A Harley, a Stetson and a red Thai Chilli
Smashwords edition
Text by Alan Little
eISBN 978-616-245-021-1
E-book published by www.bangkokbooks.com
E-mail: info@bangkokbooks.com
Text & Cover Copyright© Alan Little
Book cover by Note Design
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.
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Introduction
Jed Cantrell worked on the production line at Ford’s subsidiary factory in Dearborn Michigan in The United States, which he had done since he left high school. He was a tall stocky man with blue eyes, shoulder-length wavy brown hair and he sported a cowboy style mustache with a goaty beard. He walked with a swagger that suggested, ‘don’t mess with me or I’ll kill ya’, which had got him into trouble a few times with the hard men at the factory. When he was seventeen he was somewhat drunk at a wild party where, he had sex with a fifteen year-old getting her pregnant. Her father forced him to marry her, which was a better deal than a prison sentence for having sex with an underage girl, and so he agreed to the ‘shot gun wedding’ although, as it happened, he didn’t like her very much when he was sober. As a result, they split up after a major row three years later. He had many girlfriends after that however nothing serious, and he stayed single living on his own without having any contact with his daughter, because her mother wouldn’t let him see her, although she was happy to take the ten dollars a-month maintenance payments from him.
His favourite TV program series was the ‘Dukes of Hazard’, just before Ford stopped manufacturing the full power ‘Mustang’ he bought one on the company’s purchasing plans, spreading the repayments for the car over an affordable nine years. He paid his friend, who worked on the nightshift in Ford’s paint-shop, a small amount of money and a few beers to re-spray the car in the same colours and limerick as ‘Luke’s’ car, ‘The General Lee’ from the TV series.
Jed could usually be found on his day off shooting pool for a few bucks in a bar, which was situated adjacent to the apartment block where he lived. He didn’t smoke or drink a lot of beer however he was partial to a glass or so of ‘boot-leg’ Bourbon Whisky. His front teeth were missing after having had a pool-cue smashed across his face by a sore looser, who accused him of cheating, one lazy drunken Sunday afternoon over a ten dollar game.
For his holidays he would put on his cowboy clothes and drive the ‘General Lee’ to Nashville Tennessee. He had spent a lot of money several years ago on a pair of replica ivory handled Silver Colt 45 pistols with matching white and black leather holsters. When he got back to his apartment after buying them it was raining heavily, and he stepped into a deep puddle as he got out of his car. There was a gap in the sole of his right cowboy boot that let water from the puddle get inside the boot, soaking his sock. On entering his apartment he pulled off his boots and socks. Then he unwrapped the box containing his new toys. Frantically he fastened the holsters loosely around his hips and put on his old tattered cowboy hat, and then, in front of the full body length mirror that was fastened to the wall in his bedroom next to his life size poster of ‘Billy the Kid’ from the movie ‘Wild boys from the west’, he started to play cowboys with his pistols. Spinning them one at a time around his ‘trigger’ fingers, as he pretended to be ‘Mat Dillon’ saying in a western drawl, “I’ll fill ya with lead Mister, don’t mess with the Dillon,” the heavy piece of iron-ware revolving at speed precariously around his left finger, slipped off it landing painfully on his right foot breaking three bones in his foot and two of his toes, fortunately for Jed the bones didn’t mend properly resulting in him walking with a limp, and so, he failed the military medical, because of that, he wasn’t conscripted into the Vietnam War.
Chapter One: The Japanese invasion
The Japanese may well have lost the war in the South Pacific, but wouldn’t you hold your hands up and cry ‘uncle’ if someone dropped two Atomic bombs in your back yard? However the argument being that this actually saved millions of American, British and Japanese lives, therefore we shall leave it at that as this book isn’t about the politics or ethics of war.
After the end of the 2nd World War in Europe, Britain set about the task of rebuilding its cities and infrastructure, switching its factories from arms manufacture to producing cars, motorcycles and domestic appliances. The British economy grew and grew, but the whole world should have been watching and taking notice, which it didn’t, of what was about to happen on a small island in the Irish Sea, where the Isle of Man TT Races take place.
