VM Stories

In April 1970, a Savannah Beige and White Type II Transporter rolled off the line at Volkswagenwerk AG in Germany destined for Sierra Volkswagen in Fontana, California. On June 15,1970, Thomas Rinaldo took delivery of this brand new VW. Now, I don’t want to make unfounded judgements against Mr. Rinaldo, but he seemed to be somewhat of a vehicle hypochondriac. He had that poor little bus back in the shop almost daily to fix little "problems" he found. I don’t believe he fully understood the many quirks of a Volkswagen and he was not cut out to be a VW owner.

Mr. Rinaldo decided to rid himself of his nemesis and sold the bus to Chief and Eleanor Beale for $2,000. They used it for a second vehicle and a general workhorse. Not long after they bought the bus, they decided to move home to Lebanon, Missouri. The VW served well as a moving van. A sudden illness took Chief out of this world in late 1971.

Eleanor’s heart was on the farm, but she also wanted to be near her children still in California. A return trip in the bus brought her safely back to Ontario, California. After she settled in, the bus again became a second vehicle. She just didn't think it had enough get up and go for the freeway system. I think she just got used to driving her Dodge Charger "six-pack". As the little kid next door, I still remember the sound of that car roaring to life when she turned the key.

I kind of adopted Mrs. Beale as a grandparent. I would go over and sit with her in the front yard and just talk. Actually I did more listening than talking. That was OK. We enjoyed those front yard talks.

My dad was a mechanic all his life, so my love for cars comes naturally. He was the neighborhood’s mechanic and Mrs. Beale’s vehicles were part of his regular maintenance schedule. I really didn't’ know what I was doing, but I was under every hood with my dad trying to absorb all the "car stuff" I could. Dad never discouraged me and let me try anything. Even when I messed up, he showed me what I did wrong and let me try again. When I was 12, I attempted to rebuild a VW Bug on my own. I got about a week into the project before Dad was into it with me. We sold the car before we finished, but I will always remember that VW.

On a fateful day in 1982, Mrs. Beale let her granddaughter borrow the bus because her car croaked. All went well until she got stuck in a traffic jam on the way home one summer afternoon. Not accustomed to air-cooled vehicles, she let the bus idle until it stopped running. She could not figure out what was wrong. After a long tow truck ride back to our house, Dad accessed the damage. He tried to convince Eleanor to sell the bus to him "as is", but she contended she might still need it. So Dad repaired what damage had been done. Eleanor told Dad to park it behind the house beside the garage. From now on, she was not going to let anyone else drive her van because they wouldn’t take care of it.

The bus set in the same place, unmoved and not started until 1995. Dad stopped in to visit with Mrs. Beale while on vacation. She asked if he would be interested in buying the old van. (It should be noted that Dad was up to 20 VWs at that time.) But this was the one he wanted for years. He rented a tow dolly and hooked the van up behind his Toyota truck. A few days later, he rolled into Springdale with van in tow. We pushed it into the garage that night so it would be easier for Dad to work on it at his leisure.

Dad stayed busy with other projects until August 1996. He suddenly became ill and left us in less than a month. I locked up all the car stuff we had worked on together and just got away from it for a while.

The cold weather of January 1997 had me in it’s midst when I decided to go back into the car business again. I had many vehicles to start with, but the van became the priority project I should undertake. I had rebuilt a few cars myself, but none seemed as daunting as the bus. It had turned into a storage facility over the past year and loomed larger than life. But that wouldn’t stop me.

I cleaned it out and cleaned it up (including removing the horse head decals from the doors), rewired it with a salvaged fuse block and worked over the brakes and front end. I had not yet tried the engine. I replaced the gas lines and decided to go for it. Two shots of starter fluid and it roared to life. A good tune-up and the bus runs like new with that unmistakable hum of a classic VW. No oil leaks so far and it hasn’t burned a drop of oil.

I’m not sure when I’ll finish the restoration. I like driving Eeyore (zero to 60 in six minutes) too much to make it look like showroom quality. I am always looking for parts to finish it. The van’s still almost original as it was when Mr. Rinaldo drove it off the Sierra VW lot in 1970, but it has a few well-deserved and rightfully earned scars. But it’s still got a lot of heart in it. Those scars are in memory of Chief, but it is all dedicated to you, Dad. I know you see it and I know you are proud.

"Hello, my little sunshine," I chirp as I walk out my front door in the
morning. Her cheerful yellow presence works better than coffee to jump-start
my day. My friends tell me that I am obsessed with my car. I think they are
all jealous. Most potential car buyers pick their vehicles based on
qualities such as dependability and comfort. My choice had nothing to do
with safety, maneuverability, or fixed APR financing; Bianca would have failed such tests with flying colors. Nevertheless, I fell in love with her and knew that my first car could not be anything else.

