J
JW
Too frequently you hear here and elsewhere about the 15-20 year old Volvo or
something else that "runs like a top". I saw this article in the New York
Times today and thought it was far more representative of what "runs like a
top" really means...
From New York Times, January 23, 2004:
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/01/23/automobiles/23JUNK.html
---
THERE is a certain type of car owner who takes pride in driving the latest
and greatest model. Upon hearing that the Mercedes Deluxe is being followed
by the Mercedes Super Ultra, the hairs on their arms tingle. Al Engelhart is
not one of those people.
Mr. Engelhart, who lives in Hingham, Mass., belongs to another breed of
driver entirely. One that, as a consequence of thrift, sentimentality or
perhaps plain old inertia, is wedded to the same aging vehicle for a very
long time. We're talking decades. Indeed, Mr. Engelhart still owns the 1983
Volvo 244 GL he bought new 20 years ago and calls Blanche for its ivory
color. The body is rusted and the car is drafty in the winter. And, frankly,
it smells like gasoline. But, Mr. Engelhart, a chemical engineer, argues
that it "still runs like a top."
For dedicated old-car owners like him, the routine act of driving can be a
highly involved journey. There are frequent mechanical failures, long
caucuses with mechanics and salvage yard workers and nickel-and-dime
problems - windows that don't shut, broken gauges - that drive everyone but
the owners crazy. Not to be forgotten are the social indignities: ribbing
from friends, pleas from embarrassed relatives.
"People are always asking me, `When is your father going to get rid of that
car?' " said Karen Hewitt, whose 77-year-old father, James McKeon, still
drives his beloved 1984 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. When Ms. Hewitt, who lives
in Queens, recently borrowed the car, known as the Cadoo, to take her
6-year-old son to a New York Rangers game, it stalled in a busy
intersection. "My son slid down in his seat and begged me to never take the
car again," Ms. Hewitt said.
Many old-car drivers say the decision to hang on to a clunker is one of
simple economics: they're saving a bundle on new-car payments. But it's
often only a delusion, said Richard Hart, who lives in Durham, N.C., and
owns a 1963 Dodge Dart that has seemingly spent as much time in the shop as
on the road. "You always tell yourself, `It's only a couple hundred more
bucks,' " Mr. Hart said. "It's like you have amnesia. You think if you get
it fixed, it'll be good for another year. Of course, it never is."
A look at Mr. Engelhart's repair records shows just how pricey an old car
can be. Told in color-coded, spreadsheet format, the story of Blanche is one
of small, routine costs punctuated by eye-popping expenditures, like the
$2,400 bill in March 1992 for "Volvo salvage and reconstruction." "My wife
slid down a hill on one of those icy days," Mr. Engelhart said. "Totaled the
front end." Or the $2,300 he spent in November 1998. "I took it for a paint
job and the guy says, `It's rusted. Your whole frame might split in half.'
Blanche had to have a complete floor job. There was an argument in my house
over that one."
While some hold on to old cars to avoid the costs of buying a new model,
others, like Mr. McKeon, do so out of sheer devotion. To hear him recall the
day, in 1985, that he walked into Potamkin Cadillac in Manhattan and bought
the Cadoo is to attend the beginnings of an epic romance. "The salesman told
me, `See that car, Jim? It's the last of the big ones,' " Mr. McKeon said.
"The minute I laid eyes on it I fell in love."
Like all passionate affairs, however, his is a bit starry-eyed. In Mr.
McKeon's view, the car is "almost like new." If, of course, you overlook the
deep scratches on the bumper. And the cracks in the leather upholstery, the
duct tape on the taillights and the rust on the wheel wells. Still, at
nearly 20 years old, the car has only 87,000 miles on it, and, Mr. McKeon
says, people will sometimes leave a note on his window asking if he wants to
sell. The answer: an emphatic no.
Then there are people like Jim Travers, who don't seem to be motivated by
either love or money. Mr. Travers, an Internet marketer in Dania Beach,
Fla., has three old cars, including a 1992 Chrysler Town & Country minivan
that, he noted, is "not a car anyone would keep for sentimental reasons
unless they're an idiot." It has been recalled several times, and the
air-conditioning works only on high. "You have to be seriously motivated to
cool down," he said. The speedometer began following its own scientific
principles, adding a one to the miles per hour - 145 equals 45 - before
quitting entirely and emanating a green glow at night, which, besides being
creepy in a Stephen King way, drained the battery.
