A Car For You In 24 Hours.
Once I started working full-time, I quickly realized that if I wanted to play hockey five or six nights a week, I would need my own car.
I can only remember having a family car once in my life when I was five years old living in St John’s Newfoundland. I can remember driving to the A&W with my parents and having burgers, fries and frosty glass mugs of Root Beer brought out to our car. The carhop tray was positioned on my father's rolled down window. It was exactly like the Arnold's Drive-In Diner on the old Happy Days sitcom.
Once my parents got separated and later divorced a family car would no longer be part of my life. We walked everywhere and if it was too far we took a bus or got a ride with friends. The odd time when the weather was good we rode our bikes. My mother never had a driver’s license so owning a car was never even an option for us.
Once I started working at Collegiate Sports, I began to play a lot more ice hockey. I knew traveling to arenas all over the city by bus while lugging a big bag of hockey gear was not going to suffice. Playing late night games would be next to impossible since many bus routes wouldn't even be running during the late evenings. Relying on my friends for rides to games was an inconvenience for me as well as them. If they decided they didn’t want to play or had other plans, I wasn’t going to be playing either. For them having to pick me up and then dropping me off just meant they got home even later than I did.
Once I got my license I was tempted to phone the number many times, but I literally had no money. After paying my mother her room and board along with my daily lunches and any cost associated with playing hockey, there was no money left over. I was skint all the time. On top of never having money, I had also gotten myself into an enormous over my head credit card debt.
Right from the start the car seemed to be driving a bit rough and it was very jerky. I assumed it was because I just needed to get used to driving a standard. Once I got on the highway though, it seemed to run better at the higher speeds. I pulled into the Esso gas station just south of the Yorkdale Mall on Dufferin Street. I wanted to fill up my tank for the first time. The first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was a terrible burning smell; it was coming from the rear area. The second thing I noticed was a very intense heat coming from my rear wheels.
What an idiot I was.
That 1977 Honda Civic turned out to be a great little first car and I drove it for two years. The hatchback was great for all my hockey equipment. On nights when I drove a goalie friend, there was always more than enough room for all of his gear too. I kept the oil changed regularly, but other than that the car had cost me very little to maintain.
For me having my own car allowed me to play hockey everywhere and anywhere in the city. One night I would drive out to play in Scarborough and the next night I would be at Doublerinks up in Concord or in Mississauga. It was great to finally be able to come and go on my schedule although I was even more skint than I ever was. Once I got a better paying job I paid off my car loan.
Eventually the front brakes wore out completely. They were right down to metal on metal and I was now looking at a very expensive repair bill. No worries, I wanted a bigger car anyways. A neighborhood mechanic gave me two hundred bucks for my first car. He too also loved the wood steering wheel just as much as I did. Surprisingly, I never replaced the rear brakes; I never had to as they worked fine the whole time I owned the car.
When I look back on my first car, I find it rather amusing that my number one priority for buying the car was so I could play more hockey. Hockey had once again taken priority. For most guys my age their first car would be opening up a whole new world of dating and having girlfriends. Going out with their girlfriends would now be their focus and playing hockey would most likely be taking a backseat.
Afterall, I think if you gave most guys the choice of having a girlfriend or a stinky, sweaty bag of hockey gear in the backseat, the choice would be obvious. I guess I was a bit different because I seemed to always have the hockey gear in my backseat. Although, I probably didn’t have as much fun with my hockey gear as they did with their girlfriends.
I still did have a lot of fun.
I can only remember having a family car once in my life when I was five years old living in St John’s Newfoundland. I can remember driving to the A&W with my parents and having burgers, fries and frosty glass mugs of Root Beer brought out to our car. The carhop tray was positioned on my father's rolled down window. It was exactly like the Arnold's Drive-In Diner on the old Happy Days sitcom.
Once my parents got separated and later divorced a family car would no longer be part of my life. We walked everywhere and if it was too far we took a bus or got a ride with friends. The odd time when the weather was good we rode our bikes. My mother never had a driver’s license so owning a car was never even an option for us.
Once I started working at Collegiate Sports, I began to play a lot more ice hockey. I knew traveling to arenas all over the city by bus while lugging a big bag of hockey gear was not going to suffice. Playing late night games would be next to impossible since many bus routes wouldn't even be running during the late evenings. Relying on my friends for rides to games was an inconvenience for me as well as them. If they decided they didn’t want to play or had other plans, I wasn’t going to be playing either. For them having to pick me up and then dropping me off just meant they got home even later than I did.
I now more than ever needed my own car and my own independence.
I was nineteen years of age when I finally got my driver’s license. Almost all of my friends who drove had gotten their license when they were sixteen. For as long as I could remember a small ad appeared daily in the classifieds at the back of the Toronto Sun newspaper. It simply read 'A Car For You In 24 Hours' along with a phone number
I was nineteen years of age when I finally got my driver’s license. Almost all of my friends who drove had gotten their license when they were sixteen. For as long as I could remember a small ad appeared daily in the classifieds at the back of the Toronto Sun newspaper. It simply read 'A Car For You In 24 Hours' along with a phone number
Once I got my license I was tempted to phone the number many times, but I literally had no money. After paying my mother her room and board along with my daily lunches and any cost associated with playing hockey, there was no money left over. I was skint all the time. On top of never having money, I had also gotten myself into an enormous over my head credit card debt.