In the June of 1954 Mr. Honda showed up on the island with one of his trusted advisors, having travelled halfway around the world to see it. The races at the time were mainly dominated by the Italians, with MV Agusta and Ducati fielding works teams. British motorcycles from Norton, BSA, and Triumph were also strong competitors for the coveted ‘Tourist Trophy’, as a win on the Island boosted sales figures dramatically. The question being at the time was, “Did Mr. Honda visit there that year just to watch the racing?”…, of course he didn’t…, he took photograph after photograph of the best motorcycle technology that Europe had to offer.
He returned to his factory in Japan with his data where he opened his Honda Road Racing Research and Development Team facility, employing the best engineers that Japan’s universities had to offer. It was his dream to have one of his motorcycles win the trophy, and start exporting motorcycles to Europe on the back of the advertisement that such a win might bring.
Four years later, he returned to the Isle of Man with some of his best motorcycles, accompanied by Japanese riders, however they didn’t win any races, but finished high enough to return to Japan with the accredited Team Prize.
In 1961, he came back, resulting in Honda dominated the 125cc and 250cc races, which should have set off alarm bells ringing in every European motorcycle manufacturer’s board room, but it didn’t, and the Japanese invasion of technology had begun. Ship load after ship load of cheap, reliable, stylish and fuel efficient motorcycles were unloaded at ports in England and Holland, flooding the European market, resulting almost in the total destruction of British motorcycle manufacture, with only Triumph desperately holding on to a token share of the American market with their 650cc Bonneville. It is somewhat ironic that an Englishman named ‘Mike Hailwood’ victoriously rode Honda manufactured motorcycles, claiming many wins at the TT, increasing Honda’s popularity in his home country fueling the demise of British built bikes.
It wasn’t just Mr. Honda who had his eyes set on the European Market, as Yamaha, Suzuki and Kawasaki were only a few years out-of-touch, and followed closely behind in his footsteps. The range of motorcycles that were on offer was vast from these oriental manufactures, from 50 cc, ‘take me to the shops’ step through mopeds all the way up to 750 cc four and two stroke multi-cylinder thorough-breeds’. Barry Sheen riding a Suzuki three cylinder 750 cc two stroke screamed it through the checkered flags on the Grand Prix circuits, resulting in him taking the world crown, boosting the sale world wide of Suzuki motorcycles, as he did so. Unfortunately for some enthusiasts the engines in these ‘race-proven’ machines were further advanced than the mass-produced cheaper to manufacture frames that they were fitted in, resulting in some difficult to deal with, “Oh shit I’m going to crash”, handling characteristics. One particular machine in the 1970’s was a classic example of scaring its rider to death, and that was Kawasaki’s three cylinder two stroke, the infamous KH 750 MK1 which had an invisible hinge in the centre of its frame. It was so bad that it coined the name, ‘The Widow Maker’, by British motorcycle enthusiasts as many of their friends’ names entered the obituary column in the local newspapers.
It wasn’t just the bad handling characteristics of these, ‘the Worlds first super bikes’ as Kawasaki unveiled its awesome 900 cc Z1, that caused European riders to go sliding down the road on their posteriors. Japan’s biggest tyre manufacturer was Bridgestone, at the time, and they produced tyres that suited Japan’s weather and climate only, but also the open disk brakes that had been developed and fitted to the front-end of most of the fastest models, didn’t function properly when exposed to the bad weather conditions in Northern Europe. When complaints were made, particularly from the relatives of European riders who were lying in hospital with their legs in traction and plaster, after suffering an accident from not being able to stop when it rained, reached Mr. Honda’s ears, he commented saying, “What…, they ride their motorcycles in the rain?” Which was a ridiculous thing to say actually to the world’s press, as his victorious racing team on the IOM had done so many times in the past, so where did they get their tyres from? You’ve guessed it…, British made Dunlop!
People might think that these early problems would have put riders off from buying Japanese motorcycles in England, but with large posters of Mike Hailwood, Mike Grant, Joey Dunlop and Barry Sheen pinned on the walls’ of a million teenagers’ bedrooms…, how could it?
