Rolls-Royce love, Part 2

HE AND GEORGE WONG became great friends and he visited “China Town” often. 

The conversations were about cars, especially Rolls-Royces. It seemed George knew the location of every Rolls-Royce is Riverside and San Bernardino counties. His own Rolls remained unrepaired. George said there was an ongoing lawsuit with the woman who caused the damaged fender. In all the years that he knew George, the fender remained damaged.

The time came to ask George for help in finding a Rolls-Royce. George told him there were three cars stored in a garage in Riverside, and the owner couldn’t pay the rent. George gave him the name and address ,and without delay he called on one James Johnson. After a brief discussion Mr. Johnson agreed to show him the cars.

Of the three cars, a big boxy Silver Ghost -- said to have belonged to Estelle Taylor, wife of the prize fighter Jack Dempsey -- was offered first as the best buy. It was in terrible condition, and a Murphy body convertible looked more promising. Later, he recalled he was very wrong. The Ghost chassis became more popular and valuable with time. But he liked the Murphy bodied car the most.

When he told George Mr. Johnson asked only $150 for the car, George nearly exploded. “*#*^x*#*, Mac, get bill of sale and pink slip. Hurry up!” So he paid the $150 for his first Rolls-Royce. He remembered the price rose quickly on the remaining cars.

After a few weekends of hard work, he was surprised how quickly much of the splendor of the Rolls, Number S287FP, had returned. He had the upholstery brought to life, too.  He found out his was a Springfield car, made in Massachusetts when Roll-Royce attempted an expansion into the States. (Fifty years later, the car was auctioned in Europe for a hundred and eighty thousand dollars and had spent 20 years in a museum.)

Murphy body Silver Ghost.

When the car was in order he went to visit and show it to George. He parked the car in the usual place and George came out. They chatted across the front seats, he remembered, George standing beside the car, facing the length of his property. Suddenly, without a pause in their conversation, George drew a revolver and fired past him at a group of people dumping trash at the west end.

The bullet had to have passed close to his left ear, he thought. Alarmed, he turned around to determine the target and hunch down below the door top. George said to him, smiling, “Don’t worry, Mac, barrel crooked.”

The old pistol’s barrel was rusty and six sided. He stayed seated on the running board to collect his thoughts. The group a hundred and fifty yards away seemed not disturbed. There was no telling where the bullet went.

George had a number of cars in almost running condition. He recalled Packard and Dodge convertibles both of the early thirties and an air-cooled Franklin of an earlier age. The Packard was  partly concealed by a fallen roof. In today’s market they all would have brought a fortune, regardless of their condition.

One day he brought his tiny young daughter to see George and she noticed chickens voicing their concern at their approach; George kept them principally as warning devices. She joyfully shouted, a long remembered, “Coo Coo George!”

Far from it, Sweetie, he said to himself, smiling.