Girl Gets Car

Buying a new car has made me nostalgic about the cars I’ve owned over the years. I know cars are machines—metal and rubber, nuts and bolts, and yet I form such an emotional attachment to them. Each one has taken me on journeys and taught me lessons. Each one has a special place in my memories.

It was 1976 and I was going to be a senior in college at Louisiana State University, when I moved out of the dorms and into an off-campus apartment. There was a bus that shuttled back and forth between Tigerland and campus, but I needed a car, mostly to get to the grocery store.

My family had moved to Fairfax, Virginia and I went there during Christmas break and summer. My summer jobs didn’t pay much, so at the end of summer, Dad bought me a light blue ‘71 Volkswagen Squareback—a little station wagon. I named him Joey, as in Joy wagon.  He even had a little smile in the front where the trunk was.

      I was delighted, but worried. I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift and I would have to drive more than a thousand miles back to Baton Rouge.

Learning to drive an automatic had not come naturally to me. Now I had to learn a different kind of driving, in a week. Dad was confident that I’d learn how to shift. I wasn’t, but I didn’t have a choice.

My brother Bob was my teacher and he was excellent—patient and with a sense of humor.  He took me up to the elementary school and had me practice letting the clutch out slowly without much gas, just to feel when first gear would catch. I stalled Joey. I made him lurch. I ground gears putting him into reverse. Eventually I drove laps around and around an island in the parking lot while Bob coached me.

In explaining downshifting, Bob forgot to tell me to let the clutch out slowly for that also, so it was a good thing we had our seatbelts on or our heads would’ve hit the dashboard. We laughed, but it made an impression. I didn’t make that mistake again.

It didn’t take long before he had me practice stopping and starting on hills, feeling just how far to let the clutch out without stalling the car, and setting the emergency brake in case. Dad was right. I did learn how to drive a stick in time to drive my “new” car back to school. My boyfriend flew up north to help me drive down to Louisiana.

Fairfax, Virginia to Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dad also gave me a Chevron credit card, but I still took the bus back and forth to campus. He called me in disbelief because my gas bill was often less than $20 a month. I kept a $10 bill in my glove compartment. If money got tight (which was the norm back then), I knew I could fill Joey’s tank with $10.

Joey saved my life once in a very dangerous situation. My boyfriend’s family lived in New Orleans. One Friday night after work, I drove from Baton Rouge to New Orleans for the weekend. On a long dark stretch of I-10, there was a causeway that spanned a bayou.

 
Joey started pulling to one side.  I was pretty sure I had a flat tire (left,rear), but it was a long causeway and it doesn't get much darker than a Louisiana swamp. I slowed down and continued on. At the end of the elevated causeway on dry land, the stupid boyfriend had told me to take a shortcut to his house.

The shortcut was through one of New Orleans' housing projects. I pulled up to a red stop light and could hear that I had a flat, but I wasn’t about to get out of the car in that neighborhood. That’s when a group of black men came up to Joey and started pounding on my hood and peering through the window yelling at me. Maybe they were just trying to tell me I had a flat. I wasn’t sticking around to find out. The light was still red, but Joey and I peeled out of there!

Instead of showing some concern for me and apologizing for telling me to drive through the projects when I got to his house, stupid boyfriend yelled at me for driving on the rim and being a chicken. The rim wasn’t damaged. Stupid boyfriend wasn’t my boyfriend much longer.

I liked bragging to guys that my car didn’t have a carburetor. It had fuel injectors in its suitcase engine. They usually didn’t believe me until I opened the engine up in the back of the car.

Other than the fuel injectors, Joey was a very basic, no-frills car. The engine didn't have a radiator. It was air cooled. Someone stole the VW emblem off the hood not long after I got him.

He leaked oil. He leaked in the rain. The floor was rusted out so that there were holes that you could see the road through. It was sort of like driving Fred Flintstone’s prehistoric car.

At one point Joey’s horn started randomly honking, so I waved to people as if they were my friends to head off any road rage.  I figured out how to pop the center cover of the steering wheel off with a screwdriver and bend the wire in there so that it wouldn’t touch metal—that’s what made the horn beep.

One night John and I went to a disco and parallel parked perpendicular to a row of cars. While we were dancing, someone else was backing into Joey leaving a huge dent in the driver's door. Somehow (without the help of Google) I figured out how to pop the dent out by sticking a plumber's plunger on the dent and pulling. Lesson learned. To this day I won't park behind a row of cars like that.