***
OK, I know what’s on your mind as you’re thinking, “What has all this got to do with Jed Cantrell and his life working on a Ford production line in Michigan, and his pair of Ivory handled Colt 45’s?” Well stop being as impatient, because I am about to get to that point in a few more paragraphs.
***
Mr. Honda was beside himself with pride and delight with the honors bestowed upon him by the Japanese chamber of commerce for export excellence, and all of this, obviously boosted his bank account balance, plus raising his confidence and ego beyond the stars. His earlier dreams of winning the IOM TT fulfilled, to be further enhanced with wins on the Grande Prix Circuits, he set about dreaming some more…, resulting in Honda producing their first car. It was a small city run-a-bout with an air-cooled 500 cc power plant, which was based on his motorcycle engine development. It was exported to Europe however because of its small size and bright orange colour initially it was laughed at, however it gradually obtained a cult following in England because of its incredible fuel economy and reliability. It turned out to be a better cheaper option than Reliant’s 700 cc fiberglass bodied unstable three-wheeler and Fiat’s ‘rust bucket’ that was built only to last just one year, the 600 cc Panda. In the city of Coventry which was the heartland of the British car industry the management board rooms at Rover, Austin, MG, Morris, Triumph, Wolseley, Oxford, Hillman and Healey all scoffing at Honda’s attempt to produce a car, and failed to heed the warnings that were clearly visible in the headlines of the national newspapers.
Honda, Nissan and Suzuki were all doing well exporting cheap cars to Europe with the emphasis being on fuel economy. Mr. Honda was quick to realise the importance of that for his own home market, when he told his design team, some years prior, to come up with a range of cheap economic step through motorcycles resulting in the birth of the C50, C70, and C90 range. Millions of them were sold across Asia with India, at first, being the main market place, and Honda’s wealth climbed up a few more steps.
Mr. Toyota watched patiently behind the scenes with his own dreams and ambitions.
America, with its huge oil fields in Texas, on the other hand were mainly producing large capacity high powered gas guzzling limousines, well…, gasoline was cheap, so fuel economy wasn’t considered to be an important aspect when designing cars for their home market. However dropping millions of bombs from B52 bombers in the skies over North Vietnam costs money, and someone has to pay for it, so the taxes on fuel were gradually raised.
***
“OK…. OK …. Reader…, I’ll get to my point shortly.”
***
Mr. Honda started exporting cars to America, and this rocked the main players in Detroit as Honda started to take a large portion of the American market. The American Congress tried to block the import of cars from Japan with the introduction of high import taxation, however Mr. Honda saw a loophole and he opened his own factory in North America in 1982, producing his own cars on American soil to avoid the import duty. It wasn’t long before the Honda Accord was the top selling car, Nissan followed suit.
***
“See where I’m coming from?”
***
The invasion of Japanese technology across the world intensified as Mitsubishi, Sony, Toshiba, and many other ‘name brands’ became household words. The American domestic car market crumbled under the rapid spiraling demand from American citizens for cheap economic personal transport. Almost as the mist floats without a sound over the top of Mount Fuji, Mr. Toyota quietly opened car production plants across Europe, England and America knocking Honda off their top spot with the incredible Toyota Camry.
***
“So what does all this mean to Jed,” I can hear you asking again as you read on, therefore I shall tell you…
Chapter Two: Lock Out
Jed worked on the day shift from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon on the ‘T-Bird’ line Number 2, and his job was to fit the heavy passenger side doors on to Ford’s monster car the Thunderbird, a 6.4 liter V8 gas guzzler which produced 300 brake horse power, this engine was so thirsty that Mr. Ford fitted a 76 liter fuel tank in it, so that it could be driven to the corner shop! The production line didn’t stop, except at break-times or between shifts, and he had just five minutes to lift the doors into place with an overhead hoist, and fasten the six retaining bolts into the two door hinges with a pneumatic zip-gun, as the conveyor belt took the cars past his work station. A few years ago, just for fun he fitted a red door to a white car and got three days suspension from work without pay for his prank!
It was during a sunny afternoon on a Thursday at the end of August in 1982, that he noticed that the line was running slower, and he had fifteen minutes to fit his doors. He thought that there was a technical problem with the line, so he didn’t enquire about it and enjoyed a lazy day. However the next day the line was hardly moving and many of the stations on the conveyor didn’t have a car.
