One morning, my baby-powder-toting roommate, Tony Di Anzo, asked me for a favor. “Yoh, Mastas,” he said in his NYC drawl. “I need your help.” “What’s up?” I responded. “Yoh, check it out. I’m going to buy a car and I need your help inspecting it.” “Where are you buying it?” “Victory Motors.” “Dude, that place is a military scam joint. It’s right on Victory Drive. They sell nothin but junk and take soldiers’ money.” “I don’t care what you think. They got a car that I like, and I just want you to check it out and tell me if it’s worth buying or not.” I should mention that I worked for a Pontiac/Oldsmobile dealership and car garage for four years as a mechanic before joining the Army, so I know a bit about cars. Not a stranger to wrenches and grease, no sir. Di Anzo on the other hand, he didn’t know a hubcap from a gas cap, if you catch my drift. The next evening, after duty, we drove down to Victory Motors in Columbus, GA, to check out the cars. He showed me the one he wanted. It was a purple, 1968 Dodge Challenger 2-door with a black roof, and it looked pretty good. There, I’ve said all of the good things about it. It was, how can I say this gracefully, a SHIT BOX! The transmission ground going into every, but every, gear. The engine leaked oil like a sieve. That was an easy fix, though. I guesstimated that a “Sneaky-Pete” could be used to replace and repair the rear main engine seal. But when we took it on a test drive, the drive shaft began to pop, clank and clunk every time we changed gears. Another bad sign. This horse had been ridden hard and put away wet. Not good at all. When we got back to Victory Motors, I told Di Anzo very simply, “Do not buy this shit box! It’s a maintenance nightmare.” He bought it anyway, or should I say his rich dad bought it for him. Two days later, he asked me for another favor. “What now, Di Anzo?” “My car is broken down out on highway 27 outside of post. Can you come and take a look?” So, we went to where his car was broken down, but I could see the problem as we were driving up. I asked him, “How did you figure out that your car was broken down?” “It just made a loud banging noise and then it slowed way down and would not move even though I stepped harder on the gas pedal.” “Gee, I wonder what happened? Look underneath the car, Einstein. Tell me, what do you see?” “Well, there’s a long round skinny shaft-looking thing hanging down under there.” “Yeah? No shit! Remember when I told you the drive shaft was a problem?” “Well?!?” “Exactly, except, now, you can’t just fix it, you gotta replace it. Do you have a clue how much it’ll cost to replace? A used one costs at least one-month’s pay. A new one is going to cost some serious cash. Unless…” “Unless, what?” “Nah, it’s too risky.” “What’s too risky?” “Well, here is what we got to do. First, we call a few junk yards and find one that has a car like your car in it. Then, we make sure it still has the drive shaft.” “How are we going to do that?” “We go to the junk yard to get some part from that car that you don’t need. Come back from the lot empty-handed and tell the owner we couldn’t find what we were looking for. Meanwhile, we verify that the drive shaft is, in fact, still on the car. Then we come back at night, uninvited-like, and make a midnight purchase (so to speak). But make sure to bring some meat, lots of meat.” “Why?” “I thought that would be rather obvious. Duh! Just in case the joint has dogs. You know. Junk yard dogs. I don’t want to get bitten. Maybe you do?” We found a junk yard that had a drive shaft, and we went to make our midnight purchase, but wouldn’t you know it Di Anzo forgot the meat. “How in the hell could you forget the meat?” I threw a wrench at the chain-link fence. It hit and fell harmlessly to the ground. “What the hell did you do that for?” Di Anzo asked. “I don’t want to get fried going over the fence. But wait, I’m not going over the fence because you forgot the damn meat. And I told you, I DO NOT LIKE getting bitten by big ass junk yard dogs. Did you bring coveralls and a flashlight?” “Yeah. Wait. What do I need the coveralls for?” “Two things. You gotta get over that razor wire at the top of the fence. You can throw coveralls over the wire so you can climb over. Second, you’ll need to wear them to lay in the dirt to pull the drive shaft.” “I gotta pull the drive shaft?” “What? Do you actually think the owner pulled it for you so you could steal it? No wait. Maybe the dogs pulled it because they ain’t got nothin better to do. I don’t think so. It was still on the car when we were here before so it’ll still be on the car now.” Well, he never even made it down the other side of the fence before the dogs were on him like flies on dead roadkill. Needless to say, we went home empty-handed and he had to go back another night. It was just another exercise in futility.
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