COPCARS AND TOWNCARS
I grew up in Malden, Holland. Born on June 14th 1976.
Against my parents' will, I watched a lot of television. My favorite shows were;
The A-Team
Knightrider
The Dukes Of Hazzard
The Green Hornet
Hunter
Because of these I've learned the English language well (of course it also helped to have an older brother with whom I had "contests" on who pronounced English better). The shows The Dukes Of Hazzard and The A-Team made me think; They need better drivers with the police in the United States. Quickly I thought about becoming a police officer. Because I was told that The United States Of America was an extremely expensive country, I decided I should become a police officer in Holland. When I was old enough for this, I went to a meeting for future police officers. I, however, was too afraid to go there on my own so I took my mommy with me.
Once we had arrived there they told us that they were only hiring women and foreign immigrants to ensure some variety at the station. Naive and passive as I was, I decided that it would have no use for me to try. Quickly I deserted my dream.
I decided it was time for me to go to The United States Of America. With a fellow student I was gonna go to The United States for a three month period once we'd completed our schooling. This unfortunately didn't happen due to lack of money. After a year of saving up some money I went to the Rabobank to get a loan for a little extra cash, 13.000,- Dutch Guilders ($6,500.-) more to be exact. The travel agency told me there were also tickets available for six month periods, this was enough reason for me to go to the United States Consulate in Amsterdam to ask for a tourist visa. I was denied the visa because apparently I was still lacking sufficient funds in my account. I "borrowed" 15.000,- Dutch Guilders ($7,500.-) from my father and happily went back to the consulate. I finally got the visa with an expiration date five years ahead. Full of courage and with a full bank account I left for America. I had arranged to share a room with someone who worked for the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). This was pretty easy through the Internet.
With a stop in Houston, Texas, I arrived in Los Angeles, California on May 15th 1998 from my flight with Continental Airlines. All my luggage had arrived except.....my mountain bike. This was flown to a different state, Florida. Richard Clarke Larsen, my new roommate, picked me up at the airport. I looked at this guy, after all I had never seen him before, and thought; Jesus, long hair and a beard, what a funky looking dude. Ofcourse I had forgotten that I too had long hair and a beard and therefore was a pretty funky looking dude myself. A few days later my mountain bike was finally dropped off at my new "home".
After having been at a local cinema to see the newly released movie "The Truman Show", I rode my mountain bike back home eastbound on Wilshire Boulevard. Having never seen what was north of this street I decided to take a little cruise on the other side. Enjoying the view immensely, I stumbled across Sunset Boulevard. This road was just too famous for me to just pass up the opportunity of riding it. As I rode on the curvy boulevard going up and down the hills, I failed to pay attention to how far I got from my home in Santa Monica. Approximately 45 minutes after I had started on Sunset Boulevard, I was riding quite fast, I entered Hollywood. At this point I realized I had gotten quite far away from home but was too intrigued with this city to turn back around. Besides I also didn't want to take the same route back. After having cruised through Hollywood and not having realized that Sunset Boulevard had by now turned into East Cesar E. Chavez Street, I decided it was time for me to return home. By now it was after midnight and I was getting quite tired. Luckily I stumbled upon a street name I recognized; Broadway. My logic told me that this was the Broadway which ended on the beach in Santa Monica, after all it was going in the right direction. Having driven through Downtown Los Angeles in the wee hours of the morning and seeing no end to this road nor a sign that stated welcome to Santa Monica and by now having crossed Olympic Boulevard and Pico Boulevard, two streets which definitely ended up in Santa Monica, I came to the conclusion that this was a different Broadway and decided to make a right turn on Venice Boulevard. Heading westbound on Venice Boulevard was no peace of cake either, I must have been on this road for at least three hours, heavily pedaling my bike. On the way I spotted some police officers who had pulled someone over, I waved at these guys and said; "Hi, how're you doing?". These guys looked at me as if I had just escaped from an insane asylum, as in, what's this guy doing here riding his bicycle in this area at this time of day (night) wearing shorts and a T-shirt and no helmet. After a long ass-bruising ride I finally reached Venice Beach and rode my bicycle along Ocean Front Walk towards Santa Monica. I made a stop at the Santa Monica Pier for about 45 minutes to rest. At about 6:30 in the early morning I reached my apartment in Santa Monica again, just in time to find Richard Clarke Larsen getting up.
