The  Flivver

         During his latter years of residence in Narrows, Marvin’s  mode of transportation was a 1950 model Plymouth coupe. The car was already several years old when he became the proud owner, and that pile of junk was equipped with more dents and rust than any auto I’d ever seen---before or since.

         As a matter of fact, that Plymouth was just one big dent, and that fact alone caused me to surmise it had surely been an entrant in dozens of demolition-derbies.

         Marvin’s car, as did most of that era, came equipped with a straight transmission. The lower gears operating inside remained brand new. They’d never been used because Marvin always got er’ rollin’ in high gear. Even on uphill grades!

         That driving method caused a certain amount bucking, jumping and God-awful racket. But, being realistic, a really good driver need never use his lower gears. Ya’ just use the foot pedal on the left. It’s sole purpose is to get a “straight-drive” car moving uphill in high gear! This mechanical device is called a clutch, and when engaged halfway to the floor helps tremendously in getting a pile of junk rollin’ in high gear.

         True, lower transmission gears never became worn, but clutch discs and pressure plates were a constant and nagging problem for Marvin. Each time he paid the repair bill for yet another clutch job it was always the same: “Boys, it’s the sorry stuff they’re puttin’ on the market---it gits wurser and wurser”(never once did I recommend a friend purchase a set of wheels previously owned by Marvin Crabtree. Such a friendship would’ve ended immediately midst a barrage of cussin’ ).

         Marvin trusted Cooge to keep his automobile in running condition. A condition that suited the remainder of Giles County’s mechanics just fine. Not one among them wanted the responsibility of keeping his rollin’ pile of junk on the go. A tall order my friend !---a very tall order indeed!

         Yeah, Cooge was Marvin’s best friend--- the person most responsible for the former Bland Countian spending so much time in the heart of a thriving downtown  Narrows. We had the unenviable job of keeping his wheels rolling, and equally as important, telling Marvin when to report in at Celanese for an eight-hour shift of work…

         One day Marvin coasted his coupe into the station’s driveway; he’d barely made it. One of his rear tires was flatter than a fritter, and he’d entered there ridin’ on a rim. Marvin remained seated , never did exit from his junk-heap. Finally the gray-whiskered old man summoned Cooge  over for someof his valued trouble-shooting expertise and mechanical advice: “Git yer sorry butt over here! Cooge, somethin’s wrong with my car. The damn thing don’t ride just right”.

         “Well Marvin, you’ve got a flat tire”, said the observant manager of the service-center.

         “How can you tell, Cooge?”

         “I can see it”.

         “You can?”

         “I heard you running on that rim 5 minutes before you got here,” said the faithful friend of the motoring public.

         “You did?” Marvin exclaimed from behind a gray beard fully one-inch in length  (this does not suggest Marvin didn’t shave regularly---he did, once a month).

         “Yeah Marvin”, replied my immediate superior. “ Half the town heard you ridin’ a rim.”

         “Can you fix er’ fer me old buddy?” The request was made in an almost pleading tone.

         We looked the tire over; a close examination wasn’t required. It was bald as a knob, smooth and slick as a ribbon. Threadbare too. The only possible use left in that caisson would be to start a brushpile burning.

         “Marvin, you’re gonna’ hafta’ buy a tire”, noted Cooge.

         “You got any uv’ em’. I got the green stuff”. Marvin sounded like he’d truly appreciate a positive answer.

         “Come on , let’s go inside and see”, Cooge replied. “But I doubt it. Your flat is on the rear, and I don’t stock many rear tires. They don’t sell too well”.

         With that Marvin alit from his vehicle and followed the man inside. A tire-rack was in the storage room, holding perhaps 20 new tires. Looking them over one by one, Cooge turned to face Marvin; “Marvin old buddy, I don’t have a rear tire in stock”.

         “You hain’t?”

         “No, I ain’t”.

         “What the hell  I’m gonna’ do, Cooge?”

         “If you can make-out till tommorow without your car I can get you a couple. Your spare is bald too. We oughta’ keep about 4 rear tires in stock anyway. I’ll go over to the warehouse tomorrow morning and pick em’ up”.

         Out of a clear blue sky Marvin changed the subject: “Look at the calendar Cooge and tell me when I’m supposed to work”.

         “I was studying it just this morning. Marvin, you’re on a 4 day break. Almost a vacation.”

         “The hell you say! To save myself I don’t know how you figure that thing out. If’n I’m off that long I may make a run up to Bland. Cooge, don’t you think 4 days is enough time to git up there and back?”

         “Don’t know, Marvin. It’s a 60 mile roundtrip. You won’t be able to make too many stops. But you’re gonna’ need a tire before going anywhere”.

         “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Cooge, y’all oughta’ keep rear tires here. Most cars has got rear wheels on em’. Hell, they can go flat same as front tires”. After pondering that over for a spell we agreed that ,quite possibly, the old codger might be right.

         “I’ll tell you what”, said Cooge. “We’ll keep your car locked in the station tonight and have er’ ready for you by lunchtime tomorrow. I’ll get over to the warehouse bright and early and pick up 4 rear tires. How’s that?”

         “That’ll be O.K., Cooge old boy. I ain’t got to work no how. Bean-time tomorrow will be oakey-doakey. See y’all then”. Marvin then walked down the street, happy in the knowledge his friend had come thru once again. As he rounded a corner and went out of sight, we took a new tire from the rack , mounted it on the wheel, and had that Plymouth ready to roll in 5 minutes.

         Next day at noon he came for his wheels. The coupe was parked in the washbay, where it had been parked overnight. “Got me ready to go, Cooge?”

         “She’s ready to roll, Marvin. Just finished about 5 minutes ago. She’s in A-one condition”.

         Marvin seemed pleased as boy with a new toy. “I jist don’t know what I’d do without you boy”.

         “Glad I could help, Marvin. Next time it won’t take so long. I’m gonna’ keep rear tires in stock from now on”.

         “Say you are. I’ll pass that word around. Them idiots up yonder where I work might be glad to hear it”.

         “O.K. Marvin .I’d appreciate that”.

         “I’ll do it fer you, Cooge”.

         “Thank you Marvin .And you come on back”.

         “I thank you boy. You helped me out of a jam. I was twixt a rock and a hard place”.

         “Glad to do it”. The manager was making his way to the grease-rack. Someone was needing an oil change. “You come on back to see us Marvin”.

         “I will,” said the old timer while heading for the door. Reaching it, he paused, turned and asked: “When did you say I hafta’ go to work?”

         Marvin was good as his word. He broadcast far and wide the news that Pop French’s Esso Station was now stocking rear tires. Naturally after that information became known to the motoring public we had to make sure they were readily available. And we did…