This is the fourth chapter of a Seven Part Series.
As Mabel heard the deep male voice on the other end of the line explain that she had just won a brand new 1960 Ford Sunliner convertible, any reply she might have offered was stuck in her throat like a chicken bone.
“Mrs. Malakoff? Mrs. Malakoff? Are you there?” Targett asked repeatedly from his desk at Sears Roebuck headquarters in far away Illinois. He was relieved when she was finally able to reply in the affirmative after she sat down at the Formica dinette in her kitchen and gathered her thoughts.
“We’ve been in touch with your local Ford dealer,” Targett said as he fumbled;ed through a stack of papers on his desk. “It looks like it is a Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury?”
“Yes,” she replied quietly. “Yes it is. ‘Home of the straight shootin’ deal.’”
“Of course it is. Anyway, we’re having the Sunliner shipped to that location. You will be able to pick it up there. We’ve been told it will take two or three weeks for all the arrangements to be made and for the car to actually arrive.” Targett was hopeful she was writing down the details, but assured her that everything he told her would be arriving in a registered letter she should receive in a few days. “Once the car arrives at Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury, Rodger from the dealership, will contact you to make arrangements for delivery.”
“Of course. I know Rodger, she said. My husband and I bought a Ford from Rodger several years ago. Nice young man.” Mabel was struggling sorting out all this information. “My husband has since passed. I miss him.” She all of a sudden realized she was sitting in her kitchen, talking to a strange man, wearing nothing but a Sears housecoat and naked as a jaybird underneath. She turned as red as the new Sunliuner. Of course Targett was not familiar with those details as he sat at his desk back in Chicago.
“Someone representing Sears and Roebuck will fly into Fort Stockton to be there for the presentation. The event will be filmed to be used in promotions later. You’ll need to sign a release, of course.” He had a checklist of things he was trying to be sure she understood. “You will be responsible for all taxes, of course. There will be forms you’ll need to sign for those details. You may want to touch base with your accountant.”
Mabel didn’t have an accountant. Her nephew helped her with her taxes. She’d ask him about it.
“We’ve taken the liberty of contacting someone from the local newspaper, the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch, I believe. They’ll be there to do a story for the paper.” Targett had no idea how overwhelmed Mabel was becoming. “We’ve also contacted the local radio station, KFSX. They’ll be there to present the event live on radio. We haven’t heard back from the local TV station. There seemed to be some concern that the presentation might interfere with the Bowling for Dollars program they normally run on Saturdays. We’re figuring out how to make the schedule work.”
Mabel picked up the Telegram-Dispatch that had been delivered that morning and fanned herself with it. She feared she would hyperventilate. She wished she’d put on underwear.
“I’ll leave you a number you can call if you have any questions. Kay Martz, the personal secretary of the CEO of all of Sears and Roebuck will help you in any way she can. We all want this to go as smoothly as possible.” Mabel thought Mr. Targett sounded like a nice young man, although the accent he had from being a resident of Chicago grated on her nerves the longer he talked. “Do you have any questions, Mrs. Malakoff?”
“No. No, I don’t think so,” she replied. Of course she did, though. She had dozens. But she was too flustered to think of them. She tried everything she could to not appear to be as disoriented as she actually was, and hung up the phone when there was no more for either of them to say. After hanging up she wandered into the living room, her Folgers in one hand and the STD in the other, still fanning herself. Then she called her sister-in-law to share the news. They were both in shock.
Three and a half weeks later, she got the call from Rodger at Frontier Ford that the Sunliner had arrived. The presentation was set for the following Saturday at 11:00. “Someone from the dealership can pick you up at 10:30, if you’d like, so you can drive your new convertible home. It is important that everything happens on schedule. The presentation has to be finished by 11:30 sharp so Bowling for Dollars is not delayed.” Rodger had been well briefed by the officials at both Sears and Ford.
When the 1960 Mercury Park Lane pulled up in front of Mabel’s home at 10:30 the morning of the presentation. Mabel and Agatha, who she’d asked to go with her, were waiting at the front door, pocketbooks in hand. They both sat in the back seat of the long sedan, rigid and nervous. Seven minutes later the Park Lane pulled into the dealership parking lot to the flash of cameras and a roaring crowd of people in front of the showroom.
