I met Theresa at the local Borders for tea last night, as we do a few times a week. Her faded wagon in the parking lot... While we enjoyed tea and good discussion she reminded me- "we don't have much time."
"Time for what?" as I sipped the cup, knowing full-well what she was talking about- yet still not able to comprehend, rather accept, the situation (nor wanting to).
"In three weeks time, I need a new car... something cheap, and something that will last me at least two years. I can spend $3,500 tops..." Theresa pleaded to me. Neither she or I were particularly happy about the situation- and who could blame us?
And $3,500 is not a lot of money to spend on something with the words "good," "cheap," and "reliable" all in the same sentence.
She already had a good, inexpensive and reliable car, the wagon- so what gives? We both knew we had our work cut-out for us, emotions aside.
Theresa and I have become great friends under a unusual set of circumstances. Now we're in a situation where literally, two 31 year-olds, a man and a woman, are trying to hold-on to a 31 year-old car of all things- but it's not just any car. This is George's car- a vintage Mercedes-Benz station wagon- good, honest, inexpensive transportation... And the only heirloom of a great man.
It's better than anything we'll find on any lot for the money and it's ours, it's Theresa's; yet last night she was handing me the keys to drive- and we set-off looking for used cars.
This, was going to be hard... This... was killing me.
...
I was at George's desk when he bought her, the faded and Diamond Blue 1979 Mercedes-Benz 300TD wagon- taken in-trade from the original owners- an elderly couple in their 90s- no pets, no children... Just more money than sense, than they knew what to do with...
George sold them what would surely be their last car- a Pewter Silver wagon with 4Matic. (Pewter Silver was THE color in 2005- I think 7 out of 10 Mercedes-Benzes were painted that God-awful color- it was like a tinted, more like a tainted silver- that didn't know if it wanted to be brown or graphite...)
"What are you going to do with her?" I winced at George, as I sat at his desk.
"I'm gonna buy it, keep it as an extra car... you never know when you're gonna need a car like that..." George said proudly as he stretched his neck out of his collar... adjusting his tie as he had the habit of doing. "It'll be a good extra car to have around..."
"I know, but it's not even a Turbodiesel... It's gonna be a pig... and it needs paint." I said in a friendly way as if to say "you could do better..."
"Nah, it'll be fine- I'll put some alloys on it- make it handle a little better... It'll be a great race car..." George was always the optimist.
George ran local running events for the New Jersey Road Runners Club, and was a founder of the New Jersey Marathon among other things... He loved to run and organize races.
"And you gotta see the interior- they had no kids, no pets- It's like brand-new... I don't think the rear seats have even been sat in..."
Clean she was, despite minor body issues and faded paint on the hood and roof- the wagon was looking good for a '79- all original down to the 13-inch steel wheels with matching silvery-blue hubcaps. Very straight and clean... pretty dry too- rare for a W123 that was, then, over a quarter-century old.
That was the summer of 2005.
...
The middle of December, 2009 found me sitting at George's desk- as I did quite often- but this time it wasn't out of circumstances or work related- George and I were friends above everything- he knew me, quite literally, since I was just a kid- either eleven or twelve; we'd chat when I would visit, or I'd sit and wait at his desk when my Turbodiesel sedan was in for service across the street.
Catching up on life and whatnot- George was excited. Excited was a good way to describe George. Positive and compassionate was another- George was a lot of things to a lot of people that knew him. He even had his own charity called Bosco's Buddies- a Hepatitis C awareness organization that raised money through running and different sponsored events. Amazing person.
George was excited to be welcoming Theresa, a friend of his from Germany coming to stay with him permanently, for good.
"She's going to live with me... take care of me... and she's going to live here..." George said with a faint smile and a beam in his eye.
"She's going to what?" I blurted (as if to say "What are you going to do with her?"- like I did the old wagon years prior...)
"She's great, she's like a daughter to me, and she's a nurse- and she's going to take care of me... cook for me, I can't wait... She's around your age... She's moving back to the States, you should meet her, she'll need friends her own age once she gets here... and I'm going to give her my old wagon..."
Don't quote me- but along these lines, this is how I remember the conversation.
...
Eight weeks later- George passed away with Theresa, his caretaker and daughter-like-figure by his side.
...
Fast forward a few months and Theresa and I have become quite close and I'm proud to call her a true friend. We have lots in common, enjoy doing the same things- and in our own unique ways- compliment each other quite nicely despite being totally different from opposite ends of the globe. She's a terrific person in a world that is largely, well, horrific.
She's a rare, old soul in the truest sense and I'm lucky to know her. I care a lot about her and look out for her always. George, who loved bringing people together, has brought us together; even after George could no longer be among us...
So when Theresa came to me with a car problem... Lets just say, I was happy; yet a little heartbroken to help.
...
George gave Theresa his '79 Mercedes wagon... It was now Theresa's car, but he never thought to officially sign-over the title. He just ran out of time. Theresa has been paying the insurance on it, and needs the car to get to get around. It's her only transportation as she's trying, quite diligently, to get-up on her own two-feet.
(Despite being as old as both Theresa and myself- the old wagon is surprisingly still quite practical...)
There was also no official will set-in-place, and the estate is insolvent at the moment- largely due to a family unwilling to take responsibility and action on any accord.
