Beaters; A Love Story
by Pasadena Adjacent
Some refer to them as beaters, we refer to them as family. Four months ago our’s turned into a one car Family. The 1989 Buick Skylark belonging to Mr V decided to ask for a new transmission (it’s second). The last standing V6 combustable engine connecting me to my father. It was his G.E. company car before he took early retirement and died.
In every relationship where one finds a beloved member of the family on life support, (Bertie the Buick/not my father) one has to ask “are heroic measures worth it?” But Mr V kept putting the question off. Mr V without a car is not a good thing. Constant togetherness is not a good thing. Finding one’s truck regularly on empty is not a good thing.
I get it, truly I do. The car is marked my memory. Like when rain crept through the rusted roof’s interior causing the overhead felt lining to drape in gaping lumps. Mr V’s solution? grab a staple gun and bang bang bang bang bang. Problem solved. Those pesky view reducing obstructions became manageable pimples. But alas, it wasn’t long term. Mr V’ is 6’4.” The button on top of his baseball cap began shredding ‘said pimples’ into felt stalactites – which we learned to live with. Of course there’s the ignored dent in the front where Chef King Walter got a little too excited about a ‘days end’ Yucca Valley beer run. Then the time Mr V volunteered to drive his former gallerist’ downtown for a studio visit. They weren’t expecting to find themselves sitting on curbside couch cushions where once a back seat existed. I think it sealed the deal. They couldn’t stop laughing. A kind of real time “Throw Back Thursday” minus the pot, Pink Floyd and acne.
Most of the electrical elements were shot. It took 40 minutes, in half inch increments, to get the only remotely working window up or down. We kept it open because you had to open the door from outside the car. Once the seat springs were gone, I stopped diving Bertie. I could no longer see over the hood. The trunk had to be held open with a walking cane. The red plexy glass, duck taped over the brake lights, became a focus of the South Pasadena Police. Guess one could say the cons were stacking up. Pros? the state of California has a program that gives owners of beaters 1500 dollars to get them off the road. It was the scent of money and the states’ approaching dead line that led to “death do us part.” And the good luck that they didn’t ask Mr V to put the car in reverse – something the car no longer did. A cars got to be in working order to score that check.
The above photo was taken for the family photo album – our last time together with Bertie. I cried. I cried further when it became apparent that every attempt on my part to find Mr V a car was met with resistance and anger. And he hadn’t lifted a finger in that direction. Mr V is Scottish. Mr V doesn’t like to spend money. Mr V likes my truck. Mr V thinks a loaf of bread is under a dollar (well not really) but you get the picture. He could not wrap his mind around the idea that a five year old asian made car with a 90,000 miles could have an asking price of 8,000.00 or more. I shouted to the universe, via my blog… and it shouted back…via e-mail. Thank you Bellis. She introduced me to Amy and Sheldon. A young writer and her dutch mathematician husband from Caltech. As Mr V is cheap, the dutch are efficient, prepared and had a little asian cutie they needed to re-home.
This could work. This did work. She has four doors, 146,000 miles and a sparkly fairy on her butt. I call her Sally.
Pasadena Adjacent 
Our Editor Responds:
If you have a hard time getting through, make up the info… MF for Margaret with a random email like ilovebooks@gmail.com. Make shit up – I’ll catch them and forward them in for you.
Blogging is kind of boring without the give and take , call and repeat, I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine
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“… All I wanna do is ride around Sally… RIDE, SALLY, RIDE”
Been thinking about Mr. V w/o a car. So nice they found each other. I do like her looks!
Our Editor Responds: It has a radio AND CD player. All our cars start their life with us WITH a radio. But it’s the first thing to go. Usually within the first few months. Still, it seems novel
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We call ’em beaters here, Down south, around Memphis, they call ’em “hoopties” but, like most things southern, no one really knows why or cares about the spelling.
You ought to get a couple hundred thousand more miles out of that Toyota.