Rodger was waiting, as was the General Manager of Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury. KFSX had a microphone set up next to the Sunliner. The TV crew had a live camera set up with instructions to go dark at exactly 11:29, as the studio switched over to Bowling for Dollars. A pretty good crowd had assembled around the new Matador Red Ford convertible. This was the biggest thing to hit Fort Stockton since feral hogs got invaded RoadRunner Estates and killed the girl from San Saba visiting her grandparents several years back. At least this was a happy event.
Mabel and Agnus did all they could to remain calm, but it was obvious the two upper middle aged southern women were flustered. Rodger and Targett, who’d flown in from Chicago, each had a script to read, noting the benefits of shopping at ‘America’s favorite store,’ and Ford having ‘A Better Idea.’ There was even someone from Ford who’d taken the train in from Dearborn. He didn’t have an official speaking part in the event, but noted to nobody in particular standing beside him, “The cheap bastards from Sears couldn’t spring for an automatic? Good Lord, almighty!”
The part of the event where each person having anything to do with the prize was photographed next to the Sunliner with Mabel took longer than expected. The guy from Ford noted, “Success has a hundred fathers. Failure is a damned orphan.” Turns out he had just been reassigned from the Edsel Division,. He was about to be given his notice when his trained pulled back into the station in Detroit.
As a result of the delay, the cameras from the TV station went dark for Bowling for Dollars before Mabel actually sat down in the Sunliner and started to turn the key. That was probably a good thing.
Mabel was confused by the three pedals on the floor. Rodger sensed trouble and began shooing the crowd indoors for the Hawaiian Punch and raisin-oatmeal pralines that had been ordered in the shape of the Ford oval and dyed blue. There were tears rolling down Mabel’s cheeks when he returned. He opened the door on the Sunliner and helped her out. “Would you and Agnus like to step inside and out of the spotlight for a moment?”
“Yes, please,” Mabel said. “I’m so sorry.”
The three of them stepped into the Service Department, where there were no other people. “I don’t know how to drive a standard transmission,” Mabel confessed. “I never even imagined a new Ford Sunliner wouldn’t have an automatic. And the car is just so large. It isn’t at all what I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. I’m not sure I could ever drive the thing!”
Rodger nodded. He thought about his own mother and how she’d handle just such a situation. He had empathy for the woman standing beside him, something he’d never felt before as a car salesman. He remembered selling her and her husband the 1951 Fordor sedan. Even then her tastes were simple. That’s when Mabel noticed the car they were standing right next to.
“Oh, my.” She looked past Rodger and right at the black Falcon four door sedan that had just been rolled off the transport truck. “Look at this lovely car.” The brand new Falcon was about a foot shorter than the ‘51 sedan she was used to, nearly three feet shorter than the huge Starliner convertible. “This would be so much easier to drive and park. And it’s automatic. And with four doors it would be so much better to take the ladies from the church sewing club to lunch! This car would actually be perfect. Would it be possible to get this one instead?”
Rodger knew that the chances of Sears, Ford, and Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury working out all the details on something so simple would be next to impossible without a team of lawyers and the approval of more executives than could fit in any conference room.
“I tell you what,” he said. “You keep the Sunliner. I’ll drive you and Agnus home once all the reporters and dignitaries have left. Tomorrow, I will buy this little Ford Falcon, myself. In a day or two, after the article in the paper comes out and folks have moved on to the next current event, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to the DMV. We’ll swap titles and trade cars. The Falcon will be yours. I’ll take the Sears Sunliner. It will be a way for both of us to get the car we want at a better deal than we could ever expect. How’s that sound?”
Mabel hugged Rodger and thanked him for his understanding. The paperwork was handled discreetly, despite Mavis at the DMV being involved. While they were at the DMV, Mabel signed over the title to her old ‘51 Ford sedan to Rex Hall, the 16-year-old kid who lived next door. The kid seemed to be at a crossroads and was developing an interest in drugs that Mabel found disconcerting. She hoped the car would give him a hobby that would keep him out of trouble.
