December 19: Ed Banky, a Car, and Mechanics

Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey.  Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it.  It wasn't allowed for students to borrow faculty guys' cars, but all the athletic bastards stuck together.  In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stick together.

I'm not really going to write about Ed Banky or athletic bastards.  I'll save my thoughts about school athletics for another post.  The reason I chose the above passage from Catcher is that it's the only one I could find that dealt specifically with a car, and that's the real subject of my first post this evening.

I dropped my car off at the dealership this morning for an oil change.  This is the same dealership that told me about four months ago that my vehicle needed about a $1500 repair.  Something about wheel bearings or a wobbly wheel.  The mechanic led me to believe that my tires could lock up and I could die in a ball of fire at any moment.  Or something like that.  It wasn't good.  So, when I left my car at the garage at 5 a.m., I wasn't expecting good news.  To be honest, I was expecting my car to be condemned.

Imagine my surprise when, at about 10 a.m., I got a phone call from "Buck" at the dealership.

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that we did the oil change," Buck said.

"And?" I said and held my breath.

"Everything looks great," Buck said.  "We'll have it parked outside when you come for it."

I stood there in shock for a couple of seconds.  "Really?" I said.

"Yup," Buck said, "you're good to go."

When I hung up the phone, I said a little thank you prayer.  And then I got a little mad.  How did my car go from being a road hazard to a "good to go"?  I didn't do anything to it.  I didn't get it fixed.  Yet, it miraculously healed itself.  Or the mechanic was lying to me at my last checkup in order to get me to pay for an expensive repair my car didn't need.  Take your pick.

I'm going to believe in the miracle, because it's Christmas and miracles are supposed to happen.

Saint Marty will save his piece of mind about shady dealership mechanics for another post.

My car's a little better than this

July 18: Ed Banky, Car, Bad News, Piece of My Mind

Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey.  Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it.  It wasn't allowed for students to borrow faculty guys' cars, but all the athletic bastards stuck together.  In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stick together.

I'm not a basketball player or an athletic bastard, and I don't attend school or teach at Pencey.  But I could sure use Ed Banky's car right now.

The bad news from the mechanic at the dealership came a lot earlier than I expected.  He called me around 10 a.m. to tell me my car was done, but he had to talk to me about "an issue."  "An issue," in mechanic talk, amounts to an $800-plus repair.

I kind of sat at my desk, speechless.  Finally, I said, "Well, I can't afford that right now."  To be honest, I don't know how I'm going to afford it later, either.  That kind of money doesn't come my way very often.  Actually, that kind of money never comes my way.

I'm beginning to intensely dislike auto mechanics and cars.  Owning a vehicle is a necessary evil for people who live in rural places like the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  I put about thirty miles on my car every day simply driving to and from work.  Taking the bus isn't an option, and riding my bike down the highway at 4 a.m. is not an appealing proposition.  So, I own a car that's becoming more expensive to keep on the road than raising my two children.

Here's the thing:  the first car I owned was a 1978 Dodge Aspen.  I inherited it from my older sister, and, aside from a brake job or two, it never gave me a lick of trouble.  I'd bet that Aspen is still running somewhere in the world.  It was a solid, reliable car.  Every car I've purchased since the Aspen has given me costly migraines.  My Ford Freestyle is the latest in a long line of headaches.

Cars used to last longer than car loans.  A lot longer.  I offer my Aspen as evidence with over ten years' of good service.  The car I owned before my Freestyle, a nice little Mercury Sable, lasted one month past the date I made my last payment on it.  Then I had a close encounter with a deer one foggy morning on my way to work.  My wife's Subaru has a laundry list of ailments, and we just payed it off about two months ago.

I want to own a car for once in my lifetime that I can drive for a couple of years without failing brake pads or ball joints or spring nut filters or whatever.  Two years without a single car repair.  Two years of just oil changes and tire rotations.  That's all.  I don't think that's too much to ask of Ford or Chrysler or Dodge or Subaru.  Make a car that lasts longer than a team of oxen, for God's sake.

That's a piece of Saint Marty's mind.

Anybody want to trade for a couple of bulls?

April 17: Athletic Bastards, Hate in General, Love in General

Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey.  Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it.  It wasn't allowed for students to borrow faculty guys' cars, but all the athletic bastards stuck together.  In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stuck together.

Holden is an alienated young man.  He has a problem with "athletic bastards" like his roommate Stradlater.  He has a problem with phonies like his father, who's a corporate lawyer.  He has a problem with Ackley, his suite mate at Pencey Prep, because of his bad hygiene.  Pretty much Holden has a problem with practically the whole world.

Perhaps that's why so many troubled teens identify with Holden.  Holden speaks for a group of people who usually have no voice.  I think that's why The Catcher in the Rye is considered to be such a subversive book, because it's main character is on the fringe, not fitting in with any of his peers.  It's no wonder that Holden's story has been linked to so many messed-up kids involved in violent acts in schools and on the streets.  Mark David Chapman, the man who killed John Lennon, had a copy of the novel with him when he was arrested.  He inscribed the book, "This is my statement" and signed it as "Holden Caulfield."

Yesterday afternoon, a colleague saw my copy of  The Catcher in the Rye sitting on my desk.  He looked at it and half-jokingly said, "Are you allowed to keep that here?  Has the FBI talked to you about Boston yet?"

At first, I was a little taken aback.  I quickly regained myself and said, "Yeah, I told them the book belonged to you."

My colleague laughed and then went on a diatribe about terrorists and Islamic extremists and the suspension of the Geneva Conventions and torture.  I listened politely.  I understood his anger.  I was angry Monday night as I watched the news reports about the Boston Marathon bombing.  It wasn't unfocused, general anger.  It was anger that wanted justice and retribution and revenge for all the lives that were injured and lost.

We still don't know who's responsible for what happened in Boston.  Domestic or foreign, it was an act of terror.  Certainly, the person or people who did it felt justified (maybe even righteously inspired) to plant those explosive devices.  For me, it's a Mark David Chapman moment, the guilty party using the Bible or Koran or Declaration of Independence or Second Amendment or The Catcher in the Rye or whatever to perpetrate and act of senseless hatred and violence.

People just don't get it.  Mark David Chapman didn't get it.  Osama bin Laden didn't get it.  Skinheads don't get it.  J. D. Salinger wasn't promoting hatred.  In fact, at the end of the novel, Holden says he misses Stradlater and Ackley.  Mohammed and Jesus Christ didn't promote hatred.  They were all about love and peace.  Anybody who thinks otherwise has got it wrong.  Jesus hung out with tax collectors and prostitutes and thieves.  He loved these people, even if He disagreed with their life choices.

I call myself a follower of Christ.  That means I'm supposed to love people.  Forgive people who do me harm.  Anyone.  Black, white, straight, gay, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Hindi, short, tall, fat, skinny.  I have to forgive the party responsible for the Boston bombing, show love and compassion.  That's a tall order.  But being a Christian is not easy.  Just ask Jesus.  He has the scars to prove it.

Hate in general is bad.  Hatred of anyone (gay or African American or Muslim or Christian) or anything (unless it's bad poetry).  Love in general is good.  It's what we should all aspire to.  Jesus said, "As I have loved you, so you must love one another."  Mohammed said, "Do you love your creator?  Love your fellow-beings first."  John Lennon sang, "All you need is love."

Saint Marty thinks those are words to live by.

Sing it with me...