'The Car That Wouldn't Quit'

Story ID:	1674
Written by:	Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe
Organization:	Retired RN/Freelance Writer and Photographer
Story type:	Family Memories
Writers Conference:	$500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project
Location:	Falmouth Nova Scotia Canada
Year:	1991
Person:	A 1973 Dodge Dart and Me

'THE CAR THAT WOULDN'T QUIT'

It was truly one of the ‘dog days of summer’ that August afternoon in 1991. The temperature soaring to ninety-two degrees, not a puff of wind, the grass brown from lack of rain, and if you looked closely you could see the heat waves a few inches above the pavement. I had just returned home from a long day at work and was approaching a complete meltdown as I entered my home in Falmouth, Nova Scotia. This was one of those days when the sea breezes of Newfoundland and the coolness of the beaches, the wind on the hilltops where we would pick our Newfoundland blueberries, all added up to a memory that caused an ache in my heart. A dream of returning someday kept me going as often dreams do. Our house was cool, but many chores awaited there for a working mom. Then came a knock at the door.

I sauntered to the doorway expecting a salesperson, a friend of my two teenagers or maybe the paperboy. What met my gaze was two men, probably in their late twenties, covered in tar and grease, sweat making little trails down their faces. In this quiet ‘Gateway to the Annapolis Valley’ neighborhood they looked decidedly out of place in their heavy work clothes on such a hot day. They launched into an explanation of why they had someone drop them off at our house. We had placed a ‘For Sale’ sign on our wonderful old car and they had seen it and decided immediately that they had to have that car! They went on and on, explaining how they had seen it early in the morning on their way to work with the road crew, and could hardly wait to get off work to come by and purchase the car. They had seen it, and just had to have it, wanted to test drive it, and to indeed buy it, just like that!

I explained that my husband would not be home for an hour or so and he was the salesperson that would have to deal with on this matter, so they said they would wait. They found a shady spot on the lawn and sat to wait for my husband, and I thought to myself “Boy, they must really want that car!” I returned to the ever-present chores that awaited me.

I thought of how the Dodge Dart had come into our lives. She was created in 1973, then found her way to Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, where an older gentleman and his wife had her for years, using her only for trips to the grocery store and to church. Kept out of the weather, lovingly cared for and looking like new, she came into our family s’ possession in 1982. We were on the lookout for a reliable second vehicle, not too expensive, but in good shape. Then came a phone call from Bridgewater, a friend of ours had sighted this wonderful car and just knew it was the car for us. Fourteen hundred dollars, a short drive to the South Shore and she could be ours. And that is how we acquired the 1973 Dodge Dart with a Visa Card and enjoyed her for nine years.

When the Dart arrived in our driveway, I, of course, had to do the usual inspection. What a car! Military tank green, spotless interior, a smell of leather, an ashtray never used, so no tobacco smell, white walled tires, a V8 engine and only 31,000 miles driven, all of those in town miles with the lovely old man at the wheel, a back seat that looked like it had never been used at all, and a radio blasting a country music channel with a clear crisp sound. I had often been told during my formative years to ‘never love something that can’t love you back’ well, I’m sorry, but I loved this car. She was to become my beloved transport, and my friend in the middle of the night when I was called back to work, finding her way to the hospital in all kinds of weather, and never ever failed me.

The Dart was such an appropriate color as the military green was so perfect for the armored personnel carrier for a group of teenagers, a place for me to sleep when we were rained out at Girl Guide camp, and so many other adventures too numerous to mention, not all pleasant may I add. In the town a few miles from ours was a small town two man police department who had one car. I drove to that town about twice a year. On one of those excursions, with the radio blasting and the sun in my eyes I had the awful, embarrassing misfortune of running broadside into that darned patrol car, the Dart stuck into the fibreglass shell of the new patrol car like a forklift into a pallet. Sixteen hundred dollars in damages to the police car, but not a scratch on my Dart, but a million dollars’ worth of embarrassment for me!

The Dodge Dart was a delivery truck, bringing home thousands of dollars worth of groceries, carrying hundreds of Christmas packages to the Post Office to mail to Newfoundland. She was well behaved for my son as he learned to drive and got his drivers’ license with her, and she waited with him as he in turn waited and mumbled when he was sent to pick up his younger sister. That car also conspired with him on the days he played hooky from school.

She was never much trouble, never quit in a snow drift, never groaned when six fair sized young people weighed her down, never failed on me on my way to work. No doubt about it, she was one heck of a vehicle.

But the years brought changes, my son bought a truck, gas prices shot up and the Dart loved to drink gas, the wear and tear and depreciation of the years required she have an owner who could give her the care and attention she needed, the skills our household did not have, nor did we have the time to spend with her. So she was put out in front in the driveway with a big ‘FOR SALE’ sign in the window. My heart was heavy but the reality was that she had to go and that was that.

I gave the young men a cold drink, as they continued to wait. Finally my husband arrived home. They were all set to bargain and plead but my husband said only “If you want her that bad you can have her!” They jumped for joy. The paper work was done, the keys handed over and they got in and waved as they drove away.

It was August. 1991, 100,000 miles later, memories too priceless to share ran around in my mind as I watched her drive away. I realized later that they also had my hair band, and the extra gas can for the lawn mower, two of my favorite cassette tapes, a windshield washer thing, and most of all, a huge big chunk of my heart! The car that wouldn’t quit was leaving; and I am sure was going for many years after she left us she was still ‘on the road’.

One thing I do know is when I look at the huge photo I did of the car for my son, I see the kids piling into her, and hear the laughter of all the fun times in the ‘car that just would not quit’ and my heart hurts with the sweet memory of it all.


Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe