I have a friend from West Texas. A mountain of a man, he stands over six feet tall and weighs about two hundred and ten pounds. He’s kind, with soft brown eyes and a sweet Southern drawl.
He has a habit of saying such-and-such is “awful”. If you gave him a gift out of nowhere he’d probably tell you that was “awful kind of you”. Well, recently he had said something that stuck with me in a different way. He had described my family and I as being “awful poor” right now, but I don’t know that I agree with him.
In February of this year my life changed in many ways. I got to travel to California for a work trip. I got to see the ocean for the first time in person. As good as that experience was however, I’ll also always remember that it was during that trip my girlfriend lost her job. Suddenly, I became the only person in my family to be working. In an instant nearly all our bills hit my shoulders, and here we are nearly six months later. She’s still out of work and trying every day. Money is tighter than it’s ever been and we are living paycheck to paycheck even more than before.
In California, I saw Bentleys shoulder to shoulder with Geo Metros held together with duct tape. I saw magnificent hotels surrounded by cameras, with unhoused people huddled at their locked gates. That particular sight is one I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
Two weeks passed and I came home to Texas with a phone full of pictures and a heart full of sadness and worry. Gas prices were starting their stratospheric rise and in late February I sold my 1992 Camaro. I realized I needed a car that was better on fuel but also one I knew without a doubt would last. Something I could trust to get me and my family through this ongoing rough patch. Selling the Camaro gave me enough money to buy the subject of today’s COAL, and just enough to add to the money my family and I had been saving for the better part of a year to buy the mobile home we live in. Rather, to make the down payment on it.
Dusty Blu, as my Volvo is known, sits at two hundred and twelve thousand miles. I am only the third owner. While not perfect, this nearly-forty-year-old family sedan has done the one thing I’ve needed since I got it. It’s gotten me around without fail, without exception. Yes the main fuel pump is whining; no, the air-conditioning doesn’t blow cold, but Dusty does what 240s do and keeps chugging along.
There’s no need in going into the history of the 240. There’s no need in describing how it drives. It’s not slow, it’s not fast, it gets to sixty exactly when it means to. It drives like a suit of lead. Steady on, always. I’ve repaired a few things on it and likely will continue as the years roll on.
That’s not the point.
Dusty has remained a constant good in a life full of struggle right now. As I sit in the traffic that surrounds the impoverished industrial area I call home, I see people sleeping under the overpass. I see folks brought to their lowest in a way I am one bad paycheck away from in so many ways.
As my Volvo idles, engine ticking over as a steady as a heartbeat, my heart grows heavy. Here I am, with a home in my name, food on the table, and what was a car that forty years ago cost more than double what I make in a year. As I sit there at the overpass, a man walks up asking for money. “That’s a beautiful car.” He says. I respond with a thank you and reach into my ash tray for the coins that had been there since I bought the car. I haven’t put anything more in it since. I wish I could help more right now, but between new bills and medical problems, it’s just not possible.
My family and I are poor, no doubt. We are one disaster away from losing everything we’ve worked so hard for. Constantly aware of the sword of Damocles above us. However…we’re so lucky. I know I’ve got my chosen family with me every step of the way. I’ve got a home, food, and a car I love in the driveway.
It’s easy to get swept up in fear. It’s too easy to let the rising tide of hopelessness crash down upon us. Things are hard, and they aren’t likely to get better. These days, as I sit behind the wheel of my old Volvo, I recall the words of my friend once again.
He was visiting, and I was under the hood cleaning the valve cover of old caked on dirt and oil when he came up behind me. He clapped a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt on my shoulder and I turned to look up at him. He smiled and said “Cassy…I’m awful proud of you”.
As I write this post, I have a two-digit bank balance, a few days away from another paycheck. With it, I’ll pay for the house I call home, and the land it sits on. Money will go, as it so often does. I’ll look out my window to see my girlfriend’s Honda Element, and my old Volvo right beside it.
I’m awful proud, too.
Your story made my morning; I really mean that. Keep soldiering on, just like that trusty old Swede. I think all of us who read this are awful proud of you.
Properly ,just as long lasting as the MB 123 series but with out the high parts prices .Come on Volvo. Do it again not just Volvo fing Ford Focus.
+1.
Very nicely written piece, and very cool old Volvo. Keep that positive attitude and it will see you through to better times.
An awful nice read to go along with my morning coffee. “It’s not slow, it’s not fast”. That’s a great description of most of the favorite cars that I’ve owned. May Dusty do you well. FYI, that gold Volvo badge on the dash looks it’s the fender badging from an older (pre-1965, at least in the US) Volvo 122S Amazon.
