Dart

January 9, 2019

It wouldn’t be possible today. The conversation around the table as the quad of curmudgeons from our weekly writer’s group met for lunch a couple weeks ago drifted to adventures we had had with cars. I thought of that on my way to church today. Parked in front of an old storefront converted to apartments a couple blocks from the church is an old Dodge Dart. It sits in all its glorious dull grey, and reminded me of the one I owned back in 1973. It was a 1968 bare bones model with the slant six motor. It was shiny blue, not dull grey. 

In June of 1972, the remnants of Hurricane Agnes hit New York state’s Southern Tier, causing widespread flooding. Our eldest son was born in the middle of all of that, a story all its own, begging to be told at another time. When the waters receded and things began to get back to normal, automotive bargains abounded. I was able to pick up this particular car for about $200. It only had 15,000 miles on the odometer, and was in great shape, except for having gone through the flood. I could see the high water mark inside about halfway up the seat, but other than that, it was in great shape, needing only a bit of TLC to bring it back to life. 

The water line on the engine indicated that the carburetor and heads were OK, but I removed the oil pan and the connecting rod bearings, cleaned out the water, oiled things up, and reassembled it. Basically the same procedure for the transmission. Once the wheels were removed, I could hose down the brakes, wash out the drums, and put things back together. On the interior, I took out the seats and carpet, went through with a hose, flushing out the mud before washing the seats. I even crawled up under the dash with the hose to clean the mud off the wiring.

I drove that car for a couple years, putting over 100,000 miles on it, which was pretty good for any vehicle back then, before selling it to a mechanic friend who gave it to his daughter. She drove it for another couple years.

If one of today’s cars went through a flood like that little ‘68 Dart endured, it would be totaled. The electronics would be toast, if not from the flood itself, then from the cleaning I gave it. Things have come a long way since then. Cars regularly clock 150,000-200,000 miles, are loaded with all kinds of gizmos we couldn’t even imagine back then. But the simplicity is long gone, along with most of the backyard mechanics who flourished for a generation. I have to admit, on a cold winter’s morning, the heated seats in Linda’s car are quite nice to settle into. But I like the simplicity of the old school. My truck is as close to it as I can get these days. Two stage wipers (no intermittent stuff here!), wind up windows, standard transmission—what’s there not to love about it? It may very well be the last of its breed, so I’m going to baby it for as long as I can, and when I close my eyes at the end of the day, I’ll see that old Dodge Dart, and give thanks to have grown up in an era where even a mechanical ignoramus like me could do some serious wrenching.