I have been very lucky indeed in that my mind is clear and I am blessed with a good memory. At least when I remember the fun stuff. Some stuff I still tend to shudder when it comes back to haunt me. In this instance though the memory is bitter sweet and I have taken a few minutes to record what it is. I was somehow reminded of an old car I had in the sixties. I was just becoming interested in European machinery and I couldn’t really afford a sports car. I’d wanted a TR-3 but the impracticality of it ruled the day. I decided to look at small sedans. The SAAB marque entered my life to stay. With the exception of the years that I lived overseas or on the west coast I have pretty much owned SAABs. Here are two photos which have much to do with this entry.
There are many others that I’ve owned in between these two but let’s limit the discussion. The type of car in the top photo is mentioned below. The car in the lower photo is the type I presently own. O.K. Here is the story. I hope you enjoy it and I hope your day is going well.
A GOOD THING COMES TO AN END
Warren listened to the SAAB owner describe his car’s malfunction. The owner’s complaint was not stated clearly and after a few minutes Warren decided to take the car out for a test drive along the winding neighborhood roads of Hingham. He asked the owner to drive. Warren needed to be in the front passenger seat to better listen for defects while the car was moving.
Warren was an excellent mechanic. He knew SAABs like the back of his hand. His father, George Cowing, owned Cowing Auto Sales where he sold the Swedish import. Warren had been one of the first mechanics trained at the new SAAB training facility located only a few blocks away in Hingham, the port of entry for the recent debut from Europe to challenge the Americans in their own home automobile market. This was 1963 and I had just purchased a year old SAAB station wagon from George which Warren took no time in tuning for maximum speed and noise. I helped Warren replace the venturi and a couple of fuel jets in the carburetor and then swap out the standard inch and a quarter exhaust pipe and resonator with a two inch pipe and 1949 Mercury resonator. We ran the pipe out under the passenger side door to give it a shorter run and quicker exhaust from the tiny seven hundred and fifty CC engine. Seven hundred and fifty CC’s equates to about fifty-two cubic inches; not very large but it was a two stroke and it ran like a charm and roared with the new exhaust system. The car was quick and now I was going to be able to beat any small foreign car and some larger domestics off the line at traffic lights. I was living large. Warren and I took the car out to one of his favorite testing grounds to test it with me. He showed me a few tricks and on a steep grassy slope that traveled up about a quarter mile he showed me how fast a front wheel drive can go backwards better than frontwards. We had a lot of fun and Warren was just tickled pink as was I.
I returned to New London, Connecticut where I was home-ported on the FBM submarine Sam Houston. I didn’t see Warren for a year or so. When I did return to the south shore of Massachusetts later on I stopped in to see him at the garage. I parked up in front of the sales room and walked down the hill to the service area. I saw two new mechanics with their heads under the hoods of separate projects and the place was quieter than usual. I approached slowly and the men looked at me as I did. I asked if Warren was around. It was near lunch time and I thought he might be close by. George lived next door to the shop and sales room; maybe Warren was at his father’s house. The mechanic I addressed sort of drew a blank stare and wiped his hands on a rag he had. As he did he shot a look at the other mechanic. I looked from one to the other and there was an awkward silence. The first guy looked back at me and said, Warren died two days ago.
Warren and I were about the same age as far as I could tell. I was then twenty-four years old so Warren was just a young man as well. The two mechanics told me what they knew. Warren had been killed while road testing a car in Hingham. He was traveling in the suicide seat, the front passenger seat, when his customer drove too far into a left turn and struck a tree sitting hard by the road. Warren was killed at the scene. I drove the road they’d described and I saw where the event took place. It was a tricky turn if you didn’t know how to drive well. A slight down slope with the left curve at the bottom. The drive just lost control by going too fast. I imagined the driver was probably trying to impress Warren with his driving skill but just lost it on the curve.
I never went back. A few years later I traded in the station wagon for a new SAAB at a dealer in Groton, Connecticut.
G. M. Goodwin 1 August 2015
Playing Fair and Being Kind 