Our Editor Responds: I’d never heard the term till my friend Mary used it. She was attending college in North Dakota. She drove a beater where the rust had eaten away the floor. She could see the road beneath her feet while driving in sub zero conditions.
Re Toyota? I’m hoping for at least a carefree 50,000 or five years – whatever comes first.
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Motorized machines shall be the death of us all. I have found your account in acquisition of the rumbling beast most amusing. Congratulations are in order! Hip hip
As you were.
Col. GGG
Our Editor Responds: Ramona will be the death of me
As you were.
Col. Batshit Crazy Daughter
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What a terrific story you’ve written about “the beater.” Did people regard you and Mr. V as trailer trash when you drove around in it? I’m so relieved you didn’t visit me in it, what would my neighbor have thought? Er, no, scrub that (English humor) – I’m so relieved you’ve got the Toyota now, with all the mod cons such as radio and CD player! You can drop by anytime in it.
I always cry when a car that has carried us safely around for many years has to go to the knackers yard. My husband’s the one who decides it has to go. Me, I’d hang on as long as possible.
Our Editor Responds: Thanks. Had a fun time writing it. And yes about being perceived as white trash. I’ve always been able to read the body language of contempt and disapproval. I consider it both a curse and a survival skill. Mr V, chooses not to, and why I love him. On our first date he picked me in an old rusted Chevy truck where the headlights were held in place with bailing wire.
http://littleriverstudios.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Chevy-1960-Pickup-Blue-01.jpg
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It’s a funny history and sounds like what many GM cars of the era suffered from: a little of everything. It’s also why imports have been so well received. That $1500 is like found money, smart to take it and run. I bought my sister’s Mother-in-law’s car after she died. It had 36,000 miles and was ten years old never having spent a night out of her garage. The proverbial little old lady’s car really did exist.
Our Editor Responds: Bertie made it to 250.000 miles. How could I not love her?
I bought the proverbial little old lady’s car, a low miles VW automatic shift, and it caused me nothing but heartache. Really they all have … Plymouth Furry II, Plymouth Fury III?, 73 Vega, 68 VW, 74 Honda Civic, 81 Buick Skylark, 84 Chevy Celebrity, 84 Chevy Blazer. Then I found god – my 2001 Toyota Truck. 95,000 carefree miles so far. If I wanted to drive to Maine, I’d get there worry free.
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We called them beaters in Illinois, too.
Welcome, Sally. Obviously, your new family will love you until you die, and beyond.
Our Editor Responds: It’s true – every time I look at a Coke can, I’ll think of Bertie
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I’ve always wanted to love my beaters, but they wore me down, left me stranded in traffic or couldn’t find a mechanic to give them a forever home or both.
That “new” car is a Sally if ever there was one.
Our Editor Responds: Don’t I know it. Beaters overheat in traffic jams so we’d have to turn the heater on to keep the engine from blowing. Not comfortable in summer when you can’t roll down your windows. The good folk at Triple AAA roadside service, knew me on a first name basis. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate a car I can get in and GO anytime, anywhere. (and has an air conditioner).
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My dad was a Buick man all his life but never owned a “beater.” He bought a new Buick every 10 years like clockwork. After he passed away in 2008, I agonized over the idea of selling his 2001 Buick. My niece was getting ready to head to her freshman year at Humboldt State — by train and bus. So I took her to the DMV and transferred the title to her. She gained attention for driving such a conservative car at such a young age in progressive Arcata. She owns it to this day and parks it daily at the ranger station in the Eldorado National Forest, where she is an owl expert for the U.S. Forest Service. Her grandpa would be so proud.
Our Editor Responds: My father got whatever company car G.E. was contracted with. And Buicks proved to be the best – Chevrolets the absolute worst. Yes, my father was also a Buick man; the 1906 Buick he fully restored is proof. It now resides in Connecticut. I’m glad you didn’t take the money but played it forward instead. And yes, nothing makes you look more like a NARC then a Buick – until it looks like a beater – then the NARCS start looking at you.
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