At the Head of the Table

The best introduction to my dad is to use his own words. This is a sample from the Spring 1971 issue of the family newsletter he called, "Lost Causes."

SHOPPING WITH ERIK

A motor car is not a thing

That should be purchased lightly,

We do no buy one every day

Or even every nightly.

So when I go to buy a car,

I take along my grandson.

He spots a lemon every time

And will not let my buy one.

My grandson Erik ( he is receiving private tutoring in preparation for entering pre-nursery school) know cars. He himself has a Volkswagen, with psychedelic flowers on both sides, and he is very glib when reciting its statistics. The chassis length, he will tell you, is five inches, and he will add enthusiastically, "It has a man in it." The man inside is to run the car with assistance from Erik, who winds the motor. If the car does not go fast enough, Erik knows what to do He picks it up and throws it preferably at his older sister. With so much first-hand knowledge about the durability of cars (there are few things harder on a car than being thrown at a sister) Erik is the ideal counselor to take along when shopping for a new one. So when I decided to replace my four-year-old Valiant, I invited him along. Before I had finished the invitation, he was in the driveway waiting for me, attired hastily in his fancy pants and red sweater, but no shoes. If Erik had been born ten years ago he would have been the original flower child. Now he is just another member of the cop-out generation, a member who has, however, a base hankering for the finer thing of life, and who along with his unshorn hair, his unshod feet, and his scorn of material things, takes a morbid interest in Disneyland, MacDonald's, and breakfast at the Pancake House. My inspiration to take Erik automobile shopping came when I decided that something had to be done to get us out of the house. I had been seated on the sofa having my first cup of coffee when suddenly, as I was lifting the cup, a cloth puppy flew towards me and hit the cup in mid-air. Coffee spilled everywhere. Erik, it seems, knows how to throw cloth puppies as well as Volkswagens. While I was sopping up the mess from the sofa, Erik's mother was taking care of the disciplining. She had Erik in her arms and was kissing him over and over, telling him how much she loved him. It's the new child training: give the child plenty of love. It is probably an indication of something to say that Erik is undoubtedly the most loved child in southern California, as well as the most accurate with a cloth puppy from six feet. So Erik and I began looking at cars. In theory, he favored the BMW, with the Audi a close second. In practice it went something like this. With the whole day before us we sauntered into the showroom of every dealer along automobile row, getting the salesman's latest jazz on braking power, luggage capacity and centimeters of torque. In every showroom I dutifully followed the salesman's suggestion to get into the car, twist my spine to conform to the convolutions of the driver's seat, and test the ease with which I could reach the cigarette lighter. (I quit smoking in 1953 when the price of cigarettes soared to 15 cents a pack.) Then I would insist that Erik try out the car, giving me an unbiased opinion, His diagnostic procedure and his opinion were invariable. He would get into the driver's seat, twist the steering wheel, and, forgetting his preference for the BMW and Audi he would exclaim, "Let's take this one!" The lesson to be gleaned from all this is elementary: if one wishes to spend an incredibly enjoyable morning shopping for a new car, take along Erik. If one wishes to do some serious comparison shopping, induce Erik to stay home by telling him he has to wear shoes. I finally decided to end our pleasant morning when Erik, after testing the horn of a bright red Duster (successor to the Valiant--only the name and price have changed), said, "Let's take this one!" I had been making some hasty calculations on my mental slide rule and had decided that by using my charge card I could just about afford the repairs that would enable me to run my old Valiant another year. It was no problem to get Erik headed home. I invited him to the Pancake House where he ordered a child's half plate of pancakes and eggs. I ordered the same, worried only that it would be too much for me. It was; but I need not have worried. Erik ate all of his and was glad to share mine. Allowed that much of a handicap, I was able to break even with him. We returned home and parked in the driveway, Erik looking a bit glum. We had bought no bright-red Audi, not even a BMW in conservative shades of primrose and pale crimson. We still had our Valiant, with no twin-barrel carburetor, no torque, no rally stripe; just a four-year-old clunker that hardly does two hundred miles between periodic major overhauls. As I eased out of the driver's set I invited Erik to slide over under the steering wheel. He did. He sat immobile for about two second, then instinct took over. He twisted the wheel a couple of times and hit the horn a vigorous blast. He blasted it again, and he was sold. "Let's" he said enthusiastically, "keep this one."

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...may the blessings of cheerful helpers and concerned advisors be yours...