Archive for August, 2008

Junkyard Adventures


Garnet’s car made the front page of the newspaper.

During one of those nasty storms we’ve been having lately, a tree fell on Garnet’s car.

During the storm, the kids would open the front door from time to time to check on the action outside. When Sparkle Girl looked out and said, “Hey, Kim, there’s a tree on Momma’s car,” I said, “No, there’s not,” not because I disbelieved her but because my mind was not prepared to accept a tree on the car.

When I looked, though, there it was.

“You’re right,” I said.

At least that’s the way I remember it. But, when I was telling the story to someone in Sparkle Girl’s presence a day or two ago, she said, “I didn’t say that.”

Who did? She says she has no idea.

Oh, well. In any case, when we picked up the paper the next day, a photograph of Garnet’s tree-topped car held a place of honor on the front page.

A smashed rear window and v-shaped dent in the roof right above the rear window proved to be the most notable of the car’s injuries.

Garnet’s car is a 1986 Toyota Camry so buying new glass for the rear window wasn’t an option. Garnet’s father – we like to call him Wild Tim – called around and found one at White’s Service Station & Salvage north of Germanton in Stokes County.

I drove up N.C. 8, turned left at Andy’s Mart and drove for another six miles along a quiet country road before coming upon a 50-acre oasis of junked cars. On the business card, it says, “Over 3,000 Salvage Cars & Trucks ’30s to Modern.”

A sign outside the door said, “Beware of Dog.” At the door was a black Great Dane. After the junkyard closes, he may turn into a ferocious watch dog. But during business hours, he is quite gentle, although he did make it clear that I wasn’t getting through the door until I gave him some attention.

Inside, the setting was so classic that it could have been a movie set. The TV sat on stacked wooden crates that bottled drinks come in. The sodas were kept cold in old-fashioned cooler. The packaged snacks – cinnamon buns and such – were displayed on a shelf above the cooler. Keeping an eye on the snacks was a sign that said, “Pay as You Graze.”

Through a doorway into the garage area, I could see old license plates nailed one atop the other to one of the vertical supports.

When I asked the man who offered the help me whether he was Mr. White, he said, well, he was Ray. When I told him that Wild Tim had called ahead about a rear window for an ’86 Camry, he went out front and retrieved it.

“How much did they tell this was was?” he said.

“I was told $50. Does that sound about right to you?” I said.

It did.

That was a Friday. On Monday, we took he car in to Ray’s Body Shop & Wrecker Service, the business on South Main Street that my mechanic, Tim Falls, recommended.

The man doing the estimate said I would need to go back up to White’s and get the chrome molding that goes around the window.

When I went back the next day and told Ray White’s son, Donnie, what I needed, he nodded, climbed on a dirt bike, fired up the engine and rode off. While I sat watching the TV, one of the employees came in and pulled a freezer pop out of the refrigerator next to the TV.

Ten minutes later, Donnie White returned holding the chrome strips in one hand.

A couple of days after I delivered them to Ray’s Body Shop, someone called to say that the car was ready. When we went to pick it up, the man told us that straightening the roof had turned out the be significantly more complicated than expected.

As I listened to details that included cutting a steel support and welding it back, I figured that he was leading up to saying that he was going to have to charge more than the estimate. That wasn’t the case. When it came time to pay, he asked for the estimated amount only.

Later, we noticed that they had washed the exterior as well as vacuumed and shampooed the interior.

If you had asked me beforehand whether I was for or against the possibility of a tree falling on Garnet’s car, I would have said that I was 100 percent against it.

But the experiences at the junkyard and body shop were certainly unexpected pleasures.