Roadmaster....all seemingly brand new. "What is this...part of the GM heritage collection?" "We've sold cars to the GM heritage collection...but do you really think GM would keep 11,000 vintage cars in one warehouse? Seriously?" CC shook his head. "Keep digging." A red 1961 Pontiac wagon was the next vehicle unearthed, and Stang was surprised the interior lights all came one, and that it had the same new car smell the 71 had been blessed with. "Does it run?" "Keys are above the drivers side visor, find out." CC waved his hand "But I've got to get to the showroom to start selling these things, so put some gas on it. We don't have much time" Stang turned the key and the Pontiac came to life immediately. The Pontiac was all the proof Stang needed. It ran perfectly, and the motor was obviously very tight and fresh. This wasn't even a 50,000 mile motor that had been lovingly rebuilt it was...new...and even smelled of factory paint burning off parts of the block as it ran. Stang was in love.

THANKS_ Continued Stang grabbed his tool belt from the truck and slung it over his shoulder, making sure that he also had his A/C gauge set and his electrical meter with him. The repairs proved to be rather simple. Two eight inch adjustable wrenches fixed a bad compression fitting at the Ice machine, a motor starter got one of the roof top A/C units running, and replacing a circuit breaker that had burned up due to a loose wire fixed his other problem. At least that much was simple. He'd driven two hours to do twenty minutes worth of work, but then life was like that. With politics, marriage and life it sometime took a whole lot of effort to get modest results. Things were up and running, and he was going to get a cup of coffee. Writing up an invoice, he walked back into the office and handed it to the woman behind the desk. "I can't sign this....CC will have to sign this." She smiled, and Stang was starting to feel more comfortable. "But I can get you a cup of coffee. It looks like you wore the first one." Embarrassed but ready for some java, Stang accepted. The mug was hand thrown and had been decorated by hand. "My daughter made that, she's an art student." The woman replied. Stang was beginning to notice a lot of the industrial relics, the radio, and the mug had something in common-someone had put a lot of care into designing them, making them, and taking care of them. To Stang, the world was often seemingly full of sleep walkers, people who ate at generic restaurants, drove Camries or Accords, listened to modern mindless pop music, and never really thought about much. An unexamined life wasn't much worth living in Stang's book. A rumble out front of the office caught Stang's attention and the woman smiled as she looked up from her word processor. "He's here." As the silver Camaro rumbled up to the office entrance, Stang noticed that even though the car was less than a year old, it was built with the same kind of care that the mug, the radio, and some of the other flotsam in the office had been built with. It showed creativity, a flowing design, a passion for living. As the dust settled, a slightly balding guy got out and shook Stang's hand. "I'm CC." "Pretty simple repairing every thing here, call us again when you need us." Stang replied. "Although I could keep myself busy around here for awhile." CC looked down at the invoice Stang had written out. "This seems fair." He pulled out an expensive pen that was hand made, and had some real attention to detail. Things like that caught Stang's eye. this guy obviously had good taste. "Nice car." Stang gave the Camaro a once over. "It's my mothers. She and I traded vehicles for a little bit when I moved out here from the coast." CC opened the hood to give Stang a look. "It's just a six banger, but she gets along pretty good. And it's been dead nuts reliable." "Sweet." Stang wasn't much for words sometimes. "What do you guys do here anyways?" "We sell cars. Lots and lots of cars, lots and lots of places." Stang was incredulous. This place looked like it hadn't seen any real action since the 1960's or 1970's. "Here? Seriously." "This is just our warehouse. We actually have a local showroom and lot with about 200 cars, and we do a lot of internet sales and so forth." "Mostly used?" Stang asked, his curiosity up. "All new, actually." CC paused, and then continued. "Fresh from the factory, never been owned by anyone else." "Oddest new car dealership I've ever seen." Stang replied. "Come on back....I'll show you around...." CC motioned towards the Camaro and Stang got in the passenger side. This might be interesting. They drove to the back of the building. Approaching quietly lest they wake a drunk passed out in the weeds, CC held out a key and opened a rusty side door. The Olive drab building seemed to go on forever. Stang heard the clicking of light switches and the high bay lights came up slowly, revealing an armada of parked cars sitting under covers. "Go ahead, check it out." CC motioned towards the front of the line, and Stang was confused. Under the cover was obviously an older model station wagon, and it was huge. "Don't be afraid, pull back the cover a little bit." Stang lifted the cover and couldn't believe his eyes. It was a 1971 Chevrolet Caprice wagon, something someone had obviously spent a lot of time restoring. "Who re-plated the chrome, it's perfect." CC shook his head. "That's not new chrome, that's the way it left GM." As the drivers door came open, Stang was greeted with a nose full of new car smell, and not the kind you get out of a bottle at Auto zone, Genuine, legit new car smell. "I don't like it when you reset the odometer in a restoration...something seems dishonest about that." Stang wanted to pull back the words, as CC seemed a bit irritated. "You don't get it, do you? It's a brand new 1971 Chevrolet." CC was obviously having fun with Stang, and Stang was going to have none of it. He considered himself a car guy of the first order, and wasn't going to fall for this one. "Right, brand new. So what's behind it, a brand new checker Cab from 1975?" Stang was going to have a little fun back at the expense of CC even if it killed him. "Or perhaps a 58 Ford?" "We only sell GM, and while your right about the 1958 part that car is only six weeks old. We have our sources." CC folded his hands across his chest, confident that Stang was seemingly falling for this ruse. "Go ahead, pull the cover back." Stang lifted the edge of the cover expecting to find a project car, or maybe a babied rag top someone had in storage. he was suprised to find a 1958 Biscane Chevrolet in pristine shape. Stang new no one would spend big bucks on such a pedestrian car, so he was determined to prove CC was covering something up. He was going to find proof that this particular 58 Chevy was actually built in 58.