 Joey was a two door car, but you could fold the back seats down. That sure came in handy because I loaded Joey up with all my stuff to move to five different apartments including Married Students Housing after John and I got married.

Joey was my transportation after graduation to my first grownup job as an advertising copywriter. I carpooled with Marian one of the artists.

John changed Joey’s oil in the apartment parking lot after backing it up onto the curb so he could lie down under the car. I got my first ticket in that car. You couldn’t downshift into first gear in Joey unless you stopped. If I was in a rush, I’d just put the clutch in leaving it in second and brake pretty hard, but not completely stop. The ticket was for making a rolling “California stop” at a stop sign.

In 1981 we moved to Hawaii so John could get his PhD at the University of Hawaii. It was summer when we drove 1800 miles from Baton Rouge to Los Angeles and then shipped Joey over the Pacific Ocean. There wasn’t any GPS back then. Our navigation system consisted of relying on AAA maps with Trip Tiks which were close-up maps showing construction held together with a spiral binding like a skinnier stenographer’s notebook. 

We didn’t pre-book any motels. We just looked for Vacancy signs at hotels/motels when we stopped for the night.

It was an eventful trip. Our first stop was San Antonio. Our high rise hotel was across the street from the Alamo. The only view we remember of The Alamo was from the curb we sat on with our suitcases when the hotel caught on fire. John had just started a shower when I heard firetrucks wailing. I called the front desk. They assured me there was no cause for alarm.

One of my grandfathers was a fire chief.  When I looked out the window and saw the firemen laying hoses, I knew this was serious. I told John to get out of the shower. We had to evacuate. Someone set off the fire alarms. We grabbed our bags, directed people away from the elevators and to the stairs, and then rushed down six flights. Luckily it was a small fire so after the firefighters put it out we went back to our room.

Our route: Baton Rouge to Los Angeles with stops in San Antonio, El Paso, Phoenix, and then Los Angeles. 

The next leg of the trip was to El Paso. It was a long, flat 500 miles of I-10 rolling across parched land. Joey only had a radio, no tape player, but we had made mixed cassette tapes of our favorite songs and had a small battery powered tape player that we listened to because it was impossible to get radio stations out there.

       Joey also didn’t have air conditioning so we opened all the windows and pointed the triangular vent windows at our faces, but it just felt like we were in a convection oven. When it’s close to 100 degrees it’s still scorching even if it’s a dry heat. Despite the hot dry air blowing on us, we kept smelling gas and Joey just didn’t feel right.

When we pulled into El Paso we checked into our hotel room and then looked through the yellow pages for a VW dealer. They discovered the reason for the persistent gas smell. Two of the fuel injectors were broken and spraying gasoline all over the engine. The only reason we didn’t catch on fire out there in the middle of nowhere (way before cell phones) was because so much gas was spraying they said it kept putting the fire out. Luck was on our side twice. They were able to replace the fuel injectors right away. We were on a tight schedule. We had to get Joey on the ship to Hawaii in time, and we also had plane tickets to Hawaii.

The next day we headed for Phoenix. All the cross country road trips I’d made with my military family, had taught me a thing or two, and I took that Girl Scout motto, “Be Prepared” seriously. In addition to our suitcases, I’d packed a box with a gallon jug of water and some food. It was a good thing. An 18-wheeler had jack knifed on I-10. The police diverted us onto a two-lane highway somewhere in New Mexico, but that also backed up. We were stuck for hours.

The only way we found out what was going on was from truckers’ CB radios. Everyone was out of their cars sharing stories. Most people had no supplies. We gave some water and peanut butter and crackers to a family with a baby. John, ever the biologist, found the dried up skeletal remains of a goat and added a skull hood ornament to Joey. I was keeping a watchful eye out for snakes.

By the time we got to Phoenix, (remember that song?)  it was stormy and there were flash flood warnings. We were travel weary and ready for the last leg to LA. We slept well that night but woke up in a panic. Who knew Phoenix wasn’t on daylight savings time? We sure didn’t. We’d lost an hour!

Santa Ana winds pushed us along the way as we came into Los Angeles.  Joey’s steering wheel always started shaking like crazy whenever you drove more than 55 mph, so dealing with LA’s freeways was extra scary.  We made it to my Uncle Stan and Auntie Diane’s house in West Covina and they graciously let us stay the night.

We packed some tools into Joey’s front trunk, and drove him to the docks in Long Beach near the Queen Mary for the ocean part of his journey--shipped in a container to Honolulu.