3 responses to “SUNLINERS AND LINGERIE, Chapter IV”
Mid-1974 living in western Henrico County and working in downtown Richmond, Virginia, Bayou Lady’s daily driver was our trusty 1969 Pontiac Custom”S”, and mine was the 1967 Citroen DS-21 Pallas. With a second child due around Thanksgiving (Bayou Lady was a full month late for our first so New Years was also in the plan), we started thinking about a station wagon. Our dear friend Bruce, Citroenist, and saxophone player in our dance band gave me his white 1966 Pontiac 3-seat dual-drop-or-swing tailgate Catalina wagon for $1 to make it legal. The complication was that it was still sitting at a gas station for well over a year because it didn’t run, and they couldn’t determine why it had coolant in the oil and oil in the coolant. One thing at a time! Pontiac engines at the time had a reputation for throwing the timing chain at about 80,xxx miles. I had done the one on mine a year earlier and the wagon had nearly 100,xxx on the odometer. The Poncho timing chain and gears sit in between the water pump and the engine front cover housing. Unlike many engines where the water pump is self-contained this was a partial housing, sealing to the other. Turns out that the chain had so much slack it had worn through the rear of the front cover to a coolant passage allowing swapping fluids depending on pressures. After getting it running, the Hydramatic went bad so I rebuilt it – but in the process I found a really nice 1968 Chrysler Town and Country 3-seat station wagon needing multiple (easy for me) repairs and swapped it for the great running but slightly rusty Pontiac to a mechanically challenged co-worker.
Our second child – the daughter – came along as expected – one month after due date – Southern gals (excuse me – Ladies) are not in a rush according to my Bayou Lady. Fearing we might not see her before the end of the year and miss the little tax benefit, we drove the Pontiac over multiple sets of railroad crossings right after Christmas and our little darlin’ arrived before New Years. Within a month we were driving the huge Town and Country to New Orleans to share our newborn with her maternal grandparents and great-grandmother. My folks had already driven up from Ft Lauderdale to visit. The drive went well with our age 3-1/2 son involved with every CB Radio conversation, although he was concerned with the friendly but gruff-voiced 18-Wheeler called Dynamite. The Chrysler drove fine and cushy, what with our load of child and baby apparatus, but I missed my Citroen. Driving the precisely 1,001 miles between home and in-laws, now with 2 kids, going straight through was more prudent and we shared the driving in 2 or 3 hour stints.
Passing through Slidell, LA and onto the I-10 Twin-Spans I spotted, of all things a white Citroen D-21 Safari (Station Wagon). After formalities with family, a quick meet-up with our friendly Citroen-Peugeot-Alfa Romeo-Renault Dealership, Overseas Motors, the owners Jack and Carol gave me the contact info for the wagon’s owner – warning that she hated it but wouldn’t sell. I met with her and her husband. Turns out she had been secretary to an Army general while working in Europe who insisted that she would love the Citroen. She wanted a new Toyota Corolla wagon, but the dealer wouldn’t give her a trade-in on the Citroen, and the Toyota would cost $2800. We drove to the Toyota dealership where I purchased the new Corolla for her and she signed over the Citroen to me. Placing an ad in the Times-Picayune and States-Item newspaper, the elegant white Town and Country with its roof rack and fake wood side paneling sold almost immediately, covering the cost of the Toyota as well as the cost of the trip. Two years later we moved back near the in-laws. The gent who built our new home so loved our wagon that he had us find another identical ’71 Citroen white wagon for him. He and I flew down, visited my parents, and drove it home from Boca Raton. Two years later, telling us his wife was intimidated by the Citroen and wanted a Mercedes Benz, he passed it along to us, yielding a matched pair.
The little darlin’ from 50 years ago just phoned, crying her eyes out. The lovable goofy mixed-breed pup she rescued twelve years ago had to go to the emergency veterinarian late last night with respiratory, mobility, and pain issues. She is holding Deuce’s paw and he is crossing the Rainbow Bridge as I add this note. Amazing how our pets and our cars help define us, and become a part of who we become.
