Part of my commute to work takes me past several car dealerships. The last few weeks the front of some of these dealerships have wrecked clunkers with the message "worth $4500" spray painted on them. With the cash for clunkers program ending today, that will end soon. Yet, as I see these clunkers during my drive, I think almost all of them look better than the clunker my mother used to drive in NYC.
In 1982 my mother was still driving around a rusting white 1965 Oldsmobile f85 sedan, which we had owned since 1970 when my mother's 1965 Ford Falcon got rear ended by a UPS truck on the Long Island Expressway. This car was the second family car, used primarily to drive my mother to whatever school she was teaching in and to haul us kids around Queens. It was almost always parked on the street as if my parents were embarrassed for that thing to be seen in our parking spot. Though it always felt like a bomb, by the end of it's run it was true clunker.
Unlike my dad's car, which we children couldn't even eat in, my mother's was a rolling mess full of food wrappers and discarded small toys. It had a certain mildew smell, probably due to thetrunk that was stuck closed and full of water. My mother refused to get the car washed because she was afraid the car would fall apart in a car wash. Duct tape held the rear window in and bumper stickers covered rusted holes in the body and probably improved the car's structural integrity. If you picked up the floor mats you would see the street. You knew to be careful if you had to sit in the backseat behind the driver, and not just because that door no longer opened, unless you wanted atetanus shot. Some days the car would start, other days it wouldn't. One day she went to signal a turn and her blinker fell off the steering wheel. Friends of us kids chose to walk over possibly riding in our bomb. At least the radio worked. And the air conditioning worked too, as long as you could roll down the windows (the car never had AC).
That car was a bomb by the late 1970s. However, those 1960s cars didn't go quietly into the junkyard. One day, my mother lost her brakes in the Midtown tunnel and slammed into a truck. Instead of being wrecked, the car still ran. The only body damage was a big dent in the fender. The only reason the car was in the shop for a week was because the mechanic had to wait for a new brake cylinder.
By the end, the car was slowly being stripped for parts on the street; one day the mirror was gone, another day a headlight. My parents got $50 for it when they "traded" it in for another used car. But even then the car did not go quietly to its grave. A few days before the trade in a neighbor rang our bell and asked my dad if any of us kids were in the car, partying and drinking beer. You see, the lock for the vent window had broken a while back and the car could easily be opened by popping the window and reaching in to grab the handle. My dad looked around, saw all of us and went with a bat to confront the intruders and make sure they didn't do anything that would cause us to get less than $50. As soon as the kids saw my dad approaching, they flew out of the car, even getting the door that wouldn't open to open. So, unlike today's $4500 rebate, my parents ended up with $50 and a six pack of beer for our clunker.
In 1982 my mother was still driving around a rusting white 1965 Oldsmobile f85 sedan, which we had owned since 1970 when my mother's 1965 Ford Falcon got rear ended by a UPS truck on the Long Island Expressway. This car was the second family car, used primarily to drive my mother to whatever school she was teaching in and to haul us kids around Queens. It was almost always parked on the street as if my parents were embarrassed for that thing to be seen in our parking spot. Though it always felt like a bomb, by the end of it's run it was true clunker.
Unlike my dad's car, which we children couldn't even eat in, my mother's was a rolling mess full of food wrappers and discarded small toys. It had a certain mildew smell, probably due to thetrunk that was stuck closed and full of water. My mother refused to get the car washed because she was afraid the car would fall apart in a car wash. Duct tape held the rear window in and bumper stickers covered rusted holes in the body and probably improved the car's structural integrity. If you picked up the floor mats you would see the street. You knew to be careful if you had to sit in the backseat behind the driver, and not just because that door no longer opened, unless you wanted atetanus shot. Some days the car would start, other days it wouldn't. One day she went to signal a turn and her blinker fell off the steering wheel. Friends of us kids chose to walk over possibly riding in our bomb. At least the radio worked. And the air conditioning worked too, as long as you could roll down the windows (the car never had AC).
That car was a bomb by the late 1970s. However, those 1960s cars didn't go quietly into the junkyard. One day, my mother lost her brakes in the Midtown tunnel and slammed into a truck. Instead of being wrecked, the car still ran. The only body damage was a big dent in the fender. The only reason the car was in the shop for a week was because the mechanic had to wait for a new brake cylinder.
By the end, the car was slowly being stripped for parts on the street; one day the mirror was gone, another day a headlight. My parents got $50 for it when they "traded" it in for another used car. But even then the car did not go quietly to its grave. A few days before the trade in a neighbor rang our bell and asked my dad if any of us kids were in the car, partying and drinking beer. You see, the lock for the vent window had broken a while back and the car could easily be opened by popping the window and reaching in to grab the handle. My dad looked around, saw all of us and went with a bat to confront the intruders and make sure they didn't do anything that would cause us to get less than $50. As soon as the kids saw my dad approaching, they flew out of the car, even getting the door that wouldn't open to open. So, unlike today's $4500 rebate, my parents ended up with $50 and a six pack of beer for our clunker.
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