Photo by Al Batt
He had run a good race.
His name was Dr. Harold Williams. He was a pilot, professor at Auburn University, operated a charter fishing boat (catching salmon and halibut), owned a sporting goods store, and served on the board of the American Bald Eagle Foundation in Haines, Alaska, with me. Actually, I got to serve with him. He had a PhD from the University of Colorado. Some people called him Jake, but that seemed wrong. I called him Harold. He and his wife Ailene lived in Waverly, Alabama. I had many wonderful visits with Harold, but I never learned until after he had died that he’d spent time as a new car salesman and sold a pink Cadillac to Elvis.
He sold a pink Cadillac to Elvis!
I recall trying to become a crackerjack used car salesman to sell my car. Anybody who owned that vehicle would have done the same thing. That’s right, my entire used car inventory was one. I needed to sell it to meet my sales quota.
I was also the owner and driver of the automobile.
The car was not flawless–neither was its driver—but it had its strong points. Make that strong point. It had a splendid radio. The car was a radio on wheels.
There is a fine line between being a jalopy and being a junker put up on blocks in the yard to keep the gnomes company. My car was about to cross that line. I feared I’d have to live with it forever if I didn’t sell it.
A car salesman told me that the secret to selling used cars was to sell them to people who lived so far away, you’re unlikely to see them again.
The strangest thing happened. An innocent bystander/stranger stopped when he spotted my “For sale” sign masterfully created with cardboard and a can of orange spray paint.
I clapped my hands together, grinned broadly and greeted the man. I had taken a Dale Carnegie Course.
My sales pitch was, “Just so you know, it will probably never happen, but if you stop at a light or a sign and turn on the left blinker to make a turn, the horn will honk, but it’s nothing to worry about as long as you don’t turn the blinker on when there’s a car ahead of you at the light. The driver of that car might not appreciate the blaring horn and give you an improper salute. Ignore him. What you should do as soon as possible after you make the left-hand turn is to turn on the right-turn signal. You might have to literally make a right-hand turn if there is a car behind you. Especially, if it’s the car that thought you were honking at him and pulled over to let you pass so he could tail you. What I’m saying is just as soon as you turn on that right-turn blinker, the horn will stop honking. No worries. I’m no mechanic, but I think it has something to do with the wiring. The horn can befuddle, but it’s not worth worrying about. I don’t know about you, but I like a car with a personality, and the whole horn-honking thing gives the day a luster. And it increases the value of the vehicle.”
The guy bought the car just to stifle me.
We signed things and shook hands. I told him to have a nice day because I’m the master of the understatement. I meant to say, “Have a day befitting someone of your stature.”
I came across an accounting of sale from the Mayflower Ranch auction sale of January 9, 1926, in the greater Hartland, Minnesota area. William Nelson was the auctioneer, and the clerk was Henry W. Arveson, the cashier at Farmers State Bank. At that sale, G. E. Fjone paid 70 cents for a pail of junk. A notation on the sale said it was worth every penny. John Olson paid $7.50 for a manure spreader. If I could have combined that pile of junk and manure spreader, it would have been the car I sold.
The buyer paid me way more than that.
That’s the closest I’ve come to selling a pink Cadillac to Elvis.
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