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Harold And The Purple Crayon

5:10 PM | | Edit Post
I went to get a rental car this morning in a town about 20 miles away from here. Donnie took me over in his pickup. It turns out the Donnie was a Navy Chief, with experience in just about everything. He did aeronautics to drug busts with some pretty big cartels in South America. I told him that my son was coming to Sewanee. What's his name?, he asked, so I told him. He asked me if he is a rower. No, I said, he is an ice hockey goalie. Well then, he's got the legs. I told him that his upper body was really strong, too, but mostly on one side. Port rower, Donnie said. Turns out Donnie coaches the club rowing team at The University. He said, we're a club sport, but we think varsity. We're competing with some really good schools (he named them and they were indeed fine schools, but I don't remember what he said), and the football team is, well the football team is competing with (some other schools that I recognized as not being so good). He was going to recruit my son. The only problem here, he said, was that the kids are overextended what with rock climbing, and rugby team, and dancing (!), and so on. He told them they had to prioritize and school was first, rowing second. I asked him where the Sewanee fire department is because I know someone who might want to donate an old fire engine. He told me where it is, but said don't go givin' it to them until I see about Monteagle. Given the warm welcome I had received there, I considered it, even though my son might want to be a firefighter at Sewanee. I paid him 20 bucks and met Tristan.

Tristan works at Enterprise car rentals. He is wearing a sweater, a sports coat, and eventually a wool overcoat. He has one of those free standing gas fireplace things going full blast. It is an oven in here. I pulled out my wallet to give him my driver's license and major credit card, except I didn't really pull it out because I had left it back in Monteagle, half an hour, 20 bucks and Donnie away. I thought I was smart for putting my wallet in my coat pocket for the damn walk in the snow last night to keep my purse from getting wrecked. You have a fax machine? Yeah, but I have to swipe the major credit card. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm not having such a good day. Tristan gently said it will get better, I will see. He got up, locked the door and drove me back to Monteagle to get my wallet. You know, he said, we deliver up here. We deliver in Alabama, too. From here? Yes, I have a big territory. Why I didn't ask for delivery I'll never know. On the positive side, I did get to meet Tristan. Like most everybody I meet here, he's gone to live someplace else (Atlanta in his case) and has come back. He is going to be a phys ed teacher when he grows up, next fall. We discussed how teachers aren't being paid enough. Yeah, he said, that's why there's lots of teaching jobs available. I asked how Enterprise was to work for. Great he said, they take care of their people, but it's long hours. 15 hours a day. And then I asked him the most important question of all. Do you know of any great BBQ places around here? Yes, he said but you have to go through Old (or New, I forget) Pittsburgh down to Alabama. Well Alabama must not be too far from here as he delivers cars there and eats BBQ there too. You have to call a day ahead if you want the smoked turkey legs. He's drawing me a map.

This is Lebron. I haven't met any Lebrons before. Six brothers and a sister. My mama ran out of names.








When I got back with my smart red compact something or other, I found this in the entryway, a day early!:
I called Harold right away. Jimmie (they always use ie's here, not y's) Moon just brought me up a car, and after he gits another one, he'll come git yours. Tristan told me that most everybody around here has a flatbed, as many as they have regular cars, for extra money. The tourists run off the mountain all the time. I guess that's why people keep asking me if I wrecked my car.

Jimmie Moon came right on over. He drives a wrecker, not a tow truck. I know that because it says so on the side of his cab.  Turns out Jimmie has a few cars of his own. He turned a U-Haul into a truck. He went to haul some guys rusted old truck out from a thicket because you can git 13 cents a pound for it. He asked the guy what it had under the hood. A regular 454. You sure? Yep, a regular 454. Jimmie took a quick look inside and said I'll take it for $400 cash money. The guy was going to get $450 for it, but then he had to pay Jimmie $150 to take it away. Jimmie bought a 409 for $400. It's worth $3000. He showed me some more pictures of cars on his cell phone. Couldn't see em worth a darn, but I oohed and aahed for him. He gave me a card and said his old police car (59 I think he said) was just two miles down the road toward Tracy City and I should take a look. His card had a post office box on it. Jimmie was wearing a 2006 Bike Week Daytonaputtin together now. 

And off went Woody. I told Jimmie to tell Harold that I was going to do a few errands but I'd be right on up. And that's how I came to Tracy City. It is a city because it has two stoplights. Kevin had gotten the auto parts place to order a 6 volt battery for me. It turns out (Jimmie told me) that you can only crank the thing about three times and they're outta juice. He's right. As I was driving, sure enough, on the left side of the road was Jimmie's police car.

Anyhow, I went to get the part, and saw something really amazing next door. Trailers! I've been looking for a trailer for Woody. These were too big, but the skins were perfect. It's unusual to find aluminum that has been banged up. I took some pictures and went into the auto parts store. There were three or four grizzled guys that were the worse for wear and smoking hanging around, some on stools and some just standing there. It was like a bar without beer. These guys did not wear Carthartts, but those grey green garage uniforms, although the color was hard to make out beneath the various petroleum substances. I asked for my 6 volt. Eyebrows went up. Yup, it's for me. I done seen that car up there. You see that, (insert name here)? That's got a flathead in it. She oughta gone to Honest Charlies. Yup, Honest Charlies. It turns out that honest Charlies is in Chattanooga and he makes better parts for these old cars than they had originally. That's what I need, except I just got mine from Nebraska. I seen you takin pitchers of them trailers. I unnerstand now. Lots of murmuring. I noticed faded photos of, among other things, a 1941 Ford coupe. I have one of those. I said nothing.

Here's the parts guy. One of these things isn't like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong (remember that Sesame Street song?). This guy doesn't belong. He's smart and really professional. Whatever. This is Tracy City.

So I grabbed (okay, took slowly, okay showed parts man where to put it in my rental car) my battery and hit the road. On to Harold's. I knew he was in Sewanee, on th'other side of I-whatever, but I wasn't sure exactly where. I passed Mi Casa and vaguely remembered this was a landmark. On the right was J&J Auto Repairs. There was an old VW bug under a tarp outside. I hoped it was Harold's. Went inside. Harold? It was. He had my parts box on his bench, opened on the outside, but he had yet to get to the inner boxes. How are they?, I asked. I s'pose they're fine. Two different ones? I'm sure. He checks to make sure. I asked about the bug. It's been there forever. Some lady over at St. Andrew's (a school) wants to make it run. Not restore it. This is Harold:
I let him do his thing. I do this will all artists I employ. I got a call later that afternoon (really early evening). It's gonna take a little longer. The current pumps are completely rusted onto other parts and the bolts just can't be undone. He called some other guys, and they agreed they just had to bang the old ones off, breaking them in the process. I told them okay, even though it is breaking all our hearts trashing the original pieces.

Thank goodness my imaginary boyfriend has stayed out of this altogether. He is sleeping in the back seat. My almost-real imaginary boyfriend wants to know where I am. ???

Oh, and the receptionist at The University of The South gave me a pen with purple ink to sign my check. Also, this cutie was working outside for a class. I love her. I love Sewanee. I love Monteagle.
I bought a pile of Sewanee t-shirts, hats, ties, Sewanee Mom cup, Sewanee Dad cup, and so on, ad nauseum. Here is part of my pile. They were glad I came today, because tomorrow is inventory, and this will make it less to deal with. I lied and said it was for my son's roommate and his mother and father as well. I am a glutton.