The old wagon is the only thing of material value left in the estate. And what's it worth? Well, that's a tough question for even The Car Guy Gets It... The numbers vary, depending on who you ask- but as the car sits- the value isn't worth a quibble. A few dollars, here or there. That's it.
It's worth more to Theresa than anyone else.
But the State may be getting involved with regards to the estate- and... you guessed it- the old Mercedes-Benz wagon is, ironically... The Estate. It was, technically, George's only material possession (in title anyway) at the time of his death.
After helping, getting lawyers involved and researching most anything we can do about the car- the only viable solution at the moment is to park the car- let the State handle what they have to... And in the meantime- Theresa needs a good, but cheap used car...
Good and cheap... That's the catch. At the budget we have in mind- that can be the most expensive bet in the car business.
...
Last night I drove the wagon, with Theresa in the passenger seat and the manual sunroof open- (which I showed her how to work). We had a lovely time.
Though not a sprinter, the normally-aspired diesel wagon was quite enjoyable, lively, even more linear in performance than its Turbodiesel successor (my car). It plodded along quite nicely- this one was surprisingly still very tight and nimble for its age... I was amazed how good the steering felt, though the recirculating ball steering box is perhaps the biggest Achilles Heal of any W123 generation Mercedes-Benz- mine own especially.
My Turbodiesel sedan felt drunk, light and unruly (however much, much faster) compared to George's wagon. Though surely much slower, the wagon didn't seem to care much, and if you know what you're doing on the road- as I've known for the decades I've known these cars- if you play your game of chess right- you can't beat them as drivers.
You just have to know how to drive them- understand their limitations, and once you get passed them- they don't disappoint, even at 88 horsepower.
George's wagon surprised me. It felt so, so nice. Most everything, except the air conditioning (another Achilles Heal in any older Mercedes) worked well. The interior still felt and looked like new- even better than my own car- which is six years the newer- and I have, what a lot of people would consider a "nice" W123.
George's car was very nice, but maybe it was the company, or the night... Or George, who, if I knew him, was sitting, watching over us in the backseat- which, for the record, still look to have never been sat in.
Though not a sprinter, the normally-aspired diesel wagon was quite enjoyable, lively, even more linear in performance than its Turbodiesel successor (my car). It plodded along quite nicely- this one was surprisingly still very tight and nimble for its age... I was amazed how good the steering felt, though the recirculating ball steering box is perhaps the biggest Achilles Heal of any W123 generation Mercedes-Benz- mine own especially.
My Turbodiesel sedan felt drunk, light and unruly (however much, much faster) compared to George's wagon. Though surely much slower, the wagon didn't seem to care much, and if you know what you're doing on the road- as I've known for the decades I've known these cars- if you play your game of chess right- you can't beat them as drivers.
You just have to know how to drive them- understand their limitations, and once you get passed them- they don't disappoint, even at 88 horsepower.
George's wagon surprised me. It felt so, so nice. Most everything, except the air conditioning (another Achilles Heal in any older Mercedes) worked well. The interior still felt and looked like new- even better than my own car- which is six years the newer- and I have, what a lot of people would consider a "nice" W123.
George's car was very nice, but maybe it was the company, or the night... Or George, who, if I knew him, was sitting, watching over us in the backseat- which, for the record, still look to have never been sat in.
...
At the end of the night, after some shopping, dinner, and hours of conversation- we sat in the wagon, idling away as all diesels love to do.
We were both sick to our stomachs, at least I was, at a loss for what to say. How ironic everything was panning out. Here we were- looking for cheap used cars, when quite literally, we were driving in one ourselves- and we can't do anything about it. Not for all the money in the world.
I don't want to let this car go. Old cars like this have a strange way of talking to me and this one, I know, wasn't going to let Theresa down. This was the best, perfect used car at any price. Practical and sentimental. I vowed to Theresa- even if she gets another car, and we're finally able to buy the wagon from the estate- I'm going to make sure she gets it.
I'll buy it and give it to her. Just like George would have done if he were still alive.
When we hugged goodbye for the night- it dawned on me- the only thing harder than finding a good used car is... finding a good, true friend.
Friendship. It's about the only thing I can really seek comfort in knowing, at any price; and perhaps the truest legacy most anyone could ever hope to leave behind.
At the end of the night, after some shopping, dinner, and hours of conversation- we sat in the wagon, idling away as all diesels love to do.
We were both sick to our stomachs, at least I was, at a loss for what to say. How ironic everything was panning out. Here we were- looking for cheap used cars, when quite literally, we were driving in one ourselves- and we can't do anything about it. Not for all the money in the world.
I don't want to let this car go. Old cars like this have a strange way of talking to me and this one, I know, wasn't going to let Theresa down. This was the best, perfect used car at any price. Practical and sentimental. I vowed to Theresa- even if she gets another car, and we're finally able to buy the wagon from the estate- I'm going to make sure she gets it.
I'll buy it and give it to her. Just like George would have done if he were still alive.
When we hugged goodbye for the night- it dawned on me- the only thing harder than finding a good used car is... finding a good, true friend.
Friendship. It's about the only thing I can really seek comfort in knowing, at any price; and perhaps the truest legacy most anyone could ever hope to leave behind.
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