Nice ending! Everyone got something they wanted and Rodger made some money! This story reminds me of one of my automotive adventures from a decade-or-so ago:
I really wanted a Subaru WRX; specifically, either a 2002 or 2003 – the ones they call ‘Bugeyes’. It had to be a 5-speed (Yes, they made a few automatics…), have low mileage and a clean CarFax. The two things that weren’t acceptable were (1) it couldn’t have any modifications and (2) it couldn’t be World Rally Blue. (There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with WRB, it’s just that dang near every one of the little buggars that you see is that color.) Now, for you folks who aren’t Subarites – I was looking for a 10-year-old unicorn. The search took a year and a half. I finally found what I wanted a couple of hundred miles away in Cromwell, Indiana.
The first problem to rear its ugly head was that the Subie’s owner wanted a Jeep, which is why he wanted to sell such a nice WRX. The Subaru owner (I’ll call him #1) was a fitness instructor and said that the WRX just didn’t fit his ‘image’. Whatever… He had found the Jeep of his dreams – a black Wrangler with big tires and a lift kit – in a little Indiana town about 100 miles south of him. (I can’t remember the name of the town… I’ll call it ‘Podunk’.) #1 didn’t have the cash to buy (the somewhat pricey) Jeep without selling the WRX and didn’t have a way to go get it. #2, the Jeep owner, worked lots of hours and had to be catered to in the timing of the transaction. The plan was for the three of us to meet at #1’s bank in Cromwell with money and titles. What could go wrong?
On the appointed day, I hooked up my trailer at zero-dark-thirty and headed to Columbus, Ohio to pick up Kevin, my rally navigator and partner-in-all-crimes. The weather report was for strong storms across Ohio and Indiana. Not a problem for rally people – we Press-On-Regardless! After picking up Kev, we headed west on I-70 and the weather reports got worse. When we started seeing the occasional semi on its side, we knew things were getting bad. I-70 finally came to a stand-still. We moved to the berm and crept down to the next intersection, turned north and picked up US 40. We called #2 to make sure he would be in Cromwell on time. Uhhh… well, maybe, maybe not… #1 was getting jittery, too. More cell phone calls were made as reception permitted.
The plan changed. #2 said that he didn’t care who got the Jeep, as long as he got the money. We contacted #1 and asked if he would accept a ‘blank’ (unsigned) title for the Jeep. He called his Notary, who agreed to handle it. So, we decided to turn south, drive to Podunk, buy the Jeep and trailer it to Cromwell. What with the storms and delays, it was now getting dark. When we got to Podunk and located #2’s home, we found that he had a long driveway bordered with hedges. Just what you need when it’s dark and you have to back a trailer. We eased the trailer up to his house and loaded the Jeep after looking over the title and handing #2 a goodly pile of cash. Kevin wasn’t comfortable with the deal, but the Jeep was a jewel! I told Kev that, worse-come-to-worst, we could probably sell the Jeep and make money.
Now, hours behind schedule, we headed for Cromwell – Jeep in tow. We called ahead and reserved a room at the local Holiday Inn Express. #1 was to meet us there when we arrived. We pulled into the parking lot at 10:30 PM. #1 and his girlfriend arrived in just a couple of minutes with the WRX, followed by the Notary (and his dog) a few minutes later in an S-10. Kevin spent the next half-hour dealing with the Middle-Eastern desk clerk who couldn’t find our reservation (or understand Kev’s Kentucky accent) while the remaining four of us commandeered a large round table in the lobby and sorted out the paperwork.
Fate had one more surprise for us. The next morning, we loaded the WRX on the trailer and headed for Ohio. The first pot-hole we hit set off the alarm on the WRX. After we realized what all the ruckus behind us was about and silenced the alarm; we crossed our fingers and headed out again. In just a few minutes, it happened again. We scratched our heads and took a guess at what might fix the problem. We put the key into the WRX’s ignition, but didn’t turn it on. That was all the little Subie wanted! We had a quiet ride back home.
I still have the WRX and it’s become one of my favorite cars. I’ve made a few modifications and have had the car repainted in its original color (black with tiny purple/silver metal-flakes). I have NO plans to sell it – it’s too darn much fun!
If only today’s post was the end of the story! There are three more chapters to go. Hopefully it ends as well as yours did.