My Father, The Anti Hero… part 2

The decision to leave college to pursue music was a hard pill to swallow for a lot of family members.  It’s like when you drop out of college you’re an immediate loser.  The only real support I received for my decision was from my mother.  I swear I could have become  anything and she would have supported me.  The phone calls with my father did not have the same temperament.  I recall yelling and sometimes cursing and disgust in his voice.  I tried to explain I wasnt doing what I wanted and that school was hard, but it was like talking to a brick wall.  He was from a totally different generation, but he wasn’t like any other man from his time, so in some ways I figured he might be cool with me being a bit spontaneous and doing something new.  He always knew I cared deeply for music.  My mom was constantly playing guitar for me, or piano.  She is really good:) She bought me my first guitar in 4th grade and taught me all she knew.  She was a patient and wonderful guitar teacher.  As a kid I never got gifts from dad that were compatible with my interests.  He would always get me tools, or a 500$ remote control car. Who needs that shit? Im kidding, but it wasnt for me.  He tried hard to get me to understand cars, asking me what size is this bolt son?  Uh…… 1/2 inch?!?  No!!!!!! He exclaimed, noooo.  Cars or boats never interested me so much, I just wanted them to work,  so it was a life time battle of Father and son trying to come up with a common ground to relate on.  So when I quit football, I quit the one thing we had in common.  It’s almost as if I had killed someone close to him.  He did not speak to me for almost two years.

It was around Thanksgiving when he finally called.  He said he wanted me to come over and have dinner.  I was nervous. Like I said, my Dad was so intimidating.  I remember he came over to pick me up and I went to his house.  He had a nice house and had made a nice life for himself with his wife and child.  I felt out-of-place, and in so many ways I didnt. It’s hard to explain, I’ve always been able to go into an uncomfortable situation and make the best of it.  My Dad was really funny. Really brutal jokes and stories about his life that for some people sounded scary and sketchy but he could make them really funny.  I recall one story where he pulled a gun on a guy at a gas station cause the guy was threatening him with a baseball bat.  A- why was a guy trying to beat him with a bat? and B- why did Dad have a gun?  Even this story was funny the way Dad told it.  We sat down for a meal, and he explained to me how he wanted to know me again. How could I say no?  I wanted that father figure, I wanted to be around him.  I know he was hard to deal with, but I cared for him so much.  So after that dinner, we started talking regularly on the phone and I would go up to his shop and work for him; sweeping or running to get everyone lunch.  Like I said, cars and I dont really mix.  This went on for a bit until I started to get the itch to do something. My good friend Shane had moved to Boston to go to Berklee college of music and was constantly telling me how much fun he was having up there.   So one day, I decided it was time for a move.  I thought about saving money or something, then going to college in boston, but I was ready to go now.  I talked to mom about it, she was supportive of course, and I talked to Dad also.  I couldn’t believe it! He thought it was a great idea. So Shane and I planned a move.  Shane came home for Christmas and we planned to leave that January for boston.  We rented a uhaul and did all the normal moving crap. Moving sucks! Especially a 2k mile drive.  It was the great unknown and I was pumped.  By the time January rolled around Dad and I had actually gotten close.  We would laugh a lot, and he actually had a lot of good advice. While in prison my father got saved.  Everything he said to me by this point was Bible based, but I didnt mind.  It was better to hear the positive than the negative.  The day we moved was actually really hard for me.  I remember getting emotional with my mom - she is my best friend. Why the hell was I leaving? She said you have to….. this is your time to shine.  Mom always says the right thing.  My dad was sad to see me go as well, but of course his way of showing it was more manly and refrained.  As I said goodbye to him he hugged me and put an envelope in my pocket.  He said good luck son.  Those were great words to my ears.  My dad was actually supporting my decision.  It felt so good to finally have some sort of approval that I had desperately needed from him for so long.  When I got in the truck I checked the envelope, Dad and his wife had given me a large some of money to help get me started.  He called me later that day and said ” I hope it helps, Im trying to make up for lost years.” I appreciated it greatly, who wouldn’t?  Dad had become a great friend.  A great giver of wisdom.  It was really nice to understand what having a mother and father meant.  I had friends all through the years who didnt understand my need to or desire to have that feeling. Parents……. I finally had them.