“Hey Garry,” he shouted to a workmate, “what’s happening with the line, are they changing the model, or is there a problem in the body shop as I’m running out of doors here?”
“I don’t know Jed…, beats the hell out of me. The top brass had a meeting yesterday…, maybe some thing’s a foot.”
The weekend was a normal one with Jed trying to win some bucks at the pool tables in the bar. All the drinkers there were employed at the car-plant, and the atmosphere was a bit subdued, as no-one could come up with the answer for why things had been drastically slowed down on every assembly line. The mood was to drop even further when one of the haulage drivers showed up for a beer.
“Hi Frank…, what are you doing in this part of the neighbourhood on a Saturday afternoon?”
“Well…, I’m not sure Jed…,” he said whilst scratching his bald head, “I got a call from the transport manager this morning…, they’ve called in my rig…, told me it was due for a service.”
“That’s strange on a Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…, that’s what my missus said…, an’ Old Blue, my rig’s runnin’ fine an’ dandy…, had the old girl in the service shop only last month.”
“Frank are you haulin’ many cars?” enquired another.
“Heck no…, in the last six weeks I’ve only made one run, and that was to Colorado with just one ‘T-Bird’…, all the drivers are bored shitless…, we just sit about all day doin’ nothin’…, and now…, I wish that I hadn’t bought that big house outside of town last year.”
“Why have you said that Frank?” Jed asked as he laid his cue on the pool table and sat down on a stool at the bar.
“You boys never go up to the New Car Parking Lot at the back of the Plant…, it’s full to the brim of ‘Mustangs’, ‘T-Birds’ an’ ‘Pintos’…, soon we’ll be stacking ‘em on top of each other…, let’s face it, big cars don’t sell anymore.”
“Hey, Bartender…, pour me a Whisky and make it a double.” Jed took off his cowboy hat, and running his fingers through his long hair over his head, he asks Frank, “What do you think is going to happen?”
“They have never called my rig in before…, an’ one of the boys tells me that the lines were slowed down on Friday…, it don’t take a brain-surgeon to work it out.., eh?…, we ain’t sellin’ cars boys…, that’s for sure we ain’t.”
“What are the dealers saying?” Jed softened his voice whilst resting his left elbow on the bar and stroking his goaty beard with his finger and thumb.
“Well…, they’re saying just what I’ve been thinking all along while I’ve been haulin’ my half-empty rig down the interstate highways watching all those Japanese cars roll by…, many of our dealers have switched to Honda…, maybe boys…, we should be thinking of doing the same!”
Emptying his glass of Bourbon Whisky in one gulp, and then smoothening out his moustache with his fingers, Jed asked,
“So ya really think it’s that serious?”
“Well heck…, call me an old fool if you like, but the Japanese have invaded and it’s the congresses fault for opening the door to them.”
The room fell into silence, even the duke box came to the end of the record that it was playing, prompting old Frank to say some more. He pointed at the machine,
“Take a look…, boys…, the good old American duke box made by Wurlitzer…,” winking his left eye with pride and admiration, “they produced the finest quality Electronic Organs that money could buy…, here in America…, exported all over the world they were…, but where are they now? I ask you…, what’s happened to Wurlitzer…, dead and buried by Yamaha musical instruments…, Japan!”
***
Monday morning on his way to work Jed picked up a newspaper. He put on his small round gold rimmed reading glasses to take a look at the headlines. He was horrified at what he saw, the paper read,
“Ford, General Motors and Chrysler are to close many factories today as they jointly face massive losses due to the invasion of the Japanese car manufactures. Honda possesses over 50% of the American motorcycle market, and together with Nissan and Toyota they have now crippled the American car industry. Representatives from Ford, GM and Chrysler are to have meetings today with the President and Congress, asking for government aid however Ford tells us that the permanent closure of seventeen manufacturing plants across the States can not be avoided. Many workers today face the prospect of being locked-out. Ford say that redundancy notices will be handed out at the gates this morning, “We haven’t had the chance to talk with union officials about this crisis as yet, but we expect there to be some demonstrations unfortunately at the factory gates, however the police have been informed about it.” The newspaper has tried to obtain a list of factory closures from Ford but they remain tight lipped.”