I can’t remember how long it took for him to get to Hawaii—maybe a week? What I do remember is that when we got him, the tools we’d packed in the trunk were gone.

In Hawaii, Joey continued his service as a mini moving van. He transported our belongings through three moves near the University of Hawaii in Honolulu. And, he got more and more unreliable. When we drove over the Pali (part of the Koolau mountain range on Oahu) we’d downshift into third gear and encourage him with our best imitations of Scotty from Star Trek, “Aye Captain, I’m giving her all she’s got!” with Joey floored.

I became an expert at jump starting him, no small feat while dressed for work in heels. If he was acting up, I tried to park facing downhill so that I wouldn’t have to ask someone to push me, or worse yet, have to push myself and then hop in to pop the clutch.

I rarely drove on the H-1 freeway because I was always worried about stalling. More than once, John and one of his buddies, Ed had to come to my rescue on their mo-peds. One of our tax refund checks came just in time to pay for Joey’s engine to be rebuilt at Frenchies Shell station in Kakaako, a garage specializing in VW’s.

Joey chugged along for a few more years, but we finally decided it was time for a new car. We could afford it. Joey’s shortcomings: not being reliable, no power, no air conditioning greatly influenced our choice of the next car we bought.

As 1986 came to an end, we put a “For Sale” sign on him. It was hard to sign the title over to his new owner, but I patted Joey’s side and said good-bye.

Laura Keolanui Stark still loves a good road trip. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.

Adventures with Suzie

The problem with dogs is that they don’t live as long as we do. They come into your life and win your heart with their unconditional love.  They don’t get mad at you, or resentful. They don’t judge you or boss you around (most of the time). They are onboard with anything you want to do, wherever you want to take them. No matter what, they love you. Then you watch your canine friend’s body slowly failing, and you face the cruel responsibility of ending their suffering.

Today I held Suzie in my arms as we said goodbye to the little dachshund with a big personality. She pushed her nose under my arm as she always has to calm her fear of the vet one last time, and answered us with her little grunts as we let her go.

Suzie was a scrappy red head with a mysterious past. A lady never tells her age and we never really knew hers—12 years old? We were her fifth family. She came to us in a roundabout way that I detailed in a blog post: Hot Dog! http://starklooseends.blogspot.com/2010/06/hot-dog.html. She was a bit of a high maintenance diva who was notorious in our house for getting herself into situations that made us scratch our heads.

One thing that consistently got her in trouble was her appetite. If you were in the kitchen, she was under your feet praying for food to drop from above. She was so quick, food wouldn’t even touch the ground before she was chomping on it—meat, carrots, whatever you were working with.

Describing her as “not a picky eater” is an understatement. One day I discovered a half-eaten raw potato that she dragged from the pantry. Another time she ate most of a book. We asked her, “Really Suzie? We don’t feed you enough?” She just wagged her tail.

She was hospitalized twice for poisoning herself. Once for eating chocolate covered coffee beans in a bowl on a table. Once for unzipping the zippers on a backpack, chewing through the childproof bottles, and scarfing down headache medications.

She had no qualms about pushing her way in to eat our big dogs’ food. She cowed 85-100 pound dogs into surrendering their kibble. Yet, as brave, or brazen as she was with them, she was terrified of the vacuum cleaner.

Suzie had no idea that she was a little dog, and believed she was capable of doing big things. Because of the way they’re built, dachshunds are prone to back problems. She would insist on sitting up on the couch with us playing the role of a lapdog, but then also be just as insistent about jumping down. She had no patience to wait for us to carry her down. That resulted in her breaking her front leg, minutes after we boarded a plane for Milan, Italy.

Would you like to sign my cast?

Our son had to take her to the vet, and then dog-sit her confining her to a playpen with a pink cast on her leg. She wasn’t happy about that.  For that matter, neither was our son.

Another time while my husband was walking her and our German Shepherd/Lab mix dog she spotted a rabbit, yanked the leash out of my husband’s hand and gave chase through the woods and blackberry bushes.

Suzie, John and T-Bone walking in the park.

True to her hound dog roots, she was baying the whole time. The only way we got her back was for my son to get his car and rev the engine near the park. She knew the sound of his car and came to it, little legs pumping and ears flying in the wind trailing her leash behind her.

Dachshunds have a reputation for being stubborn, but I don’t think it is stubbornness. They are ruled by their noses and their ears turn off if they are on the scent of something—like a rabbit.