Boston was great for me, I learned a lot.  I worked at the Perkins school for the blind and sometimes Shane would have me come up to Berklee to play with him and some of his school friends.  It didnt take long to figure out I was never going to make it into Berklee. The cost and the academics were too much for me.  Boston was a wonderful town, so much to do and so much history, but I had no future there.  I decided to leave Boston and head home.  In some ways this felt like complete defeat.  Mom of course was supportive and Dad was actually a little upset at me.  He wanted me to stick it out, he said.  But really, he wanted me to come home.  I had saved a little money so I rented a van and moved back.  When I got home, I had no plans, no future, I had no idea what to do.  My Dad immediately offered me my job back.   But this time, I decided to take interest in his interests, or at least try.  It’s funny when you have no aptitude towards something but you still try to do it.  I was trying everything: sanding, bando, primer, paint, fabrication. I sucked at all of it.  Sometimes he would giggle and say, ” I honestly dont know if you’re mine, Son.”  I would laugh it off, but sometimes it stung.  A couple of years after Boston, my dad unveiled his masterpiece.  It was a 1949 mercury coupe.  He had chopped the top and done every possible thing you could imagine to it.  This car was unlike most of my dads creations.  It was beautiful but almost gaudy.  My dad was known for being a bit gaudy but still keeping it classy.  He named the car ” Heavens to Mercatroid.”  Hilarious, but so awesome.  What a bad ass! He made shirts, hats, all that crap.  This car was the culmination of 4 years of hard work.  My dad built cars for rich guys, investors.  This investor had spent a ton of money, close to a half million. Ridiculous to be spent on the car, but some men are relentless.   They decided to sell the car at the famous Barret Jackson Auto Sales in Scottsdale, Arizona.  This was a big event for my dad.  It was kind of his dream to go out there with all the big boys of custom and classic cars.  Dad assembled a team, and we made our way to Scottsdale. 1, 759 miles of long lonely road to Arizona.  I loved the idea.  I had 1,759 miles to hang with my dad,  1, 759 miles to just be around him day in and day out.  It was really fun; hotels, rest stops, big dinners, lots of laughs, the open desert.  My dad told so many stories on the way out there.  He had traveled this road many times. When my father was 15, he picked up his things, got in a car, and drove himself to LA.  This was not surprising considering he had been kicked out of every school he had been in.  He even got kicked out of military school.  So a move to LA made sense for him.  LA: a land of the lost and unforgiving, a perfect place for my father as a young man.  In LA my dad worked for a bunch of mechanics and finally got into  racing.  I could be wrong about this, but I’m almost certain he said Nascar started right there on the beaches of California.  My father met his first wife there, and had two children with her.  I dont remember her name or the kids, but I do know that to the end of his life, his kids would not see him.  In their eyes, he did not exist.  This was hard for him.  I know he thought of those kids and his life out in LA often.

By the time we reached Scottsdale, we were all geared up and ready to show the car.  Dad was actually acting excited.  We walked around the car show looking at all the great cars from famous people and famous builders.  My dad always admired Boyd Cottington.  I always thought his cars were ugly, but what the hell did I know?  Dad’s investor was there, everyone was there.  We prepared the car, getting it ready to be shown.  Dad just knew the car would sell for a great amount of money.  As the car rolled onto the stage, I realized that this was the most vulnerable my father had ever been.  His masterpiece was being scrutinized by so many car lovers, arrogant car lovers, rich men just there to get a toy, you name it they were on the stage.  I could see in my dad’s eyes the fear…. the one thought……. the sadness…… this was the end of his time with this car.  At this point I had so much respect for my dad.  I saw how much he truly cared for his craft. This was his art.  This car summed up the last 4 years of his life.  I think he was heartbroken to see it come to an end.  Early speculation had Dad thinking the car would sell for a couple hundred grand maybe even up to the price of the build of the car.  Dad’s investor was on the stage with him.  He had been acting strange most of the day, and dad was suspicious. The bidding had begun…..  the bidding will start at 50,000….. and no reserve.  Dad was shocked 50k at no reserve. Someone was going to walk out of that building with his car for nothing.  Bidding continued… 50!60!70! it actually looked like it might keep going. 80!  85????? 85???? anyone? selling the car for 85???? going once? going twice? sold!! to the man with the cowboy hat!  We were in shock, disbelief.  I could see my dad was really upset.  He realized at this point his investor was just ready to get rid of it. The investor stated, “Too much money, too much money big griff.” It was costing the investor way more than he had planned to just have it.  I guess at this point he just wanted to be out of it.   What could my father do? nothing… Just time to tuck tail and go home.  I can honestly say after this point my father would never be the same.  His pride, his passion, his art had no value.  The drive back home was a long and hard time.  My dad was a bit destroyed over the car.  In a lot of ways you can’t blame the investor.  My dad went spending crazy on that car and spent way more than he ever should.  I think he just got caught up in the game of being a car builder.  I tried to console him, but I knew at this point things had changed.  A huge door had closed, and a new door whether he liked it or not was opening.  This would be the last car my father would ever complete…..to be continued………