Oscar
We had just returned from Window Rock, Arizona. A week spent in a bleak, windowless (but air conditioned) conference room; lined with tables. The Quality Inn had played host to a number of new employees of Navajo Allied Asbestos for the purpose of training to receive their OSHA certification; Marc and I included.
In 1988, it was adventure enough for us to be on our own, away from the parental units, regardless of the nature of the coursework we endured; understanding the fibrous element of asbestos, how to prepare to handle it to minimize exposure, historical application of asbestos and identification of it, etc. Sufficient incentive in the form of a promised $18 hourly ($27 hourly overtime) wage guaranteed our diligent studying of the material – we earned high marks. At other times in our youth when proper motivation was absent, we would often stray. I’m reminded of a time when free tickets to the Utah Symphony somehow landed us at a nearby downtown movie theater for a screening of the much acclaimed “Beverly Hills Cop.” However, that’s another story altogether…
At any rate, we were only too happy to be walking away with OSHA certification in hand and leaving Window Rock. A short tour of the local, government-run grocery store to obtain some forgotten and much needed toiletries confirmed that; we contemplated the locked cabinets with clear glass doors that housed the mouthwash. Marc posed the question, “Why would they lock up the mouthwash?” We scratched our heads, puzzled. Hmmmmmm…
A side note about Oscar; it had already taken its trip down the gully across the street from our house on Fawn Lane. With its parking brake failing, Dad had left the Cruiser idling at the top of the driveway while he ran into the house to get something. The parking brake let go and Oscar rolled backwards down the driveway, across the street, over the curb, and down the steep hill. Providence kept it from flipping over when it struck a small tree and kept it upright. The dent from the tree in the driver front fender was the only casualty from the mishap.
So, we cruised (literally) south on I-15, merging carefully with the traffic heading west on I-80. Marc shifted into the top gear (3rd) and feathered the throttle to maintain a constant speed of about 63. Because it only had 3 gears, freeway velocity resulted in the engine speed pegged at a mind-numbing 4,000 RPM. The straight six put up a racket; I had the feeling that it was more comfortable climbing a steep hill in 4 low with low revs. Because Marc was pilot, that left my responsibility as navigator and music man. In an effort to drown out the engine wail, I reached up my left hand and felt for the cassette opening. The stereo was mounted in a metal tray between the top front and middle roll bars (not mounted conventionally in the dash like most vehicles). I found it, popped in a u2 cassette, and we roared off down the freeway. Our destination was Elko, Nevada…
We were both excited about the opportunity in Elko; we could put our OSHA training to work and earn the high wages promised us. Marc was saving for his upcoming mission and I couldn’t pass on the prospect of the financial windfall. The general feeling was one of optimism and adventure.
As we approached an overpass just past Salt Lake City International Airport, I noticed a forlorn figure with his thumb stuck out. I pointed him out and Marc dragged the wheel to the right as he pushed the throttle in to slow us down. We met Joe and he explained he was on his way to Sparks, NV. We consulted with each other quickly and decided to take him; we had an empty back seat with plenty of room. Joe was in his sixties and gingerly climbed in the back seat of the Cruiser. Although not very talkative, he responded to our questions and explained that he had been in Salt Lake City undergoing prostate surgery. He had spent all of his money on his medical expenses and travel there. We enthusiastically offered him some sandwiches in the blue Playmate cooler located next to him in the back seat and he gratefully accepted.
Four hours later we arrived in Elko and parted ways with our friend, Joe. He thanked us for the sandwiches and we wished him luck. We met up with the rest of the NAA crew (Charlene, Linda, Leo, Mark, and others) at the Red Lion Casino and sat down to discuss the impending project over dinner. It turns out there had been some miscommunication and the equipment wouldn’t be arriving for a few more days. Everyone was disappointed that we couldn’t get started right away, but Frank agreed to pay us for the three days anyway.
After our equipment arrived, we were able to start work at the maximum security juvenile detention facility just northeast of town. After a slow start to the project and working doing prep work all week, Marc convinced me to attend church that Sunday. After priesthood, he excitedly told me, “Ben, I met a member that offered to let us stay in his trailer while we’re here!” This was great news as we had been forking out $50 a night to stay in a barely habitable motel near downtown Elko.
Later that night, we followed the member’s instructions to his house and arrived after dark. There, in his field, was parked an extremely small towable trailer. About the size of a pop-up tent, there were two small sleeping bays on each side with thin foam mattresses. But we didn’t care; we could pocket the money we had been spending on motel rooms. We slid the windows open on each side of the trailer to create a cross breeze; as you can imagine, the trailer would get stifling hot during the day in the hot Nevada summer. It would only cool off long after we had fallen asleep on top of our sleeping bags. When it was windy, we would wake in the morning with gritty sand in our teeth and spit mud.
The project was poorly managed and went slow, but we enjoyed getting to know our Navajo co-workers. Charlene taught me a decent amount of Navajo; now I remember only a few curse words and how to count to ten. On weekends we would head up the canyon to the Humboldt National Forest to the southwest of town and camp with the Indians. This afforded us two benefits; 1. We were able to escape the heat and 2. We were able to avoid staying in a motel for a couple of nights. Most weekends, Marc also convinced me to attend church. After one particularly late night, I staggered to Church with Marc, wishing I was still back in bed. About 20 minutes into Sacrament meeting, I decided to go back and sleep in the car. I only made it about halfway. Just outside the front doors of the meetinghouse, I was found by an embarrassed Marc. As people were leaving church, they actually had to step over me.
Weekday nights were spent cruising down Idaho street, eating a cheap meal at Taco Bell. After paydays, we would splurge at the Red Lion Casino and have the buffet. The Cruiser served us well during this time. We were used to its idiosyncrasies. When you turned right, the driver door would open wide. We coped with this by threading a bunjee cord through the door handle and then around the vertical roll bar. The door would still open, but only about 6 inches; it would then slam shut as the bunjee cord overcame the centrifugal force.
Only one mishap occurred. One day we started the car and the throttle stuck open. The engine immediately revved to its maximum and we were afraid we’d blow the engine. We strategized and decided that we could start the car and put it in gear long enough to get us where we needed to go. If we got going too fast, we could turn off the ignition and just let it coast. This plan worked well enough to get us to the nearest mechanic, who was able to fix the stuck throttle cable and send us on our way.
A total of about 5 weeks was spent in Elko, NV that summer. Even though we didn’t know it, Marc and I would soon be traveling to Southern California – me to finish my senior high school year and Marc to continue working to fund his mission. We made memories we’ll never forget, but most of all, we’ll never forget our Landcruiser, Oscar.
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