If there ever was a story which puts into sharp relief the contrasts of America, I think yours does. Except for one thing; I do think things will get better for you and your girlfriend. Having a car (and a person) you can count on when times get hard is one of the most important things in life. Btw your friend sounds awful awesome 😎
My Volvo fanatic friend showed me dozens of Volvo’s, many of which only needed minor repairs. They are rugged and tough, but I couldn’t believe how Volvo used the absolutely worst wiring I’ve ever seen, and the electric system is a nightmare. Runs contrary to the rest of the car which is superbly built.
You think the electrical system is a nightmare? Change the heater blower motor in one of these. The entire car is assembled around the blower motor.
Thank you for this post .
You clearly show that you’re not ‘poor’ , poor is a state of mind and you’re doing what needs to be done, BT and DT .
Here’s hoping you get a turn around soon .
Don’t forget to change the fuel filter A.S.A.P. and use s magic marker to note the date and mileage on it ~ no one ever changes them and they’re always dirty, this causes the fuel pump to overwork…
IIRC this car has two fuel pumps in it .
-Nate
That’s on the list! I replaced the in tank pump not long after getting it. I’ll be doing the main pump, filter, and relays as soon as money allows. Also, to address the comment above:
The car was originally owned by a lifelong Volvo owner who had a 122S and traded it in for Dusty. Ordered it right from the factory in Sweden. He drove it in NM for 33 years and traded it in for another Volvo in 2016. So I think the badge and the hubcaps I found in the trunk we’re from his Amazon.
If the hubcaps have a red painted center as background for the V, then they’re the old style ones that go with that badge. The newer 122S hubcaps have a different form and a black background for the V which is also a different font than the old ones. Unlike the Ford oval, Chevy bow tie or M-B star, Volvo never seemed to use their actual company logo consistently on their cars.
My experience with 144/240 Volvos was they are exceptionally rugged, and relatively easy to work on with the exception of two things. Have had experience with 3, including a diesel.
1) The heater fan. Various mechanics have said that the entire car is built around the heater fan. So if it breaks, well, it’s a huge pain to get to to replace. And they do break.
2) The lean-burn system they borrowed from Chrysler. The best thing to do is to just plug the vacuum line that goes to it. You can do that in Texas but you cannot get it to pass smog in California if you do that.
I found the electrics to be simple and rugged. But on later Volvos that I’ve had to help neighbors with (740’s, 960’s, and subsequent) I found the electrics to be a nightmare.
Well written. You have the right attitude, so all can be overcome.
Oy sheeyoot.
One cannot pay rent with The Right Attitude™. Same goes for doctors and dentists and utility companies; grocery stores, insurance companies, gas stations, pharmacies, clothing stores, and all the other vendors of life’s necessities.
They don’t take pulled bootstraps, either; dollars are required. If one doesn’t have any of those, then you live (or die) without; no state-of-mind adjustment or attitude selection will help.
Don’t forget thoughts and prayers!
That may be true, but how you react and deal with your set backs is very important. The right attitude guides you to make the right choices, to remain optimistic and moving in a positive direction. It will help you to make the right choices and follow an opportunity when it presents itself. What is the alternative? Hopelessness? Despair? Substance abuse to dull the pain?
That is why your belief system is so important and fundamental to your success and survival. Your Faith, your family, and your true friends can mean the difference in survival and success. I hope for the best outcome for you and your family.
Ahmen!
Attitude can’t help or cure everything, but it sure can help. I hope things look up soon for Cassy.
On the subject of Volvos, that body series was amazing. People absolutely loved them, although they’re mostly gone now even here in Calif. Closest I came to driving one was back around ’73 when I drove a friends brand new 142GT. A wow car to me at the time, but my frame of reference was 6 volt, aircooled VWs. But those 240 series Volvos are just so beloved, not fast, didn’t handle particularly well, weren’t thirsty, but not miserly on gas either, but something about them brought them a wide, loyal and passionate following. I’m sure reliability helped, but there was more than that.
Reading this gave me a lump in my throat! Great attitude, Cassy!
Good luck with the trusty Volvo – I’m sure it will serve you and your family well and I hope you other half lands that job.
I’m sure everyone in the CC community who reads this will also feel “awful proud” of you!
Good luck with your Volvo! Reminds me of my 1980 240 2-door, same color. I had it for 21 years, from 1982 to 2003, and it accumulated about 245,000 miles by the end (VDO odometer became intermittent in the last years with a cracked plastic gear).
Girl, you’re one of the strongest people I know and I’m glad to call you a friend. The abundance and beauty you manage to pull from some of the hardest times is admirable. This country can be and often is cruel, and I don’t know the right solutions, but I believe in you. Thank you for sharing this story with us. I’m awful proud of you, too.