According to Shakespeare, love is blind. When I first laid eyes on my
wonderful little Bianca, I might as well have been blind. I was in awe of
her bright yellow paint and shiny chrome bumpers. I barely noticed the tears
in the upholstery, the crack in the windshield, or the rust holes in the
floorboards. I didn't really care that the engine was held together with
yards of electrical tape, just that it was safely stored behind my tiny back seat. The oil puddle that had formed beneath her was no surprise at all; my friend had already informed me that "Volkswagen's don't have oil leaks, they're just marking their spot." She sat in the bright autumn sunlight as a proud monument to times past, when cars weren't defined as sleek and sophisticated. Is it even possible for a
car to be sophisticated? Bianca most certainly didn't fit that description.
She was cuddly, bubbly, and absolutely adorable.

As I sat in the driver's seat, I imagined driving down the autobahn at 90
miles per hour with the windows down and the radio blaring "Mrs. Robinson" by
Simon and Garfunkel. I was quickly brought back to an only slightly less
delightful reality. The small, non-descript man who owned my little piece of
heaven asked if I wanted to take her for a test drive. I had to pinch myself.
Was this a dream? Was I really going to drive a 1971 Volkswagen Beetle? He
handed me the strange, triangular key and got in the passenger seat. Bianca
roared to life. I had no idea the muffler was rusted; I thought all
Volkswagens were supposed to be deafening. We drove at a snail's pace along
a hilly, tree-lined road in Bella Vista. As we bounced up and down on the
trampoline-quality plastic-weave seats, I made my final decision. We
meandered back to his house, where I happily gave him all of my carefully
saved money. I thought it was a bargain; I'm sure he was silently chuckling
at my car-purchasing naiveté. Then, my mom signed the title and Bianca was
officially ours. I was giddy with excitement. Giddiness may not be a proper
emotion for a 15-year old, but I simply did not care.

One muffler, seven new tires, and many minor frustrations later, Bianca
remains the best investment I have ever made. I have learned to live with
the crack in the windshield, and going 65 miles per hour on the bypass has
been a very good lesson in patience. Such inconveniences are merely small
sacrifices to the hands of time. Bianca wears her twenty-seven years quite
well considering all of the small mishaps (curbs, gas pumps, shopping carts,
etc.) she has endured. The novelty of owning a little, sunshiny gumdrop will
never wear off. I still feel a sense of jubilation every time somebody asks
me what kind of car I drive. Is it possible for a car to change your life?
What if I had looked at her faults instead of her beautiful paint and shiny
chrome bumpers? The outcome is too terrible to consider. Shakespeare
believed that love is blind. I think love is just accepting. Perhaps it is
a little bit of both.

I've always considered myself thrifty. I drive Volkswagens put together with mostly used parts that I've haggled for at swap meets. I went to the recent Tulsa show with just that intention - to find some bargains. I came away with something more.

I had left earlier than the caravan some club members had planned, remembering stories of great deals on rare items from last years Tulsa show. (Something about an EMPI catalog.) The early bird gets the worm they say. I also wanted to make it back to Arkansas in time to go to my company's picnic and then to watch the Razorbacks on TV.

It was raining lightly at the show site. The weather forecast said nothing about rain. I was in my convertible, wearing shorts, and sandals. The rain did not dampen the spirits of any of the die-hard Volkswagen enthusiasts. People had brought their cars, swap meet items, and vendors were selling parts, food and other items. The Tulsa club had done a great job setting up the show.

I looked at all the swap items carefully looking for treasure. I bought some bumper blades from Bryan Cunningham. (I could put my " Vote for Nixon: He's not as stiff as Gore " bumper sticker on one of these bumpers.) I also bought an ashtray from another swap meet participant.

One of the vendors was selling electronic ignitions. They were Compu-fire, just like the one I have in my sedan that I am very happy with. I paused for a moment and decided to pass. I had spent a total of seven dollars (very thrifty) and was ready to head back to Arkansas.

I got onto the interstate highway was getting settled in for the hour and a half cruise. I was going about 70 mph and then about where 44 and 412 split, my engine died. What is going on I thought to myself. The car had no fire and I couldn't find any loose wires. The points looked OK. I tried to start the car again. Still no fire. It had to be the ignition.

I pulled the rotor cap off again and re-inspected the points. I turned the motor by hand and I noticed the points weren't opening. Closer inspection revealed that the little nub that causes the points to open had broken off. Wow, I had never had that happen before. I was glad I knew what the problem was, but I was still in a bad situation. This was a really bad place to have car trouble, especially since there was no shoulder to speak of, and it would be a long walk to anywhere. I'd miss the picnic, the ball game, and it would probably cost me the all the money I had saved by being thrifty. Why didn't I buy the electronic ignition?

