Hi Mom! Jody sent me a piece you'd written about the old Chevy. Hope you don't mind, but I stole most of it because I needed an idea for this blog. I'm sorry if you don't think I gave you proper credit. So sue me.
My sister sent me an e-mail today informing me that my mother had written a short piece about a car I sold her back in the 1970s. I was working as a car salesman (you trust me, though, right?) when I saw this pristine 1975 Chevy Caprice convertible being traded in. One look, and I decided my mother should buy it. I mean, just look at the picture. Wouldn't you buy it?
I called her and told her about it, and she emphatically said No. Being the extraordinary salesman I was, no was not an acceptable answer. Taking the initiative, I jumped into the car and drove over to her office. When I got inside, she asked what I was doing there. “Take a look out the back door,” I replied. She looked, saw the car, and fell instantly in love (as I knew she would). We did the paperwork right then and there.
Not long after she bought the car, she was out driving when it started to rain … and she found out the roof leaked. When she told me about it, I said not to worry; I was sure the dealership would fix it. My General Manager was a guy named Eddie, and when I told him about my mom's car, he gave me his I'm-going-to-kill-you stare and said to me, very slowly, “You sold your own mother a convertible with a leaking roof?” I was told to get into a dealership car, drive over to my mom's, give her my car and bring the convertible back to the dealership, which I did.
When the top was fixed, Eddie demanded that I get into the car with my mom, and he shut the doors. He called over a couple of service guys and had them turn on hoses and pour tons of water over the car while we were inside. He stood there with his arms folded and a smirk on his face. “Well,” he said, “did it leak?” I assured him that it didn't, and his final words were. “Remember this, Cliffie: that's how you treat your mother.”
Everywhere she went in the car, guys would whistle and yell, asking her if she wanted to sell it. She never did, and it finally rusted out, as many cars on Cape Cod do. I know she misses that magnificent beast, as do I. The picture with this blog is an actual picture of the car.
Maybe now I'll have to get a 1975 Chevy Caprice Convertible along with my 1945 Willys army jeep. I think I'm going to need a bigger driveway.