Ohio is like Pennsylvania, Michigan, New York, New Jersey, and a lot of the Midwest of the USA. It is a world of real beauty and farmlands, small towns, and really ugly cities that have been marked by closed plants, outsourced jobs, and rust belt decay. As the beauty of rural Ohio faded away through the windshield of Stang's truck, he came across what was surely the most rusted, broken, and forlorn of the former Industrial cities. Broken glass hung from disused buildings, rails from abandoned railroads rose up through uneven pavement, and trash blew across the road in front of his sight. Rotted aluminum siding hung from forlorn houses, and the whole scene looked much like France after D-Day. Stang passed on a chance to buy weed at one intersection and avoided some obvious small town gang activity at the next. This was how he was planning on spending his Saturday. A gunshot rang out, and Stang spilled coffee in his lap. Trying to wipe it up and drive, he found himself running a red light and missing a turn. Using his GPS once and asking directions twice, he finally found his destination, an olive drab building that looked large enough to have built a fleet of B-24 liberators for the US Eighth Air force. To Stang, it looked like the only things built there now were trash and graffiti. He wished he'd brought a side arm of sorts as he was getting out of his van. The sun was rising, and the more Stang saw, the less he liked. He was ready to turn tail and head back to Columbus, when he saw a light on in a front office of the building. Gingerly making his way over broken glass, syringes, and a few bloody rags, he went to the front door, which had been hastily repaired with plywood after recent act of vandalism. "Hey, I don't bite, come on in." The largest woman Stang had ever seen sat behind an ancient metal desk. The office was full of old broken computers, file folders that hadn't been opened in decades, a stack of typewriters that someone had obviously spent a lot of time trying in vain to fix, and a bunch of other flotsam of the industrial era. But there was cool stuff in the office also. An art deco radio from the 1930's that had played the voice of FDR to a war weary nation. Old ads for GM cars lined the walls. License plates hung here and there, and Stang was starting to get interested. This might not be so bad.

The Sopwith Camel dived down out of the light cloud cover, darting over tree rows and snaking towards the German plane that was it's prey. The Pilot started with measured, careful gunfire jinking his plane left and right to take out his next kill. Glass shattered in the gauges in front of him, and then his whole plane seemed to shake as it fell from the sky to the French farm field below. "Curse you Red Barron" He yelled out, and then brought the wrecked plane to rest next to a red doghouse. As the Sopwith sat burning, a small white beagle pulled out his typewriter and began.... "It was a dark and Stormy night...." and then threw away the page. A clasp of thunder awakened Stang in his bed on an early Saturday morning. Something must have been in that pizza he ate last night, as each dream had been stranger than the last, right up to the one about Snoopy and the Red Barron. He struggled for a second to find the lamp next to his bed, and then cursed himself quietly as he knocked it to the floor. It was a bitch being so clumsy. A beeping sound started, and Stang looked in vain for the alarm clock, and then realized the beeping was his Nextel phone. Great...just what he needed. A service call to run. He struggled to get dressed in the dark so as not to wake his wife, and then called his boss back. "I need you to run up to a customer on the Pennsylvania/Ohio border." His boss barked out in the darkness. "We've got a couple of rooftop HVAC units down, a leak at an Ice Machine, and a bunch of blown breakers. Storm came through last night...see what you can do, and call me if I need to send another guy." Stang got directions and headed for his Chevy work truck, glad that it started with authority and confidence on this strange and awkward morning. His mind couldn't seem to wake up much in the sea of generic Camry's, Accords, and pick up trucks that made up most of the traffic on the Ohio two lane that ayem, even after he'd stopped for his second cup of coffee. Hopefully this would be a sane, normal, safe trip. He was ready to be done with odd animals that had superhuman intelligence, burning planes, gunfire, contests of speed, machines from the past, and characters out of fiction. Figuring this would be a normal day, Stang was, as usual, just plain wrong. It would be a most unusual day.