Needless to say I realized that Los Angeles County was just way too big a place to be riding a bicycle. I NEEDED A CAR. Ofcourse I didn't just want to buy any car, it had to be a classic. My father had always taken me to the Autotron in Rosmalen, a Dutch car museum and I had been to an annual car show in Molenhoek, Holland a couple of times. Together with Richard Clarke Larsen I went shopping for a car. The first one we checked out was a $195.- brown 1976 Oldsmobile Regency NinetyEight, this sounded familiar to me from the old TV shows. The car didn't run however and needed new tires, a new battery and probably several more items. I told the guy that if he could get the Regency to run for a test drive, I would buy it from him for the advertised $195.-. I'm assuming now that this was unacceptable to him. I also checked out a $600.- red 1974 Fiat Spyder convertible, the owner of which at the end of the test drive accidentally slammed the driver door closed on my finger. This really hurt and didn't motivate me to buy the car. It also needed a lot of repairs and being from Holland I had heard enough bad things about old Fiat's. Another car I checked out was a $500.- white 1985 Ford Mustang, an interesting car which according to the ad ran perfect. This must have actually been in the past tense because we tried for half an hour to get the thing started with starter fluid and the engine would not budge. After this the owner admitted the car came from his mother and he never tried to start it before, in fact, he had it towed to his residence. Another car we checked out was a brown $600.- 1976 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, also an interesting car which even ran great and would have been great to customize, the interior needed a little work though. I realized that if I wanted a decent car, I was gonna have to shell out a little more cash. So we checked on a $1,200.- white Cadillac DeVille, a great looking car of which only one interior strip was loose but still with the car and it ran great except for that weird noise whenever one changed gears. The owner denied hearing any noise, so I knew this wouldn't be a wise purchase. The next car we checked on was advertised as an $1,100.- grey 1978 Lincoln Continental. I made an appointment with the owner, Patrick Hunt. However, once we arrived, there was no sign of Patrick Hunt himself. The Continental was there though. I took one look at this car and immediately fell in love. The car had it all; the length, the big grille, the limo lights. When we got closer, I was simply stunned with the quality of the interior. I immediately told Richard Clarke Larsen; "If this car runs as good as it looks, it's mine". We made a new appointment with Patrick Hunt who was unable to be there the first time because he had to work overtime unexpectedly. This time, July 7th, my brother's 25th birthday, we also took our other roommate, Neil D. Blake with us. After all, I did not yet have a driver's license. The Lincoln ran like a dream, floating over every speed bump at regular speed. I talked Patrick Hunt down to $1,000.- in cash which he took and we immediately drove the Continental home. Once home, we still had to replace the front windshield and the driver door windowmotor.
Shortly thereafter I went to the Department Of Motor Vehicles to take the written test on my driver's license. I had flipped through the California Driver Handbook the night before but what was written in there was all so logical that I just threw the book away and decided to take my chances the next day. After all, for $12.- they give you three shots at the written test AND three shots at the drive test. As I sat down for my written test I noticed there were only 21 questions. It took me a whole of 7 minutes to complete the test and pass the first time out. I think I had 5 mistakes, the maximum allowed to pass. I know I gambled wrong on the blood/alcohol concentration question, I answered the maximum allowed was 0.06 when in reality it was 0.08. Big mistake, this made me too safe I guess. At the desk they asked for two proofs of picture identification, I handed them my Dutch passport and my United States visa. They also wanted to see my Social Security card. As of yet I didn't have one. I took my two proofs of picture identification and my proof of passing the written test with me to the Social Security Department and they issued me a Social Security card which arrived exactly ten days later by mail as stated by the Social Security employee. I started driving my car with Richard Clarke Larsen, Neil D. Blake or Richard's buddy David Heinicke with me in the car to learn how to drive. California law requires one to have a licensed driver with them of 18 years or over. One day Richard and I were stopped at a traffic light on Santa Monica Boulevard as a police car turned onto our road from our right side. As a joke, I quickly ducked below the dash and thereby totally freaked out Richard. When I got back up, the police car was just passing me at my left and the officer's were laughing, I had a big grin on my face. Once I felt comfortable enough, I scheduled my drive test appointment. My driverdoor windowmotor still had to be replaced in order to be able to use my car for the test. With my across-the-street neighbor Alan, I went to the garage to pick up my car just an hour before my scheduled test. He drove his car home while I, first time driving alone (and without the license illegally), drove my car to his home from where we went to the Department Of Motor Vehicles together. Having mentioned that I had just had the windowmotor replaced, the instructor didn't check out that part of my car for compliance (the bastard). I passed the test first time around and proudly drove the Lincoln home.
