When I was about 17 and and a half, I’d been borrowing my mom’s 6+ year old Mercury Montego enough to cause her to consider buying a new car. She decided on a new Chrysler Volaré because she loved the Dean Martin song (Vo-LAR-ay!) in the commercials. As a young 17 year old kid, I didn’t care what she bought, as I’d be able to buy the Montego for whatever the dealer would offer in trade. (BTW, my parents were divorced, so my dad does not figure in this story).
She came home with the cream-colored Volaré coupe with its wheezing Super Slant Six, proud and happy, one fine October day, from Teterboro Chrysler. I believe it cost about $4500. For the next month the car was just fine. Mom was happy, I was happy. Life was Good.
We brought the car in for it’s 1000-mile service in early December. Late in the day, my mom received a call from the dealership. “Uh, Mrs. Blitz, the mechanic was road testing your car this afternoon, and he got caught on a patch of ice and got into a fender bender with your car. But don’t worry, we can fix it up, good as new, and we’ll give you a loaner for a few days while it’s being repaired.”
We drove to the dealership to get the loaner. They weren’t too keen to let us see the mom’s car, and I slipped out of the showroom and walked around back of the dealership. It was there I saw Mom’s car, which even with my untrained eyes, I could see this was no mere fender bender. The car looked totaled.
I ran back to the showroom and told my mom to come see the car. The showroom manager was none too pleased, but he followed us out the door.
“A ‘fender bender’?!” my mom exclaimed.
“Er, well, as I said, the mechanic got caught on some ice and rear ended a truck.”
I asked, “Did the mechanic LIVE?” I wasn’t being a wise guy. The car’s hood and front end were pushed in about a foot, the windshield was cracked, and I pictured blood all over the dash (there wasn’t).
“He’ll be fine. Just a bit shaken up.”
We both stated our doubts about being able to fix this; that the car looked totaled to us, and we weren’t sure the repairs would ever make the car whole again. The manager assured us that they were experts with these cars, and we’d have it back in a few days a week, tops.
We drove home in a turd-brown 4-door Volaré loaner.
After a week, and no word from the dealership, Mom called them. She was told it’d be another week, and not to worry.
Another week went by, and the same story.
So now it was time for the 17-year old to start using the loaner car, and having his way with it. Did you know that transmissions make Real Bad Noises when you throw them into reverse at highway speed?
After 5 weeks, we finally got the Mom’s car back. It looked good as new, and we drove off with hope in our hearts.
On the second day, the car stalled on Mom’s way to work and had to be towed to the dealer. Two days in the shop, and it was returned to us.
On the third day, it died again, stranding Mom near the Lincoln Tunnel.
Another night in the shop, and the car was returned to us.
Again the car soon died, stranding us. We took a cab home, retrieved my Montego, and drove to the dealership. My mother flung the Volaré’s keys on the manager’s desk and said, “This car has stranded me three times in three weeks. It will never be fixed right, and I do not feel safe driving it anywhere. I want a new car.”
“Well Mrs. Blitz, be reasonable, the car had a thousand mile on it when you brought it in. We can’t just give you a new car.”
“Well, I don’t want it.” and at that, we left the dealership.
The next day, they called to say the repairs were made and we could pick it up anytime. Mom replied, saying she didn’t want the car anymore, and that she wasn’t making any more payments on it, and they could have it back.
She spent the next days calling lawyers and whoever would listen, trying to get leverage on the dealership. This was before Lemon Laws came into effect, so her recourse was virtually nil. After a week or so trying to get lawyers to take her case or her story in the local papers- fruitless, as Teterboro Chrysler was a big advertiser, we drove dejectedly to the dealership and took possession of the VoLemon.
We needed a new angle on how to get the dealership to budge. If the newspapers wouldn’t help, we’d do our own advertising.
On the way home, we stopped and bought some clear plastic sheeting and colored vinyl tape. Once home, we applied the plastic to the car, and started affixing the tape as signage all over the car.
“THIS CAR IS A LEMON”
“BUY AND CRY AT TETERBORO CHRYSLER”
“WANT HEADACHES? BUY A VOLARE!”
Mom typed up the story of the car and taped it into the windows. We then drove the car around, back and forth on Route 46 in front of the dealership. We stopped to eat at the Burger King across the street. The car gathered a lot of attention, to the point where after a few days, someone from the dealership asked the manager of the Burger King to not allow us to park there. Unfortunately (for them) the BK manager had read our story, and we sat with him over some Whoppers, and he sympathized with our plight. He said he admired my mom’s feistyness. So when the dealership asked that he not allow us to park on his property, he told them that not only were we welcome to park, right in front under the BK sign , but that none of the mechanics from the dealership were allowed in his restaurant until they made us whole again.
After about a week, with no real progress, my mom’s friend Matty Larusso had an idea.
Matty and I went in to the dealership. I’d shaved my beard, so as not to be recognized. Matty and I posed as father and son. The story was that Matty was gonna buy himself a nice, fully loaded top-of-the-line Chrysler Newport, and he was buying his son (me) a hot new Roadrunner with all the bells and whistles. He’s paying cash, he’s paying full bust-out sticker with no haggling, and he wants the cars right away! And throw in the undercoating and deeeeluxe floor mats too!
After an hour or so of adding options and watching the salesman’s and manager’s eyes glaze with delight, they brought out the paperwork. If I recall, the two cars together came to almost $13,000. A fortune in 1977. I could see Matty stalling, looking out the front window of the dealership. Finally, as he was about to sign on the dotted line, my mom drove by in the sign-bedecked VoLemon.
“”What’s THAT?” Matty asked.
“Oh, that?” the manager stumbled. “That’s just some crazy woman who’s not happy with her car.”
“Really?” Matty asked.
“Yes, we’ve tried to help her but she’s asking for a new car for free. It’s a long story.”
With that, Matty slowly placed the pen down in front of the manager. “I think I’d like to hear that story before I buy anything here.” He turned to me, “C’mon son, let’s go talk to that woman and see if this is a place we want to do business with.” And with that we walked out, the manager’s and salesman’s jaws on their chests.
The phone was ringing when we got home that evening.
“Mrs. Blitz, we’d like you to come in and talk about what we can do about your situation.”
Ultimately, we told them that the chance for them to ‘make it right’ was way passed, and that we weren’t interested in a replacement from them. We wanted a full refund of the price of the car. Amazingly, they settled for the full price, minus the 3 months payments we’d made. About $4200 I believe.
The next day, Mom bought a Chevy Malibu.
And never listened to that damn song again.