My Car  

D Vautier
11/2006

When I arrived in Germany I was filthy rich...well, that is, relatively sort of filthy rich.  I had a whapping $250 sitting in my bank account doing absolutely nothing, so I was definitely to be considered a man of great means.  Today $250 doesn’t sound like much but in the Army in Germany in 1965 it was some serious green, believe me.  A private’s salary was $67 a month before taxes, but considering they gave you a place to sleep, three good squares a day and lots of cool exercise, (in basic you were too tired to spend money on beer and girls anyway), and it was in fact quite possible and easy to save.  So I saved for the future, whatever that might hold.  Turns out it was fortuitous but at the same time ill-omened.

I don't remember too well my first few days in Europe, but one late night Kaufman came swaggering into our room up on the third floor of our barracks building, and as usual, blazing drunk.  He was a short-timer (close to discharge), leaving soon for the states and was on one of his usual benders. Kaufman was the Senior Battery Clerk and he had only a week left in his tour before he got rotated back to the states.  If you think being a clerk sounds like a flunky job, well it wasn’t at all; it was actually a very powerful and influential position.  Sure, you had to be real good with a typewriter, and know finances, and be familiar with the myriad forms, papers, and procedures that were required to keep a battery running smoothly.  You had to know how to cut orders, schedule activities, and order supplies, but most important of all you had the first sergeant’s ear, and that carried a good deal of power because he had the captain's ear.  So nobody messed around with Kaufman, the first sergeant’s clerk, or they would soon find themselves doing a lot of KP, guard duty, CQ and anything else that's especially nasty.

Anyway Kaufman placed some discreet queries about some of the new guys to find out who may have a little spare cash on hand.  As I remember, the conversation went like this:

Kaufman:  Hey Vautier, want to buy my car.
Me:  You mean that beat up Opal Cadet of yours?
Kaufman:  Yah, that one.
Me: How much do you want for it?
Kaufman: $200.
Me:  That seems kind of high for that car.
Kaufman:  You don’t get it.  This is a packaged deal.  You get the car and a license.
Me:  Holy shit ....A license!  I’ll have your $200 by noon tomorrow.

Now I have to explain a simple and very important fact of life.   Nobody, but nobody gets a drivers license in Germany, especially an unmarried buck private low-life know-nothing slick-sleeve, unless there’s a damn good reason for it.  You usually have to be an E-5 and/or be married, or have $200 dollars cash.

But having a car had serious drawbacks as well.  I immediately acquired a lot of interesting friends, many of them rather unsavory types from other platoons, like sound, flash, and headquarters, friends that I otherwise would not care to associate with.  All of the sudden they became my true buddies, or as we used to say "asshole buddies."  And a series of unlikely adventures occurred in the months that followed, some funny, some wicked, but all without exception reckless and wild.

Fortunately I didn’t have my car long enough to get me into really big trouble, and it was educational.

But…. That is another story anyway.