Slowly, I was drowning in debt.
My focus would be to diligently and quickly clear all my debt obligations. It was tough, but within a couple years I was finally debt free.
I finally called the number.
After calling to inquire about the ad and before I knew what was happening, I was being picked up within the hour. I was told that there was a car sitting on their lot with my name on it and it was just waiting for me to drive away on that day.
They sure seemed pretty eager to sell me a car.
Living in the Lawrence Heights housing project, it is not too often that a big Lincoln Continental would drive into our building's parking lot. But, on that beautiful sunny spring morning that would be my ride to be introduced to my car. The car I was told that was just waiting for me to drive off the lot with my name on it. It was an older gentleman who picked me up and within minutes we were heading westbound on Hwy 401 and I had no idea where this complete stranger was taking me. As I looked out my window I noticed we were passing by the Toronto International Airport.
I then realized that I had not even left a note to let my mother know where I was going. Hell, I didn't even know where I was going. What if this guy was a serial killer and I never returned? I might never play hockey again, I thought to myself.
It was around this time that the ‘Clown Killer’ William Gacy was all in the news. He was making headlines for murdering 33 teenagers and young men in the Chicago area. He would drive his victims over to his house to do odd jobs. He would then drug, rape and kill them burying their bodies in his basement crawlspace. I could completely disappear and nobody would have any idea where I had been or who I was with.
I got a bit scared.
He seemed friendly enough as we continued chatting. We were now heading north on a road I had never been on or had even heard of before. There was nothing but cows, horses and farmland on both sides of the road.
He just kept driving north.
After an hour or so we pulled into Caledon Datsun, we had arrived at our destination. As far as I could gather it was a family run business and everyone was very friendly. The gentleman who had driven now returned from a small office with a set of keys in his hand. We walked out to the used car lot and after walking about a hundred feet I was introduced to my car.
My car was a 1977 dark green Honda Civic hatchback, the plate number was LSF 410. It was immaculately clean and had no rust, but also had no options. There was only an AM radio and there was no air conditioning. But what was really cool about the car was that it had a solid wooden steering wheel.
I thought that was so James Bond like.
The mileage was close to sixty thousand kilometers, not too bad for an already three year old vehicle. I actually really liked the car, but there was one problem and it was a big problem.
“I don’t know how to drive a standard,” I told him.
“No problem, you’ll learn on your test drive. Hop in and start it up.” He replied as he handed me the keys.
“It’s pretty easy.” He added.
We went back out onto the same road we had just driven up on. We drove around for about twenty minutes and I was driving fine. He seemed very eager for me to buy that car; he had the ladies in the office do up all the paperwork. Once we returned from my test drive and lesson combo all that was needed was my signature. I parked the car and pulled up the handbrake. I was told using the handbrake was a must on a standard car, I had never used a handbrake before. For all of my ten driving lessons I drove an automatic, there was no handbrake and I drove the same car the day I got my license.
Within twenty minutes I had all the paperwork signed. I had already been pre-approved for a loan with the Bank of Nova Scotia. How that was arranged, I still have no idea because they knew absolutely nothing about me. The dealership also had a connection with an insurance company and I now also had my first auto policy in my hand. I received two paycheques every month at Collegiate Sports, each for exactly $350. From my first cheque, I would now have a $185 monthly car payment for the next three years. From my second cheque, I now had a $185 monthly car insurance payment.
To this day I still don’t even know the actual price of my first car.
I drove away from the dealership, it was now early afternoon and as I glanced into my rearview mirror I thought I was watching the closing credits of the Beverly Hillbillies. Everyone from the dealership was just standing outside waving goodbye as I drove away. I couldn't believe I was now driving my first car without even putting down a dime of my own money.
I had no idea where I was and I had never heard of this Caledon place before that day, but the directions back were simple. I would drive straight down the same road we had driven up on until I arrived at Hwy 401. I would then head east for about a half hour over to Dufferin Street.
My focus would be to diligently and quickly clear all my debt obligations. It was tough, but within a couple years I was finally debt free.
I finally called the number.
After calling to inquire about the ad and before I knew what was happening, I was being picked up within the hour. I was told that there was a car sitting on their lot with my name on it and it was just waiting for me to drive away on that day.
They sure seemed pretty eager to sell me a car.
Living in the Lawrence Heights housing project, it is not too often that a big Lincoln Continental would drive into our building's parking lot. But, on that beautiful sunny spring morning that would be my ride to be introduced to my car. The car I was told that was just waiting for me to drive off the lot with my name on it. It was an older gentleman who picked me up and within minutes we were heading westbound on Hwy 401 and I had no idea where this complete stranger was taking me. As I looked out my window I noticed we were passing by the Toronto International Airport.
I then realized that I had not even left a note to let my mother know where I was going. Hell, I didn't even know where I was going. What if this guy was a serial killer and I never returned? I might never play hockey again, I thought to myself.
