“James, it can’t be you, you were crushed years ago.” Hanging there by my fingertips, I knew James was saying, “GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I jumped down, ran out of the wrecking and into the one next door. I inquired about the black Mercedes in their yard. The counter guy said that I could not go out in the yard, because the cars out in the yard were being crushed to make room for new inventory. I had to think fast. I was NOT going to let this happen. I told the counter guy that my ex-wife had stolen the car from me years ago (sorry, Jennifer). What were they going to do about it? The guy looked at me, one eyebrow raised, and said, “Prove it.” I remembered that I always had kept James’s chassis number in my wallet. I whipped out my wallet, dumping credit cards and years of stuff on the counter, and found the chassis number. I said, “Here, go check.” He sent one of the yard workers out to check the numbers. He came back and nodded to the counter guy, who looked at me and said, “Well, what do you want to do?” I said, “I WANT IT BACK! How much do you want for it?” He was feeling sorry for me by now, and telling everyone that worked there how I got burned. He checked with his bookkeeper, came back and said, “I’ve got $375.00 into it. You can have it for that.” It could have been $3,000! I didn’t care! “But it needs to be today. Tomorrow it will be gone.” I didn’t have $375.00 on me, but they took AMEX. (Don’t leave home without it.) About ten minutes later, James was mine again.
I made a trip to the closest U-Haul, rented a car hauler, and, about an hour later, James was on his way home. The wreckers had James for only about 90 days, so his whereabouts for six or seven years and how he evaded the crusher the first time remains a mystery, and he’s not talking. Probably still traumatized... Today, James resides in northern California with me, awaiting restoration and sharing space with his two-wheeled buddy “Harley” in a climate-controlled garage. Oh, yes, James runs, is roadworthy, and is very happy.