Okay guys, I am trying something really strange. This idea came to me at my sons track meet this ayem, and I'm writing a fictional story based on all of us and GM cars. It is a strange story, based as a parody or satire. The only two of us I reveal by name or user name are myself (who I write about in third person) and Caddy Cruiser, because I needed a car salesman for my story and I felt like making him a character. Don't know how this is going to work out, but here goes...into the world of the odd...

Happy birthday, guys!

Bingo. this is one of the reasons I live in rural Ohio... a slower pattern of life. Although no one has ever accused me of being especially quick anyways....

I agree on the size thing.

I've had three excahnge students live with me from France. The French system of doing things is infinitely better. They have a much better education system, a much better transportation system, much better protection for the environment, better foreign relations with other nations, better, cleaner, healthier food, better architecture, better wine, better looking females even.... I think I read somewhere that it's much easier to advance in class in France than in the USA. So much for the whole bull$h! notion that unrestricted free market capitalism builds a better world....

The writer quoted by the OP must have been stoned. Reg...let me fix this for you..."I wonder what cars I'm going to be paid minumum wage to break apart at the scrap metal yard...with my degree." Or....Given the whole outsourcing thing...."I wonder which cars I'm going to be paid seven bucks a day to put into containers and shipped to China...after the Republicans do away with minumum wage...." Or...given the whole energy thing..."I wonder what cars we'll be parked, imbile and broken in front of my house when we can no longer fuel them." This is utterly trajic bull$h!, and the result of thirty years of effed up Republican thinking and action IMHO. Greedy Criminals...I think Future of GM got it right! Prayer ain't gonna solve things....

Having jusst taken a ride in a ragtop...heck yes!

I love it! Agree with balthazar, it would be a shame if so much work wre wasted.

A very rational post, sir....

My only thought would be that a lot of the stuff 98 Regency posts is good, possibly achival type of stuff, like the Car and Track road tests of the 60's and 70's cars. If we could have a small archive section for those, that might help. Post count doesn't matter so much...and please, clean up around here once in awhile! (Please note the sarcasm in my words!)

Both of those are good looking wagons!

Once you own a ragtop it's hard to go back...and again, you know how much I loe convertible style roadster (ish) cars. And yes, with roll up side windows I know it's not a true roadster...

Thanks for the responses, guys....and like vonV said, i want something a little more natural and with a little more character.

It's all going to be real hardwood...I know a couple of people that own sawmills and can buy great stuff cheaper than laminate...

Hey guys, we are missing the mark when we don't pick up on something like this and discuss this. Here we have a mainstream automotive writer picking up on what we've known at C and G for years!

I live in a colonial style 4 bedroom two story house, the kind you find all over the midwest in Suburbia....anyhow... I've got hardwood flooring in the living room. Kitchen cabinets are Oak, but I got a good deal on Maple flooring, so I put down maple. I don't have a formal dining room, but I do have a nice, large living room. Here is my question. Stylewise, is it okay or just plain wrong to put down a different style, species, or color of wood in other rooms in the house? Part of me feels like its wearing one blue sock and one red sock style wise...and part of me loves wood and wants to put down a few different kinds of flooring. The rest of the trim in the house is that generic photostatic wood, with a decent profile. I'm planning on painting that all white, and then getting six panel doors that are real wood and painting them white also...and yes I know that six panel doors painted sometimes have issues as the panels expand and contract. I've just fixed up three older houses before buying this newer one, and don't like the "fake" feel of the fake woodwork... Anyhow, opinions good bad and ugly, weldome! And I'd have the floors seperated by carpet or other flooring, so you wouldn't see two different floors at the same time..

The girl living in your house is a brunette, a blonde, a redhead, and has purple hair...all in the same week. Not sure why chicks like dieing hair so much but...it's bad when you almost don't recognise your own kids.

I believe in Global warming and the need to reduce Carbon, but also believe in the need for real world people to drive real world cars. Congrats to GM for making real steps in the right direction.