It was around this time that the ‘Clown Killer’ William Gacy was all in the news. He was making headlines for murdering 33 teenagers and young men in the Chicago area. He would drive his victims over to his house to do odd jobs. He would then drug, rape and kill them burying their bodies in his basement crawlspace. I could completely disappear and nobody would have any idea where I had been or who I was with.
I got a bit scared.
He seemed friendly enough as we continued chatting. We were now heading north on a road I had never been on or had even heard of before. There was nothing but cows, horses and farmland on both sides of the road.
He just kept driving north.
After an hour or so we pulled into Caledon Datsun, we had arrived at our destination. As far as I could gather it was a family run business and everyone was very friendly. The gentleman who had driven now returned from a small office with a set of keys in his hand. We walked out to the used car lot and after walking about a hundred feet I was introduced to my car.
My car was a 1977 dark green Honda Civic hatchback, the plate number was LSF 410. It was immaculately clean and had no rust, but also had no options. There was only an AM radio and there was no air conditioning. But what was really cool about the car was that it had a solid wooden steering wheel.
I thought that was so James Bond like.
The mileage was close to sixty thousand kilometers, not too bad for an already three year old vehicle. I actually really liked the car, but there was one problem and it was a big problem.
“I don’t know how to drive a standard,” I told him.
“No problem, you’ll learn on your test drive. Hop in and start it up.” He replied as he handed me the keys.
“It’s pretty easy.” He added.
We went back out onto the same road we had just driven up on. We drove around for about twenty minutes and I was driving fine. He seemed very eager for me to buy that car; he had the ladies in the office do up all the paperwork. Once we returned from my test drive and lesson combo all that was needed was my signature. I parked the car and pulled up the handbrake. I was told using the handbrake was a must on a standard car, I had never used a handbrake before. For all of my ten driving lessons I drove an automatic, there was no handbrake and I drove the same car the day I got my license.
Within twenty minutes I had all the paperwork signed. I had already been pre-approved for a loan with the Bank of Nova Scotia. How that was arranged, I still have no idea because they knew absolutely nothing about me. The dealership also had a connection with an insurance company and I now also had my first auto policy in my hand. I received two paycheques every month at Collegiate Sports, each for exactly $350. From my first cheque, I would now have a $185 monthly car payment for the next three years. From my second cheque, I now had a $185 monthly car insurance payment.
To this day I still don’t even know the actual price of my first car.
I drove away from the dealership, it was now early afternoon and as I glanced into my rearview mirror I thought I was watching the closing credits of the Beverly Hillbillies. Everyone from the dealership was just standing outside waving goodbye as I drove away. I couldn't believe I was now driving my first car without even putting down a dime of my own money.
I had no idea where I was and I had never heard of this Caledon place before that day, but the directions back were simple. I would drive straight down the same road we had driven up on until I arrived at Hwy 401. I would then head east for about a half hour over to Dufferin Street.
Right from the start the car seemed to be driving a bit rough and it was very jerky. I assumed it was because I just needed to get used to driving a standard. Once I got on the highway though, it seemed to run better at the higher speeds. I pulled into the Esso gas station just south of the Yorkdale Mall on Dufferin Street. I wanted to fill up my tank for the first time. The first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was a terrible burning smell; it was coming from the rear area. The second thing I noticed was a very intense heat coming from my rear wheels.
I then realized I had driven all the way home with the handbrake on and I never released it when I left the dealership. That would explain why the car was jerking when I began my journey home. I was even told that I had to release the handbrake, but I had forgotten. Now for sure my rear brakes were toast, literally
What an idiot I was.
That 1977 Honda Civic turned out to be a great little first car and I drove it for two years. The hatchback was great for all my hockey equipment. On nights when I drove a goalie friend, there was always more than enough room for all of his gear too. I kept the oil changed regularly, but other than that the car had cost me very little to maintain.
For me having my own car allowed me to play hockey everywhere and anywhere in the city. One night I would drive out to play in Scarborough and the next night I would be at Doublerinks up in Concord or in Mississauga. It was great to finally be able to come and go on my schedule although I was even more skint than I ever was. Once I got a better paying job I paid off my car loan.
Eventually the front brakes wore out completely. They were right down to metal on metal and I was now looking at a very expensive repair bill. No worries, I wanted a bigger car anyways. A neighborhood mechanic gave me two hundred bucks for my first car. He too also loved the wood steering wheel just as much as I did. Surprisingly, I never replaced the rear brakes; I never had to as they worked fine the whole time I owned the car.
When I look back on my first car, I find it rather amusing that my number one priority for buying the car was so I could play more hockey. Hockey had once again taken priority. For most guys my age their first car would be opening up a whole new world of dating and having girlfriends. Going out with their girlfriends would now be their focus and playing hockey would most likely be taking a backseat.
Afterall, I think if you gave most guys the choice of having a girlfriend or a stinky, sweaty bag of hockey gear in the backseat, the choice would be obvious. I guess I was a bit different because I seemed to always have the hockey gear in my backseat. Although, I probably didn’t have as much fun with my hockey gear as they did with their girlfriends.
I still did have a lot of fun.
