Eventually, everything one owns needs discarded or replaced. Often this is an exciting time – a more stylish couch, a better lawn mower, a newer model of car, or just more space. But I’m finding that many things my late husband and I owned are hard to get rid of or even replace. Soon, the house and grounds will contain nothing but replacements. Less and less of him and us. It’s not that I’m terribly sentimental about “stuff” but objects do have a way of conjuring memories. The old adage, “out of sight, out of mind” is steeped in truth.
Presently, I am in the process of putting my old car up for sale. It is a 2007 we bought in 2011 and in 2024 I hope to pass it on to someone who loves Subaru’s and might need one to haul their dogs to the park, which is what I used it for since 2018. But I hate to say another good-bye to another piece of stuff holding so many memories.
And I do remember the day we bought it. My husband was the consummate negotiator and haggling for discounts was something he had great fun with. So, I recall his bold request to speak to the previous owners, who had traded it in. The salesman obliged, whether willingly or reluctantly I couldn’t say, because I usually ducked out of the conversations when it reached the negotiating stage. I’m not built for the awkward back and forth of egos. I don’t have game in this arena. But after calling a perfect stranger, who assured the perfect stranger on the other end of the line that his wife’s car had been well-maintained, Craig turned right around and bought it.
The first time I witnessed his particular set of skills was shortly after we married in 1984. Within months
and several fingers in the eyes, it became crystal clear we needed a larger bed. At the time, waterbeds were the rage, promising a less expensive bed and new bouncy sexual experiences. We eagerly went in search of one. We looked. We test-bounced. We decided on a California King. Craig and the salesman walked to the counter to take care of paperwork, while I took a turn about the room, reading pamphlets, doing whatever I could to stay away from the boring part of the purchase. Suddenly, Craig, the salesmen, and two other guys turned and walked into a side room talking excitedly and laughing. What is happening? I thought, but wasn’t about to enter this room uninvited. Minutes later, they emerged, Craig wearing his largest and most self-satisfied grin.
On the way home he explained. Evidently, at the counter the other guys were talking and one mentioned that he had recently won an arm-wrestling contest. My Iowa-born husband, who spent the good part of his youth wrestling cows and pigs for castration, had a light-bulb go off. If he could beat this guy, would they knock off $50.00 from the price of the waterbed? Egos flared.
Yes, they would. And yes, they did.
The next time this happened, years later, was during the purchase of a Ford Explorer in Columbus. Again, we looked. We test drove. We decided on a champaign-colored one. Again, I strolled around the showroom while Craig followed the man into his office to haggle and sign paperwork. The next thing I know, a herd of men are scurrying out the front door and getting into cars. Again, I thought, What the hell is happening?
My husband, though born and raised in Iowa, was a rabid fan of the Baltimore Orioles. As he sat on the other side of the negotiating desk, he noticed a photo of the salesman in an Orioles uniform. “Did you play for the Orioles?” he asked, somewhat surprised. The salesman, Kevin Hickey, told him he had a brief stint as a pitcher for the Orioles. They talked. They bonded. A light bulb went on.
“If I can hit a pitch off of you, will you knock off $300.00 from the car?”
Yes, he would. And yes, he did.
Recently, I found the old bill of sale for the Explorer. At the bottom, the salesman had written, “Keep on Swinging!”
The last time I remember his negotiating skills being used in a significant way was on an airplane. Ever gregarious, Craig struck up a conversation with the guy sitting next to him. Turns out, he owned a used car business. I don’t remember much of the details, except that Craig had convinced this guy to allow him to go to a car auction with him. Craig would choose the truck he wanted and the guy would buy it. Craig would then give him a fee and that would be that. Why the guy didn’t just tell Craig to come to his dealership and buy a truck, I don’t know. But we essentially got a truck for wholesale, plus some cost less than a normal profit or Craig wouldn't have negotiated it. Who does this?
The man had a particular set of skills for sure. He was both savvy with money and generous with it. He was savvy SO he could be generous. He provided well for many. Today is his birthday. If he was still here, we would go out to dinner. Maybe buy something new to replace something old...at a discount. He would be sixty-four.
Yes, I still need you. Yes, you still feed me. Yours forever more.
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