So LaVance Earl came into the Grounds for Divorce for coffee this morning. He doesn’t make it by very often, what with the brisk business he does out at Earl’s Salvage Yard and Formalwear, so it’s always kind of a treat. I suppose that, with it not being the season for weddings and proms, and the holidays are still a couple months off, he had some free time on his hands. Leroy, his wife’s nephew, must have advanced to the point that LaVance can leave him in charge long enough to come into town and get a cuppa Folgers and catch up. I mean, who better to talk cars with the boys around the big table in the middle of the cafe than the guy in Fort Stockton who owns more of them than anyone else.

He’s got ’em stacked eight or ten high in some places out at the salvage yard. If every car tells a story, LaVance Earl owns the biggest library in southwest Texas. Odd, for a man who never really wanted to be a part of the family business. Back in the day, when he was just a punk kid at Jim Bowie High School, “Home of the Fightin’ Knives,” playing football and chasing girls like every other teenaged male in Fort Stockton, he used to tell folks that he was going to go to off to college some place far away, and never come back. Sure enough, he was true to his word about going off to college some place far away. The never coming back part…not so much.

The Earls were never known for their intellect. Most of them never even wore a pair of shoes till junior high. But LaVance Earl was different from the very start. He learned his letters and numbers from the license plates on all the cars out in the salvage yard before he could even walk upright. By the time he was in grade school, he could completely tear down, rebuild, and put back together just about any engine in any car in the yard. He taught himself to read, just by using the owner’s manuals he found in glove compartments of the cars rusting away in the hot Texas sun. LaVance was the only one in the family who knew the difference between ‘their, there, and they’re’; his mother sensed he was different from a very early age.

A good lookin’ kid on top of being smart as a whip, folks weren’t surprised when he was offered a scholarship, though most thought Oxford was someplace in Texas that probably didn’t play D-1 football. When he tried to explain, “No, I’m a Rhode’s Scholar. At Oxford. In England,” they just figured he needed to learn all he could about roads, being in the auto salvage business and all.

“I suppose he’s a lucky boy,” folks over at the Piggly Wiggly said when they heard about the scholarship, “but he’d a been a helluva lot better off with a free ride to Tech, or A&M.”

Once firmly ensconced at Oxford, LaVance Earl really started to come into his own.  His main fields of study were Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering, probably a result of the time he’d spent rebuilding automotive power plants as a toddler.  He began running in some pretty exclusive circles.  When he called back home to Fort Stockton, his mother swore she could almost detect a slight English dialect in his voice.  It’s during his time in England that he really became interested in men’s fashion and quickly became known as the fanciest dresser on campus.

No doubt, LaVance Earl had the world by the tail and was enjoying every minute of the experience.  Nearly four years after arriving, he was only months from graduation when he received the phone call that would alter his destiny, and that of Earl’s Salvage Yard.

Barely able to control the quiver in her voice, his mother had to give her son the news no child ever wants to hear. “Son,” she said, “Daddy’s gone.” Between sobs she explained that her husband, LaDell Earl, had gone to work that morning like any other day. After feeding Goliad, the junkyard dog, he began making the rounds, checking inventory, and getting the place ready to open for business. Authorities figured it was somewhere between about 8:30 and 9:15 that LaDell went down the row of 50s and 60s Chrysler products, when something caught his eye. Well, his ear really. Security camera footage reviewed by authorities showed LaDell being startled at something, and then Goliad running over to a pair of 1958 Dodges stacked one on top of the other.

With LaDell running behind and trying to catch up, Goliad made his way to the bottom Dodge, the sedan, and jumped on top of the rusty hood, trying to get to the top Dodge, the more desirable four door hardtop model.  At Goliad’s urging, LaDell crawled atop the lower Dodge, grabbed the handle of the top Dodge, yanked it open and was met by a band of fierce ‘coons who’d apparently taken up residence, probably attracted to the metallic threaded upholstery in the top model.

The security cameras were not able to capture if LaDell was actually attacked by the raccoons, or just startled enough to fall backwards.  But when he did, he hit his head on the gold ’63 Newport, causing him to become dazed and confused.  It was at that point that Goliad, still perched on the rusty hood of the lower Dodge reached out and grabbed LaDell with his bare teeth, and drug him atop the hood of the lower car, attempting to save him from the ‘coons and give him some relief from the sun that was beginning to become intense.

The ploy probably would have worked, if the entire gaze (that’s a group of raccoons for those of you not from Texas) didn’t run to the engine compartment of the top Dodge to try to get a better assessment of how much danger they were in.  The Dodge hardtop sedan was perched perilously to begin with atop the roof of the lesser model sedan below.  The sudden shift in weight of fourteen raccoons running to the engine compartment shifted the balance.  LaDell was pinned below, his spleen exiting a body opening that was never meant to pass an internal organ.