Jed stopped dead in his tracks,
“Closures…, redundancy…, what?” He quickened his steps towards the factory gates where a large angry crowd had already formed. For Jed’s entire charade of being a ‘gun-slinger from the west’ he wasn’t a hard man, and this rocked him all the way down to the tip of the spurs that hung behind his cowboy boots. He squeezed through the madding crowd to the gates where someone standing on the other side passed him a printed handout through the railings of the locked gates. As the tension mounted with more police arriving on the scene he walked, almost in tears, slowly back to his apartment.
He pulled off his cowboy boots and sat on the foot of his bed where he read the handout notice through wet eyes, it read,
“It is with regret that we, ‘The Ford Motor Company’ due to heavy financial losses over the last two years have to issue this notice. This factory shall remain closed for the foreseeable future if not indefinitely. Redundancy payments will be given out in accordance with the existing union agreements with regards to the years of service by the employee. Due to the number of employees at this site it may take a few weeks to process all the redundancy payments, and therefore we ask you to be patient with us.”
He sat for a long time looking at the floor in disbelief and shock, before sliding a Colt 45 out of its holster, pointing it at ‘Billy the Kid’ and pulling the trigger, he said tearfully,
“If this pistol of mine was real Mr. Ford I’d find ya and shoot ya…, yep…, I would.”
He took off his company issue base-ball cap and threw it into the corner of his room closely followed by his t-shirt and pants. He tugged on his skin-tight faded blue Levis put on a white and black striped shirt and then his boots and hat.
“The hell I’m gonna get as drunk as a skunk this day,” he declared as he walked to the pool bar.
Behind his bar, the bartender was polishing glasses as Jed walked into the empty room and sat on a stool at the other end placing his hat on the bar counter. Not a word was spoken as the bartender took and opened a bottle of Bourbon from off a shelf behind him. He half filled a glass with the brown fluid and slid the glass along the polished counter top to Jed, who caught in with his open right hand. Jed looked at it for a few seconds before he emptied the contents into his mouth burning the back of his throat.
“Damn it…, that sure is the best boot-leg…, Sam…, hit me again.”
Jed slid his glass back along the bar to Sam he recharged it from the bottle, and slid it back. Sam was a big black mid-fifties Negro American who’s eyes had gone from white to yellow stained by cigar smoke the same as his teeth. Sam picked up the bottle and walked to where Jed was sitting, and placed it next to Jed’s now empty glass, he said sympathetically,
“Hey dude…, I read the newspaper this mornin’ …, sorry Man…, the liquors on me…, take it easy dude…, it ain’t the end of the world…, now is it…, my old mama used to say to me when I had problems like you…, ‘Sam,’ she’d say, ‘Hey baby every clouds got a silver lining.’ That’s what she used to say.”
Jed wasn’t listening…, he just stared at his glass as he recharged it again. Many workers from the factory spilled into the bar arguing between themselves cursing and blaming everything, and everyone for the end of their livelihood. He said nothing and drank the free bottle dry before stumbling off to bed.
It took the accountants at the plant two weeks to work out and write all the cheques for the worker’s redundancy payments. Clarks from the office handed out the envelopes through the railings of the locked gates to the line of angry disgruntled ex-employees. Jed waited until he got home to see how much money he now had. His biggest problem was that he still had two years or so remaining before he paid off the company loan on his car, and he didn’t know if that was going to be deducted from his pay-out. In the confusion of calculating such a large amount of payments, the accountants had overlooked this point, and they hadn’t deducted what he owed. Opening the envelope to see that was a fact, he yelled out a shriek of joy as under the column for money owed to Ford under such agreements it read ‘zero’.
Demonstrations across Detroit from redundant car workers were in full swing as Chrysler and General Motors continued closing many of their manufacturing facilities.