Why does he still drive the thing? "I guess it's the familiarity," Mr.
Travers said. "I can parallel park it with my eyes closed. And I know how
it's going to behave in any weather situation. Plus, it's gotten me out of
car-pooling at work." No one will ride in it.
NEARLY everyone has held on to a car too long at one time or another. But it
takes a distinct personality to consistently go against our car-conscious
society and drive what many would call a clunker. Will power is important,
to resist the lure of splashy car advertisements, as well as a certain
indifference to advancements in design and even a disregard for safety
improvements like antilock brakes and traction control.
Above all, driving an old car requires a good mechanic. "Finding an auto
shop near your work is key," said Mr. Hart, an editor at an alternative
weekly. "That way being without a car isn't so bad - you can walk to your
job." Mr. Hart's Dodge is in the shop again, awaiting a steering column
tube, an obscure part he tracked down from a Dart enthusiast near the Arctic
Circle in Sweden.
Mr. Engelhart, meanwhile, has assembled around Blanche a crack team of
specialists more commonly associated with million-dollar race cars: a
tow-truck operator, a body man, a painstaking mechanic who can eke the most
out of an aging engine. Which is a good thing, because two Saturdays ago Al
Jr. was on his way to a snowboarding meet when Blanche spun out of control
and smashed into a guardrail, doing several hundred dollars' worth of
damage. Mr. Engelhart's prognosis? "I think we're going to be able to save
the car," he said.
But maybe there comes a time when even the most die-hard owner should just
pull the plug. Curtis Burrell, reached at Bobby's Junkyard in Cornelia, Ga.,
is used to seeing drivers comb the lot for parts for their old pickups. Mr.
Burrell can sympathize. "I had a car like that for about five years," he
said, "a 1988 Ford Bronco II, and I just couldn't get rid of the damn thing.
I was obsessed with it. It kept breaking down."
Finally, he had had enough: "I stuck a sign out on it and sold it. I tell
you when the guy drove off, it felt like a thousand- pound weight had been
lifted off my shoulders."
something else that "runs like a top". I saw this article in the New York
Times today and thought it was far more representative of what "runs like a
top" really means...
From New York Times, January 23, 2004:
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/01/23/automobiles/23JUNK.html
---
THERE is a certain type of car owner who takes pride in driving the latest
and greatest model. Upon hearing that the Mercedes Deluxe is being followed
by the Mercedes Super Ultra, the hairs on their arms tingle. Al Engelhart is
not one of those people.
Mr. Engelhart, who lives in Hingham, Mass., belongs to another breed of
driver entirely. One that, as a consequence of thrift, sentimentality or
perhaps plain old inertia, is wedded to the same aging vehicle for a very
long time. We're talking decades. Indeed, Mr. Engelhart still owns the 1983
Volvo 244 GL he bought new 20 years ago and calls Blanche for its ivory
color. The body is rusted and the car is drafty in the winter. And, frankly,
it smells like gasoline. But, Mr. Engelhart, a chemical engineer, argues
that it "still runs like a top."
For dedicated old-car owners like him, the routine act of driving can be a
highly involved journey. There are frequent mechanical failures, long
caucuses with mechanics and salvage yard workers and nickel-and-dime
problems - windows that don't shut, broken gauges - that drive everyone but
the owners crazy. Not to be forgotten are the social indignities: ribbing
from friends, pleas from embarrassed relatives.
"People are always asking me, `When is your father going to get rid of that
car?' " said Karen Hewitt, whose 77-year-old father, James McKeon, still
drives his beloved 1984 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. When Ms. Hewitt, who lives
in Queens, recently borrowed the car, known as the Cadoo, to take her
6-year-old son to a New York Rangers game, it stalled in a busy
intersection. "My son slid down in his seat and begged me to never take the
car again," Ms. Hewitt said.
Many old-car drivers say the decision to hang on to a clunker is one of
simple economics: they're saving a bundle on new-car payments. But it's
often only a delusion, said Richard Hart, who lives in Durham, N.C., and
owns a 1963 Dodge Dart that has seemingly spent as much time in the shop as
on the road. "You always tell yourself, `It's only a couple hundred more
bucks,' " Mr. Hart said. "It's like you have amnesia. You think if you get
it fixed, it'll be good for another year. Of course, it never is."
