About the Car (Part 1)

Part 1

We love our cars in America. We cherish those old grandfather's trucks, pink Cadillacs, and stylish convertibles. Everyone remembers his first car.

I do remember as well, except for me it was the car that I never had...

It so happened, that I wasn't born in America but got here as soon as... and now it goes the rest of the story.

"Automobile is not a luxury, but just a means of common transportation.”

That was a remarkably common slogan, known to everyone in the Soviet Union.

Just like everything else in the country of the developed socialism, that slogan was nothing else but a lie.

In my personal definition, soviet socialism was not a political platform or a structure of political society based on the government's possession of the means and tools of the production. They taught us in school that, but it wasn't accurate.

It was, in fact, the political set of socially organized tools designed and developed by the government to control all of the people in the country.

Everything that the government was telling us was a misguided rule based on the consequences of wishful thinking that in fact was a lie. The leading government was lying to the people by promising unachievable prosperity, and the people were lying to the government by swearing dishonest devotion to it. Both realized that they were lying, but understood that it was for the better cause.

The ownership of the automobile it was, in fact, a dream, an unachievable desire, a fantasy that only came true for a chosen few. Those chosen by the party and by the government were set to lead the rest of the common masses. And they did accordingly, by living a lavish lifestyle and by driving in the chic automobiles. It was a privilege for a few.

The government never choose me for that.

My father worked in the purchasing department of Riga’s musical instruments factory. My mom taught physics in school. Therefore, we lived a very modest way of life. My parents constantly tried to stretch our limited resources from one payday to another.

In the late 1950s and 60s, the state ordered everyone to enjoy a six-day, 48 hours workweek with Sunday off. It directed people to prove another famous communist’s trade-mark motto, “The labor ennobles the human”. That wasn’t much different from Hitler’s, “Arbeit macht frei” ( “Work sets you free”) but the communist party didn’t emphasize that. And everyone was working. The government didn’t pay much for that labor. Some people slack off at work and didn’t care to try to work harder.

The common saying was: If the government pretended it was paying for our work, we were pretending that we were working for it.

But some people were willing to do everything right under the order set by the government. Those people work much harder than others. My parents were the two of the hardest workers I ever knew, who wanted to believe in the upcoming socialistic prosperity for everyone.

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Those days the Sunday was the only one day off for them and me, and it always started early. Even though we didn’t have a dog yet, my father liked to wake up at don and to take me for the early morning walk. It always was very early, even before the time when the janitors washed the streets, the mailmen delivered mail and the drunks were trying to find a way home after the already forgotten night before. Obviously, I didn’t enjoy the waking up part, but these morning walks with my dad stayed in my memory forever. He was telling me about his life, his dreams, and his desires, honestly and sincerely like to a good old friend, rather than to a child.

On one of those morning walks, at the edge of the city park, we noticed a big crowd of people getting together. My Dad inquired what was taking place and told me that people were signing up for the queue to purchase a car.

In those years everything was in a deficit in the Soviet Union, therefore it was a waiting line for everything. That was how people were getting stuff.

Six-month for the furniture, four-month for the refrigerator, three for a TV set, two for the radio with the record player, one for a good-looking sweater, if you were lucky. That what how I remember was in Latvia. In some other parts of the Soviet paradise, it was harder, much harder.

Two of these, ‘one month should be waiting in line for sweaters’ both of us, my father and I wore that early September morning. Mom got the sweaters for us. Mine was blue with gray stripes and my dad had one gray with the blue lines. Mom liked those sweaters. She stayed in line overnight to purchase it, even though she had signed for it a whole month before.

We hated those, actually. The sweaters were handwoven from the real wool and were so itchy that to wear those sweaters was like torture.

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To sign in to the queue for a car wasn’t free. The charge was one-time non-returnable 25 rubbles. My dad didn’t have any money with him on the walk. Neither am I obviously. The decision came to my dad instantly. His itchy sweater was exactly 25 rubles’ worth… and somebody in the crowd bought it. ( By the way, 25 rubles back then was a quarter of the monthly salary for most of the people.)

We were coming home so, so happy that morning! We both got something to dream about. In only 10 years we will be able to purchase a car!

That, of course, considering that my parents would have enough money by the year 1972 to buy it. That was in the fall of 1962, and the grand prize for our patients and diligence would be the best Russian automobile. At those times it was the Volga GAZ-M21.

Today I know it was the water down replica of the American Ford Mainline of the 1950s that was dropped from production for various reasons.

But then for us, it was everyone’s dream car, and we would have the chance to own that! Of course, we would need to get a rather colossal sum of money to buy that car.

The whole 9 000 rubles.

That was an enormous amount. My parents earn each about 100 rubles a month back then. 27 rubles was a monthly rent, 12 for utilities, about 150, not less, for the food - you do the math, there was not much left for the saving... But we had a dream, and it was outstanding! And most of all, the dreaming was free!

To our surprise and disappointment, mom didn’t share our excitement.