Goliad, instinctively knowing the severity of the situation, jumped to the ground, ran towards the office, barking at the top of his mixed-breed lungs with every ounce of energy he had.  As luck would have it, LaMont, LaDell’s nephew, was pulling up to work at that very moment.  Realizing Goliad was trying to tell him something, LaMont followed him down the rows of old wrecked relics all the way to the Chryslers, where he found his uncle pinned under a Dodge, spleen glistening in the sun, and clinging to life with everything he could muster.

LaMont ran back to the office, dialed 911 to get help on the way, poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a donut off the counter, and headed back to his uncle to wait for the ambulance.  This is where the story takes a turn for the worse.

Skeeter and Tom-Bob were on ambulance duty that day at the FSFD and made it out to the salvage yard faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition.  But when they pulled down the row looking for LaDell trapped in the Dodges, they drove right past an old blue Cadillac ambulance and Skeeter stopped to take a look, having never seen a meat wagon that old and harboring a vested interest.  If it wasn’t for Goliad raising six kinds of hell, over at the stacked ’59 Dodges, they’d probably still be there looking at it.

Once the two of them got back into their unit and followed the sounds of Goliad’s howls to the scene, LaDell had lost consciousness and his spleen was starting to dry out in the sun.  Long story longer, Skeeter got on the back bumper of the top Dodge and rocked it enough to where Tom-Bob and Goliad could pull LaDell out.  Skeeter ran around, got the stretcher, and he and Tom-Bob loaded up LaDell while LaMont gathered up the spleen, placing it on the air cleaner of the ’63 Chrsler.  It looked like an uncooked Porterhouse Steak hanging over a dirty platter.  They all headed to the Fort Stockton Regional Hospital.  Noting the condition of the patient, Skeeter administered last rites to LaDell in the back of the ambulance, which was odd, in that none of them were Catholic.

By the time LaVance heard his mother finish the story of his father’s demise, he knew his plans for the future were forever changed.  By that evening he’d packed everything he owned, un-enrolled from his classes at Oxford, and was heading back home on a direct international flight to Houston.  On the plane, he sketched out plans to incorporate the formalwear he’d been designing into the salvage yard business and keep the entity going.  Family first, after all.

So whenever LaVance has time to come in for a cuppa Folgers, it’s always good to see him.  Not going to lie, however, everyone around the big table was a little put off by what he was driving.  “Is that a 1959 Dodge four door sedan?” HairlessB29 asked LaVance as Lucinda was filling up his cup.

“It is, indeed,” LaVance said.

“Is it the 1959 Dodge four door sedan?” Dominator asked him.

“The one and only,” LaVance replied.  “Kind of tribute to the old man.”  There was a bit of a silence around the table, something pretty unusual for the Grounds for Divorce.  “Of course, it’s been highly modified.”

“You mean you popped out the dad-sized dent from the hood?” Cornfield Dave asked.  

LaVance chuckled.  “Well, yeah.  Of course.  But I also stuffed a Viper V-10 under the hood.

“Your dad would be proud,” CaptNemo said, holding back a snicker.

“That’s not the half of it.  The whole undercarriage is constructed from two Amphibicars.  The damn thing will go all the way across Lake Leon.  Makes for some great fishing.”  LaVance was as proud as could be.  

By this time even Delgado is out of the kitchen to hear about LaVance’s ’59 Dodge.

“The dash is from a 90s Cadillac.  I’d have used a Rolls Royce if there’d been one in the salvage yard, but it’s the next best thing,” LaVance went on.  “The back seat is from a ’58 Eldorado Brougham.”  He looked up at Lucinda and winked.  “Complete with bar.”  The folks around the table weren’t sure whether to be impressed by the ingenuity, or appalled at the concept.

“But here’s the best part,” LaVance continued. He took out a key fob, pointed it out the window and towards the Dodge, and hit a button. The whole arse end of the Dodge opened up backwards, the roof slid down into it, and the arse end closed again, having swallowed the entire roof and instantly turned the Dodge sedan into a Royal convertible. “I took all the components from a ’57 Ford Skyliner and adapted them for use on the Dodge.” Everyone was in awe. “Best part? I did all the work on the Dodge using nothing more than a tool kit from a Ferrari Dino, a can opener, and a BIC lighter. Even had a set of matched coon skin custom luggage custom fabricated for the trunk. For when the top isn’t in there, of course.”

Delgado squinted as he looked out the window at the Dodge.  “Is that a raccoon tail hanging from the antenna?”

“Damn sure is,” LaVance said.  “Got thirteen more if anyone wants one.”

And that’s how Earl’s Salvage Yard became Earl’s Salvage Yard and Formalwear, and how LaVance Earl came to be the best dressed man in Fort Stockton.