One evening, David Heinicke and I went to the Griffith Observatory in Hollywood, the setting for the movie "Rebel Without A Cause". Once we arrived there we heard over the p.a. system; "Griffith Observatory is now closed". We decided to check out the Griffith Park instead and we would've if it wasn't for the message; "Griffith Park is now closed, please remove your vehicles from the parking lot". We were one of the first ones to drive down the steep curvy mountain road with all the other people coming behind us. Before we reached the open road we passed a classic car show which was just ending and a John Fogerty concert which by chance was also just ending. Lucky me, my transmission decided to give out just as we had reached the intersection of Los Feliz Boulevard and Vermont Avenue (the road we were on). I took a right turn onto Los Feliz Boulevard. In order to get off the main thoroughfare I took another right turn into the next street. Unfortunately I didn't count on this being an uphill road. As a result, the Lincoln didn't get far here and I had to let it roll backwards onto the grass between the pedestrian walkway and Los Feliz Boulevard. Considering there was a gas station at the intersection of Vermont and Los Feliz, I tried to drive the car back to the intersection with the little power it still had. Unfortunately the grade was just too steep to get my car all the way there and we got stuck blocking traffic. I turned on my hazards and walked to the gasstation. There was a pay phone with a phone book attached to it, unfortunately all the pages with tow companies on them were ripped out. On the plastic phone book binder I saw a decal that said; need a tow, cal 1-800-, I turned to it and found the rest of the number torn off. I then checked for a police station number and found those pages were also ripped out. I decided to go up to the gas station clerk and ask him to call a tow company. He called one and they said it would be at least 45 minutes before they'd be there. I passed on that, it was just way too much time to wait. I asked the guy for the number to the local police station and he told me he didn't know and said that if I really wanted to talk to them I should call 911. My car was blocking traffic but was not a threat to anybody's life so I didn't want to do that. By now traffic had really started to back up in all directions near the intersection and there was even a police officer directing traffic. I decided to take my chances and ran across heavy traffic to ask the police officer if he could call me a tow truck. Within 20 minutes the tow truck had arrived. Considering this was an official police garage tow truck, he couldn't take me out of the city limits. I decided to have him store the Lincoln at the official police garage (AKA impound yard) so I could have another company pick up my Lincoln the next day. The garage that replaced my windowmotor quoted me $1,500.- for a transmission rebuild after I had the car towed over there, I considered this to be outrageously high. Through the Bel Air Presbyterian Church, a church Richard Clarke Larsen frequented, I met a guy who's father had a transmission shop, he quoted me $700.-. I immediately had the car towed over there. Unfortunately my funds had run out by this time and after three weeks the transmission shop owner started complaining about my car still being there. I had to sell a lot of newly acquired CD's and my $900.- Pioneer Laserdisc/DVD player for a total of approximately $840.-. I went back to the transmission shop and the guy tried to charge me $740.- because he didn't include tax in his quote, he stated he already gave me a $100.- discount because the job cost him more than he thought it would. I told him that I only had $700.- and that I sold everything I had but the clothes on my back to get that and that he did quote me $700.- and didn't mention anything about taxes not being included. Needless to say (so I'll do it anyhow) the guy wanted my car out of there so he agreed. I found that the car wasn't shifting into reverse correctly so the next day I took the car back and had him correct the problem. The car ran great after that.
Of course I didn't have enough money anymore to pay my rent for the next three months I was still staying in the United States, so Richard arranged for me to stay with a church friend of his in Culver City where I stayed for the next two weeks.