She was much closer to the reality of life, perhaps because it was she who paid the bills every month. My father ended up not having a good day, even though we came home with the big bucket of fresh flowers.

But I got a shared dream, and I knew it would come true one day.

***

In 1972 we got the postcard notification that our line for a vehicle was extended by another 6 years. In 1975 Lily and I got married and I moved out of my parent’s apartment to the apartment of her parents, because they had an extra room. It was one separate small room in the 3-room apartment. In 1978, Lily’s parents left the country and the entire apartment of the whole three rooms becomes ours. I got a raise at my engineering job, all the way up to 110 rubles per month. We started to make some savings. The dream of an affordable luxury started to move closer and closer to reality. And one day it almost came to the point where I could get into the situation of the chosen few! Of course, we didn't reach to the whole 9000 rubbles in saving, but 900 we got!

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Those years one could purchase a used car from another individual without the line, and my dream got much closer to reality.

One of our neighbors had a car. Zaporozhec was its name. It was claimed to be a people’s car of the USSR and was made in Ukraine. It was a so-called contemporary hunchback version of the Volkswagen beetle. It had an engine in the back just like Volkswagen. But the Volkswagen was it not!

The 4-cylinder 27HP engine wasn’t reliable. It was breaking all the time and our neighbor was spending more time under the car, than in it. Owning the car had some logistic difficulties. Our neighbor didn’t have a garage and was parking the car on the side of the street overnight.

Every evening he would remove the window wipers, the hubcaps, and mirrors. He would take those to the apartment for safety. Otherwise, these parts obviously would be stolen or destroyed. Every morning he would reinstall those back, but it was a small price to pay for the dream coming true, - or so I thought.

Rather quickly I found an advertisement about a very special car. It not only seems to be an affordable option, but it was also a historical one. The poster described my find as a prototype of the pre-WWII war model of KIM-10, the predecessor of the Moscovich - 400 made in 1949. I adored everything old, antique, and unique. Even without seeing, I fall in love with that vehicle. We had a slight problem, though. The seller wanted 1200 rubles and my saving was 300 short.

I went to see my dad. I told him all about my dream and how it was the very same as his own. I told him how together we will go on trips to see many interesting places around. How Lily and mom and a little Mark would sit on the back seat and two of us will drive, one in the time changing places throughout the trip. My father was the kindliest and most generous and charitable man I ever knew, and he loved cars very much as well. He told me that money should not be a problem, and so we went to meet the automobile of our dream.

I remember us taking a bus ride far away to the city suburbs, someplace where none of us ever been before.

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All three of us, Lily, my father, and I, came out of the bus at its last stop. It was a bit slippery after the rain and we carefully followed the narrow, broken down pedestrian walkway.

In a few more blocks, we found the needed address. It was an old gray wooden house with a detached garage next to it. The house was hidden behind the old fence. The fence was roughly hatched from the old wood planks and the chicken wire. The garage and the fence were gray, but behind the fence, there was a huge bush of dahlias blooming bright purple-red.

- It was a rather beautiful scene, - I thought.

Her majesty, the car, was parked next to the walkway. It was the military gray inside and out. The front of the car was long and disproportional to the size of the vehicle body. The vehicle body comprised of grey windows and two doors, one on each side. The roof, lead to a smaller hunched trunk covered with the spear wheel box. The chassis held the automobile almost to the level. I noticed that the front was lower to the ground than the rear.

- Perhaps it would level out when the passengers would come in,—I thought.

The front of the car was extended far from the main body. To me, it was a little disproportional. Perhaps the designers thought differently. Two side access chrome panels shined on both sides of the engine part.

Those panels were accordioned up, to demonstrate rather complicated auto guts that smelled gasoline and heavy machine lubrication oil.

I already knew that inside was a unique 4-cylinder engine of the whole 30HP. The seller told me over the phone about that. It was a whole three horse-powers more than the Zaperozhec had. It was so impressive!

I looked at that car parked next to the blooming dahlias and for a second I’ve seen a herd of 30 horses, gorgeous beauties with the long braided manes blowing in the wind, neighing and ready to take me with them to the remarkable journey. I was sold already!

Right away I’ve noticed an original purple-red and silver logo KIM on the very front of the car. The Russian acronym of the KIM stood for the "Kommunist Internacionale for the Youth" - what a special name for a car!

The car seller was there, waiting for us already. He was an older man, even older than my father was. (I am chuckling as I am writing this. In 1978, my father was 49. Ha! He wasn’t even was 50 yet! Sometimes it is really difficult to put the time and the age in order, to be perspective.)

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I could tell by looking at the seller’s hands that he knew his stuff about the cars very well. He had those big, workingman’s hands. The hands that can hold a hot muffler without the gloves. The hands that would choose the needed nut or a bolt by themselves, without watching and measuring.

His unshaven face was as big as his hands and apparently was not in a great friendship with the soap and water either.