Another dachshund trait that held true for Suzie was burrowing. She liked to sleep totally covered. She would toss her blanket up in the air with her nose to burrow under it to sleep. If you let her into bed with you, she would burrow under the covers to sleep down by your feet.

Dachshunds also like to get into tight spaces. They were bred to tunnel into underground dens to catch badgers. Once they got the badger in their teeth, their owner would get them and the badger out by pulling the dachshund’s tail. They are tough and fierce, and that’s where their stubbornness to hold onto a mean badger was a positive trait.

One night we let Suzie out into our wooded backyard. When we called her, she didn’t come in. That wasn’t unusual. The problem when Suzie disappeared was that her first owner was abusive. She must’ve been punished for not coming when called. Sometimes when you called her, she thought she was in trouble and would get very quiet and hide. Eventually she would come out.

After awhile though, she still hadn’t come to the door. We started looking for her. Maybe she’d gotten through the fence. She’d done that a few times. If she’d found a mole, she’d dig with all four paws and her mouth like a miniature backhoe with legs. I was annoyed. It wasn’t easy getting over a 6-foot fence to get her back. But we couldn’t see her in the neighbors’ yard.

We walked the neighborhood with flashlights calling her and shaking her treat jar, and then got in cars to search for her. Hours passed. Before we went to bed we decided to look in the backyard one more time.

We have an old “shed” with four sides and a tarp for a roof. There was firewood stacked along the inside of one of the walls. John walked near the shed calling her name and heard a tiny whimper. He went inside the shed and at the bottom of the 3’ woodpile, he saw Suzie’s tail just barely poking out. She was so relieved and happy when he pulled her out by her tail.

We think she was going after a rat and got trapped. I don’t think she would’ve survived the night because the temperature got down below freezing that night. The next day the shed was cleaned out. From then on, Suzie was supervised when we let her out.

As tough as she was, Suzie had her girlie side.  She got cold easily. She knew where all the heating vents in the house were and snuggled up to them if there wasn’t a human available. We bought her sweaters and coats to keep her warm.

She always got excited about her new outfits, and would sashay like a super model to show them off. People got huge grins on their faces watching her strut her stuff through the neighborhood in her pink down jacket with fur-lined hood.

Her wardrobe included several Halloween costumes that also cheered people up.

She was most definitely a morning doxie and would start the day off doing what came to be known as “the happy dance,” when we woke up. She was simply happy to be alive and starting a new day. The happy dance was usually followed by a good wiggly back rub on the carpet while I brushed my teeth.

She hated the rain and would hug the dry ground under the eaves of the house when you let her out. But she loved the beach, and didn’t mind getting her paws wet there.

Suzie exploring the beach on Lummi Island. 

She was a great little traveler and companion on road trips.

When our two new young dogs joined the pack, she easily stepped into the role of alpha dog. They were at least twice as tall as she was, but if they started getting too wild, the old lady of the house would leap (watching a dachshund leap is hilarious) at them and try to nip them. “Knock it off you whippersnappers!” They listened to the grand dame and either calmed down, or took their craziness elsewhere.

Suzie’s life had a rough start. She got shuffled through four other owners: the abusive one; the elderly lady who taught her how to walk beautifully on a leash, but had to give her up when she moved into a nursing home; the family with the other dachshund that she didn’t get along with and misinterpreted her submissive peeing as obstinance; and the young lady who loved her but didn’t keep her.

Most of Suzie’s life was spent with us. The first time I went to walk her it didn’t go well. She tried to bite me. But Suzie and I had something in common. I’m stubborn too and eventually persisted until she loved me.

The last few years she had Cushing’s Disease and was on medication for it. Recently, she had seven teeth removed, but ultimately, her kidneys were failing. She fought through most of her health problems like a champ. She was amazingly adaptable and resilient, a good sport who took changes in stride. She loved living with us where she learned how to be part of a pack and got along with two cats as well.

Kona and Suzie snoozing.

Watson and Suzie napping.

Suzie checking out the food bowls between Jake and Watson.

Suzie welcoming Pippin when he was a kitten.

I will miss her quirky personality, her bright eyes looking up to me, her unquestioning optimism that there could be treats at anytime, and her warm wiener body snuggled up against my leg while I write on my laptop or watch TV.

Kona checking up on her buddy Suzie.

Thank you Suzie, adventures with you were epic! You made our lives interesting!

Laura Keolanui Stark can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com