A look at Mr. Engelhart's repair records shows just how pricey an old car
can be. Told in color-coded, spreadsheet format, the story of Blanche is one
of small, routine costs punctuated by eye-popping expenditures, like the
$2,400 bill in March 1992 for "Volvo salvage and reconstruction." "My wife
slid down a hill on one of those icy days," Mr. Engelhart said. "Totaled the
front end." Or the $2,300 he spent in November 1998. "I took it for a paint
job and the guy says, `It's rusted. Your whole frame might split in half.'
Blanche had to have a complete floor job. There was an argument in my house
over that one."
While some hold on to old cars to avoid the costs of buying a new model,
others, like Mr. McKeon, do so out of sheer devotion. To hear him recall the
day, in 1985, that he walked into Potamkin Cadillac in Manhattan and bought
the Cadoo is to attend the beginnings of an epic romance. "The salesman told
me, `See that car, Jim? It's the last of the big ones,' " Mr. McKeon said.
"The minute I laid eyes on it I fell in love."
Like all passionate affairs, however, his is a bit starry-eyed. In Mr.
McKeon's view, the car is "almost like new." If, of course, you overlook the
deep scratches on the bumper. And the cracks in the leather upholstery, the
duct tape on the taillights and the rust on the wheel wells. Still, at
nearly 20 years old, the car has only 87,000 miles on it, and, Mr. McKeon
says, people will sometimes leave a note on his window asking if he wants to
sell. The answer: an emphatic no.
Then there are people like Jim Travers, who don't seem to be motivated by
either love or money. Mr. Travers, an Internet marketer in Dania Beach,
Fla., has three old cars, including a 1992 Chrysler Town & Country minivan
that, he noted, is "not a car anyone would keep for sentimental reasons
unless they're an idiot." It has been recalled several times, and the
air-conditioning works only on high. "You have to be seriously motivated to
cool down," he said. The speedometer began following its own scientific
principles, adding a one to the miles per hour - 145 equals 45 - before
quitting entirely and emanating a green glow at night, which, besides being
creepy in a Stephen King way, drained the battery.
Why does he still drive the thing? "I guess it's the familiarity," Mr.
Travers said. "I can parallel park it with my eyes closed. And I know how
it's going to behave in any weather situation. Plus, it's gotten me out of
car-pooling at work." No one will ride in it.
NEARLY everyone has held on to a car too long at one time or another. But it
takes a distinct personality to consistently go against our car-conscious
society and drive what many would call a clunker. Will power is important,
to resist the lure of splashy car advertisements, as well as a certain
indifference to advancements in design and even a disregard for safety
improvements like antilock brakes and traction control.
Above all, driving an old car requires a good mechanic. "Finding an auto
shop near your work is key," said Mr. Hart, an editor at an alternative
weekly. "That way being without a car isn't so bad - you can walk to your
job." Mr. Hart's Dodge is in the shop again, awaiting a steering column
tube, an obscure part he tracked down from a Dart enthusiast near the Arctic
Circle in Sweden.
Mr. Engelhart, meanwhile, has assembled around Blanche a crack team of
specialists more commonly associated with million-dollar race cars: a
tow-truck operator, a body man, a painstaking mechanic who can eke the most
out of an aging engine. Which is a good thing, because two Saturdays ago Al
Jr. was on his way to a snowboarding meet when Blanche spun out of control
and smashed into a guardrail, doing several hundred dollars' worth of
damage. Mr. Engelhart's prognosis? "I think we're going to be able to save
the car," he said.
But maybe there comes a time when even the most die-hard owner should just
pull the plug. Curtis Burrell, reached at Bobby's Junkyard in Cornelia, Ga.,
is used to seeing drivers comb the lot for parts for their old pickups. Mr.
Burrell can sympathize. "I had a car like that for about five years," he
said, "a 1988 Ford Bronco II, and I just couldn't get rid of the damn thing.
I was obsessed with it. It kept breaking down."
Finally, he had had enough: "I stuck a sign out on it and sold it. I tell
you when the guy drove off, it felt like a thousand- pound weight had been
lifted off my shoulders."