David Heinicke and I went to a club in Venice called St. Mark's where a band called Sticky Fingers was playing. David was a total Rolling Stones fan and this band covered their songs, and quite well might I add. The back-up singer to this band came up to me, as I was standing at the bar ordering two $9.- glasses of Pina Colada, and ran her fingers through my long hair. She introduced me to her friend, R. Andrea Kirkman, a lovely looking lady also sitting at the bar.
Andrea and I ended up dancing together all night and boy, I never moved so good. At the end of the evening I gave the back-up singer a huge hug for introducing me to Andrea. Andrea was nice enough to let me stay with her for the remaining two and a half months. When I left back home for Holland, I stored my Lincoln at the Airport Mini Storage for $75.- a month.
While in Holland, I had to pay off six months of rent debt which accumulated in my absence ( someone was supposed to stay in the room while I was gone and pay their time to the homeowner but this person decided not to pay), a huge debt on my loan and several more things. I worked nearly 24 hours a day on about three different jobs for the first month to pay off all these debts. I figured out in my Lincoln's repair manual that the model year was incorrect on the registration papers. I wrote a letter to the Department Of Motor Vehicles stating that since the Vehicle Identification Number started with a 7, the vehicle year model should be 1977 instead of 1978. They wrote me a letter back stating I was indeed correct and that I should take the Lincoln to the Department Of Motor Vehicles for correction. After two months back in Holland, I had saved up enough money to buy a return ticket back to Los Angeles and had sufficient funds to stay there for three weeks and even take a trip in my Lincoln to San Francisco. Before I went back to America however, I called the local police station in Nijmegen, Holland to ask for a permit to transport my BB shotgun with me on the plane. I had purchased this BB shotgun prior to my first visit to the United States and it is featured in the video-short "HOSTAGE". I had wanted to buy this BB shotgun for 8 years before I was finally able to get the money for it. I was also wondering if the BB shotgun was still legal in Holland. The police officer told me over the phone that I should take the BB shotgun to the station and they would check it out for me. As soon as I could I walked into the police station with my guitar case in which I transported my BB shotgun, an idea I had gotten from the movie "Desperado". I asked the officer at the desk if they could take a look at it, he told me to bring it in so I told him that I already had it with me. I put the guitar case on the desk, turned it towards him and opened it up. The officer looked quite amazed as the BB shotgun looked exactly like a real shotgun. He called in a detective and I carried the case with gun to his office. The detective checked out the BB shotgun's make and model in his computer and found no restrictions on the gun. He did say however that it would not be legal anymore six months from then. I reassured him that I was taking the BB shotgun to America and would store it in my Lincoln over there. I asked him for a permit to transport the gun on the plane and he told me he could not give me one. I notified him that I wasn't planning to take the gun as carry on luggage but that I would put it down below. The detective then told me that he couldn't give me a permit because it was legal for me to transport it on the plane. I even called the airline and the Royal Marechausse and they both also told me there would not be a problem.
So off I went to Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. The airline I was using this time was United Airlines, this was the airline at the end of the hallway in the airport. As I was walking through the airport with my guitar case, I looked around me and did not notice any security at any of the airlines, except of course at United. The Royal Marechausse was heavily guarding this airline with automatic weapons. As I was standing in line I motioned one of the Marechausse's to come to me. When he approached, I advised him that I had a BB shotgun in my guitar case and that the airline had given me the OK on transporting this on the plane. He told me to notify the lady at the X-ray machine to avoid any panic there. Once I reached the X-ray machine, I told the lady about the contents of my case and she told me not to worry about it and thanked me for letting her know in advance. I placed my guitarcase on the conveyorbelt and I walked through the metal detector. As the case went through the X-ray machine, the expression on the lady's face turned from happy to a state of alarm. She freeze framed the image of the BB shotgun on the screen and within seconds I had about eight members of the Royal Marechausse around me asking questions such as; Where are you taking this? What will you be doing with this when you get there? Why are you taking this with you? You're not planning take this as carry on luggage, are you? They took the BB shotgun out of the case in front of all the other passengers to take a better look at it. I assured them that the guitarcase would not even fit in the overhead compartment and that I had no intent in taking it with me in such a manner. After about half an hour of chatting with these guys, they finally let me on the plane with my guitarcase and contents below deck.