He invited me for a ride, as I presented myself as the chief buyer.

I told him we preferred to see the car together and to take all of us for a test drive.

He hesitated for a minute, but then agreed and spat out his smoke that was hanging down from his lip. It was the famous Belomor Canal -papirosa (paper tube old-fashioned cigarette named after the notorious Russian ship Chanel build by the prisoners of the Gulag).

He invited us in.

Lily and I crawl over the passenger seat to the back and my father set in front, next to the driver.

Inside, the car everything was rather simple. No fancy handles or buttons of any kind.

The car didn’t even have a radio. But it was ok for me. I didn’t want to listen to the radio; I wanted to drive. The seats were old and worn out. It was as expected and understandable. The car was over 30 years old already. The floor had a few see-through open areas. That surprised me, actually. The driver explained that that is really better that way; it was keeping air cooler during the summer; it worked as the natural saloon ventilation.

He explained also that this car never would rust. Twice a year he would cover the bottom of the car with the machine oil and drive over the wet unpaved roads. The layer of clay and sand will stick to the bottom of the frame and protect the car from any possible rust for months to come. Wow, that was really smart!

He turns the ignition on and the car jumped a bit and started making the sound of the working engine.

- It was a good sign, - I thought.

The driver apparently caught my thoughts and explained that he already cranked the engine with the handle earlier and pre-warmed it up beforehand, so it started right away.

I personally found this explanation reasonable, but I caught a gist of disappointment in my dad’s eyes.

The driver put the car in gear and we have moved. We were driving all together down the street.

That was great!

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In a few minutes, we were in the small city square at the bottom of the street. The driver stopped the car and offered me to drive. I wanted that immensely, but was embarrassed to do something wrong and passed this opportunity to my dad. My father and the driver switched places. My father pushed down the clutch, changed the gears, and we started moving again. Now the street went uphill a bit. The car rolled up and stopped. My father changed gears and tried again. Nothing.

For a second I’ve seen a flush picture of 30 horses lowering its gorgeous heads, being stubborn, and refusing to go any farther.

- It wouldn’t take four people up the street, - explained the seller, without even a shade of shame on his face.

Two of us had to get out and pushed for a little bit.

The seller and my father exchange places again and all three of us Lily, I, and my dad started to push the car uphill. The uphill battle was tough, and I realized that KIM, the dream car, wouldn’t make it. All my 30 imaginary horses were about to quit running.

But yet at the next moment, the dream car coughed a good portion of heavy smoke, cracked, and rolled up to the top of the street. We all got back inside one more time.

- What do you think, 1200 rubles, is the all right price for the car, - proposed the seller?

I looked at my father. His usually friendly and happy face didn’t show me a shadow of any reaction. He silently opens the car door, stepped outside, and walked toward the bus stop in silence.

I really wanted that car.

- I have only 900, - I said.

- Would that be enough? - I asked the seller, showing him with every inch of my body how desperate I was.

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- There is no way, he said. - 1100 rubles I’ll take but not a kopeck less.

I understood that I lost that game. My father left, leaving us hopeless at the site of the broken dream. All 30 horses of my dream stood silently by the blooming bush of purple-red dahlias.

We silently walked back toward the bus stop.

Lily and I took the next bus back to town. The one with my father left already. I was very upset.

- Maybe that wasn’t such a bad car after all, - I thought.

- We had it driving downhill well. Maybe a talented mechanic could of fixing it somehow!

To my total disappointment, Lily took the side of my father and told me that it wasn’t a good car for us after all.

We picked Mark at my parent’s place and walked back to ours in total silence.

Nearby our building, we noticed our neighbor. He was standing by his Zaporozec parked on the side of the street. His face showed sadness and disappointment.

- I left it just for an hour, - he said, throwing hands up in frustration.

- The two hubcaps and the wiper on the driver’s side are gone! How can I have a car here!

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- I see your point, actually, - I replied.

- It isn’t a benefit but rather a privilege to have a car. The one privilege we all can easily survive without.

And therefore we never had a car, and we never felt the bitterness of the losing one.

Soon the winter came about. The snowblower truck went by and buried the neighbor's car totally under the pile of dirty snow. Then the next snowblower went by and accidentally rolled over it.

Zaporozec, the precious ‘people’s car of the USSR’ so proudly made in Ukraine, was crushed beyond repair. When the snow eventually melted the pedestrians took what has left apart as they walked by it. They decided that it belongs to no one.

In the system of developed socialism, private property had no respect. The motto of everybody’s life was, If there is something that lay down unprotected,- it is for grubs!

Some people’s trash might be the next person to treasure. One never knows. And so, hapless Zaporozhec melted down just like the snow.

I have seen our neighbor almost every day. He salvaged the hubcap from his Zaporozhec, framed it, and hanged on a wall of his apartment as a memento.

He never got another car. We didn’t get one either. It remained an unattainable privilege for us all the way until we came up to America.

...and for that please read my next story.

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