9936. RUDIMENTS, pt. 72

RUDIMENTS, pt. 72

Making Cars

I used to think about a lot of things  -

I still do, don't misunderstand me. What

I mean to say is that back then, entering

another new level of my own living, I'd

see and notice things that jumped out at

me, as if they were just calling for me to

notice. That period of time's version of

myself was a 'country bumpkin' version.

It never was entirely true, of me, but I

managed; even though it, yes, did sometimes

seem to take almost extraordinary measures

for me to sustain. Theatrical experience

was actually a help there, because after a

certain point even the most skeptical or

jaded participant gets the idea that all of

life is, in one way, 'performance.' Think

of it. What else is advertising anyway? An

entire small country's worth of BS manufactured

to allow the 'individual' partaking of the 'purchase'

the fantasy of being, by that purchase, something

else. Of performing the selected fantasy 'role.'

If done successfully, the silly advertising that

suckers people into all that wan level of

functionality is perfect in what it does : selects

the lie, and then convinces the liar of it. It's

all worse now than it ever was, and the false

satraps who do this, with their bling, gold chains,

big cars, and the rest, have lost all perspective.

It's a real question now of striving way beyond

the actual 'station' of the striver.  That kind of

used to be the 'American Dream,' getting past

one's self, but now it's just stupid.

-

So, one of the things I thought about, way 

back, was how I noticed that what really 

messed people up, and showed as a true 

shortcoming, was this ever-current situation 

of what I called, 'repeat behavior.' People just 

kept doing the same wrong things, over and 

over  -  even after repeated consequences and 

repercussions  -  which you'd have thought they 

would have learned from, or at least seen. I knew 

any number of really wasted guys who were 

essentially at the constant mercy of their own

continued drunkenness. Maybe not raging, 

stupid drunkenness, but the kind that keeps 

you just the other side of dizzy, unable to be 

dependable, hold a job, keep a family. There 

was lots of that; lots of these lost guys fumbling 

around all the time in old ratty trailers out 

somewhere in a 75-foot plot of land they'd 

found or been given use of. I'd go to a few

of them, somehow hitting up a hang-around

friendship here and there. They always had lots

of idle time, and space-  while I worked locally, 

during the time of the Hurricane Agnes 

wipeout, when Elmira and lots else were 

shut down and staggering from the flood. 

My side of the border, Pennsylvania, didn't 

get much but some high-water and the overflow 

of the Susquehanna; but that was more to 

Sayre and Athens, 20 miles or so to the east. 

So, anyway, it was like immersion-learning. 

With the natives, so to speak, learning their 

language, customs, cusses, habits, ideas and 

ways of looking at things. That was my 'role,' 

and I was intent on a good character study.

 'Learning the accent,' you know.

-

These guys, and women too, all suffered from

repeat behavior. Not everyone  -  for there were

some fine and prosperous farm families about. But

they were in the community positions of authority.

Plus, they had all the 'old' names, the ones you'd see

in the local cemeteries from the 1800's. Hobarts,

Hendrickson, McCauleys, and such. They never

had much to do with me, except the one or two

times they and their 'committee' passed judgment

enough on me to hire me, like the school board

job, and the bus-driving company thing  -  from

which latter job they too later axed me. That was

how the local lands all about were run. I was an

outside, a newcomer anyway, and was never

part of their equation. But the repeat-behavior

people, I noticed, all fell into the same traps

over and over, reinvesting their low status each

time with the same attributes of that low status.

It was like a self-generating, perpetual-motion

machine they'd invented but didn't even know.

If they only knew, or saw it, they could at least

take credit for inventing it, but even that didn't

work for them. It was not just the drink either.

Their repeat-behavior went into lots of things.

Money matters. Fighting. Bad health. Getting

locked up for two or three days, or even, in two

cases I knew of, being sent to the nut-hatch,

booby-farm, crazy-house (all local terms) for

a few months in Clarks Summit, for drying-out,

rehab, or 'counseling' and/or shock treatments.

Somehow, at some point, you must find the

need, the real, deep, personal need, to break

out of that deadly trap.

-

To show how good I played my appointed role

after a while, let me present this little, true, story:

On my property, and as one of my operational

vehicles, I had a 1947 Willys. It was a big, boxy,

wooden floored wagon sort of thing. Super

station-wagon, I guess, or small box truck, 

with windows. I forget how I came by it, except

that it was on my property when I got there, with

a key too. There were 5 or 6 vehicles other than

this, but they were mostly wrecks  -  '55 Mercury

Turnpike Cruiser being the best of the lot, alas,

though beyond salvage. I got it going, the Willys,

worked out the tires, got everything going good,

and actually began using it. No paperwork, of

course, and just the old, single, PA plate on

the back. One day, in my best farm-boy manner,

I got it in my head that we'd take a family outing

(wife and 3 year old kid) in the vehicle. Got way

ahead of myself in distance and location, and ended

up on Rt. 17 out Elmira way, nearby. Bad move.

The Willys only went maybe 40, so I stayed to

the right, drove clean and all that, but even the 

smallest time I was on that highway (so dumb),

a NY State Trooper got me. Pulled me over. I 

had nothing, and I knew it. I told the others to

sit tight, let me handle things. It was Easter-time, 

I forgot to mention.

-

I had a tee shirt on, and my farm-boy hat, and

probably smelled too of the barn and cows 

(lingering smell, never went away). Sitting there,

I knew I'd have to perform. Cop slowly comes 

to the window, I head him off at the pass. He

gently starts his spiel about 'why I pulled you

over,' blah, blah. Looking the vehicle over by

glance. I knew if he got to the part about asking 

for paperwork I'd be sunk. From working in

Elmira I knew there was a dog-pound and

adoption center up one of these hills. Using

my best L'il Abner recreated voice, I played

the complete yokel. "Well, officer, we're kind'a

jes' now lost; ain't out these parts much, but it's

Easter time and people told me there's a dog

pound up here somewhere and me and the 

wife here took a dare to find it to get the little

fella' there a new dog for Easter, kind'a to

make his day back at the farm and all.

Problem is now, I'm getting low on gas,

we've gotten kind'a lost, I'm a'drivin' slow

to get my bearings here and keep it all

together, hopin' to find this place, and get

back home before dark. You wouldn't know

then if I was near to it, or even in the right

territory?" Anyway, it all worked, he took

the bait, gives me the kindlest, gentlest 

directions I needed, set us on our way, and

NEVER even asked for paperwork, license, 

insurance, none of that. License would have

been the only one of those items that existed,

by the way, and I was quite proud too of that

Pennsylvania license with the endorsement

for bus and farm vehicle driving too. Well, 

we got us there, found a puppy too, and got 

home in good shape, all back roads. Had

plenty of gas.