The American government was unable to financially assist in preventing the closures however they gave out loans to the directors of the ‘big three’ helping the burden of redundancy payments. Congress had made a big mistake initially when they gave the Japanese financial incentives to start car production on American soil. Congress believed that this would create tens-of-thousands of new jobs, but that wasn’t to be as the Japanese brought their technology with them. At Honda’s ‘state-of-the-art’ assembly plant, ‘Robotic’ arms controlled by comprehensive computer programs welded the steel bodies together and sprayed the paint, dramatically reducing the requirement for man-power. Robots don’t go to the toilet, take a lunch break, are never late for work and don’t have hangovers from too many beers the night before!
***
“What are ya gonna do now Jed…, sit and the end of my bar everyday swiggin’ bootleg?”
“I just don’t know Sam, but I think is getting near the time to pack up and haul my sad ass out of this joint. There’s nothing left in Dearborn for me to get homesick about, maybe I’ll drift on down to Tennessee and chew things over for a while.”
Well, Jed did just that, his apartment was rented and at the end of the month when the rent was due he packed up his things and pined a note on his door, it read,
“Jed’s left town, maybe he’ll be back maybe he won’t.”
He drove ‘The General Lee’ down the freeway at a leisurely pace to conserve fuel, but also he wasn’t in any hurry. It didn’t feel right, somehow as if his sixth sense was suggesting that his future wasn’t sat waiting for him in Nashville. He pulled into the same motel that he had stayed at for every holiday over the last twenty years.
“Hey Jed…, nice ta see ya. What the hell are ya doing here at this time of year, there’s nothing happening?”
“Hi George, I’ve just come to hang loose for a few days and chew the fat.”
“I’ve been reading the newspapers and things don’t seem to look so good for you boys in Detroit?”
“You could say that George, I’m thinking of stomping down to Texas, see if there’s any work in the oilfields.”
“Save ya legs Jed there’s nothing doing. I know that they ain’t drilling anymore well heads, no point of ya going down there eating dirt.”
Jed hung around the empty motel bar that evening waiting for someone to come in and shoot some pool with him, but nobody came. It was late September and out of season, the place was as dead as a Dodo, and even the normal attractive young ladies that usually served up his Bourbon had been replaced by their mothers. The place didn’t have its happy face on, or its vibrant appeal.
He soon became bored of it, and instead of sitting in an empty bar he bought a bottle of bootleg from the store and stayed in his room. During the afternoon of his third day of stay, he was lying on his bed sipping a large glass of ‘Rye’ watching the TV. One old movie after another, he flicked through the TV channels to find something interesting or entertaining to view, and stumbled upon a documentary about an elderly American who had opened a beachside bar on the Island of Phuket in Thailand. He put down his glass and sat up tantalized at what his eyes could see. Golden sandy beach, deep blue sea, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze under a clear sky.
“Shoot,” he exclaimed, “Well I’ll be darned, if that old sore bones can do it, then so can I.”
That evening he sat at the motel bar dinking an expensive bottle of Jim Bean Bourbon Whisky celebrating his decision to throw all caution to the wind, and chance his arm in a far away place. He didn’t want to sell his beloved car and that was tugging at his heart strings, as his mind and heart argued about it. George entered the bar,
“Hey Jed, are ya going to drink that fine liquor all by yourself?”
“No George, pull up a seat…, Molly a glass and make it a clean one without any lipstick, ya hear?”
Molly came out polishing a glass with her apron. Looking at him she sarcastically said, “What do ya mean by lipstick Jed…, you’re the only one drinking in this joint or haven’t ya noticed?” She picked up the bottle and poured George a large measure, “Besides Jed, don’t you buy a girl a drink these days?” She took another glass from the pocket of her apron and helped herself to a drink laughing as she did so.
“Well Molly…, that’s OK, but I want a quiet word in George’s ear, thank ya kindly.” Molly took the hint and begrudgingly left the bar.
“George I’ve been thinking some what over these last few days, and I need ta sell ‘General Lee’, what do ya say, how much will ya give me for her?”
“I’ve got no use for a Mustang Jed…, a big fast car like that…, I never leave town.”
“I know that George, but you will be able to sell it on for a good profit at the next Rodeo…, nothing more certain…, how much ya give me?”
George took a drink emptying his glass in one for Jed to fill it up again, “Hmm…, you got me a thinking Jed…, three thousand bucks?”