I looked at the faces of the people driving by. They were looking back at me like I was intentionally parking on the Interstate for their inconvenience. I'll never get any help I had thought to myself. Then I said a little pray and almost immediately some one pulled over. It was an old man in a new Lincoln Towncar. It was a beautiful sight. The friendly old man invited me into his Lincoln with nice leather interior and asked me what he could do to help me. I told him I needed some points and he said that he would make sure I got some.

Then he started telling me his Volkswagen story. Almost everybody has one. I thought, OK here we go again. Being a VW guy, I hear lots of stories from non-VW guys. This time it was from a Lincoln guy.

" My daughter drove a Volkswagen just like yours when she went to high school. Red, black top. I just couldn't keep from pulling over and helping. Do you want to sell it?"

I could tell he was serious and I explained that I had not had it very long and was not ready to sell. Then he continued with his story.

" Back in those days you had to order Volkswagens six months in advance. Convertibles were pricey compared to the sedans. I could buy a sedan for $1600 and convertibles were $2100. " He told me how he had ordered a sedan, but due to some kind of problem, it did not come in and he found a convertible in Texarkana. He decided to buy it. (Like I should have done with the electronic ignition. Too thrifty sometimes.)

" My daughter drove it to East Central high school that used to be just over here, he pointed out the window and turned the car onto 11th street. " I used to buy and sell a lot of Volkswagens. I've been selling cars for fifty years and don't have enough sense to do anything else." I had a feeling that this man had more sense than most. " I used to know the answer to everything about these cars, and I still do about the old cars. Now-a-days there's a whole new set of questions."

He continued. " Back in 1958, a guy named Charles Bullock kept coming by my car lot. He wanted to rent a 1957 Karmann Ghia. He didn't want to buy. It was lease, lease , lease. I finally gave in." The old man told me his name was L.G. Crow. I was beginning to see that this wasn't just another story.

"The business took off, and I had to come up with a name. I was renting Volkswagens, and they were thrifty cars, so I called it Thrifty Rent-A-Car." He keeps talking as he pulled the Lincoln into a small car lot on 13338 E. 11th Street. "This is where it was born. It left home early, but it did all right, " Crow said like a proud father talking about a favorite son.

It had done more than all right. Chrysler paid $263 million for Thrifty Rent-A-Car Systems Inc. back in 1989, but L.G. explained why he sold the company in 1962.

Crow said because he was a Christian he tried to take off Sundays, but his customers had other plans. People knocked on his door or telephoned him any time of day, or any day of the week. Many of his customers at the time were American Airline employees in Tulsa for training that paid $6 per day and six cents per mile to drive a Volkswagen, or if they preferred Falcon, Rambler, or Comet. The car rental business was lucrative but hectic.

Bill Stemmons, a friend and former co-worker tried to get Crow interested in an idea for a nationwide car rental system. Crow was trying to get out of the business so he sold it to Stemmons. Crow told Stemmons that the name went with the business, but Stemmons insisted that Crow take $1000 for the name since he wanted to copyright the name and open franchises around the country.

But Crow, who is 79 years old, does not envy the stockholders or executives who today benefit from his creativity.

" Not a one has lived a happier life than I have," Crow said as we got out of the car and went into his office. There was a picture on the wall of that first Karmann Ghia he rented. He told his grand son -in-law, Jeff, to take me to the parts store and back to my car.

"Remember, I want to buy that convertible when you're through with it," Crow smiled and waved as Jeff and I got into the car.

" And he will buy it," Jeff reinforced as he saw me back to my car and safely on my way. I even made it back to Arkansas in time for the picnic. I was glad I didn't buy the electronic ignition.

Well, I began the project late last October and now I can say .. I think I'm finally done. I'm not sure I will ever again attempt a total restoration of a VW that was in the condition that I found this. I've often referred to it as the "nightmare from hell". Believe me, it was not short of that. Back in '95 I looked at this car and considered buying it, until I saw that the floors had completely rusted out and there were holes in the body larger than my fists. In fact, the rust holes around the right rear fenders were so large .. I could literally stick both my arms at once through it. I had recommended to the owner at that time that the car was not worth saving and that he should remove the engine and sell the rest for scrap. However, the present owner (a local self made millionaire) wanted to restore the car .. regardless of the cost. In late '95, he took it to a body shop and simply told them to "fix it"! Last summer, just after the body and chassis had been repaired and the body set back on the pan .. the owner passed away. All that existed was a repainted shell. Two weeks after he had passed away, his wife called me and asked if I would be interested in buying what was left of the car. She had stated that she could not bear the thought of having the car at the house (as it would remind her of him) nor would she sell it to someone for scrap. She wanted to sell it to someone who would finish the restoration. This couple had invested more than $7000+ in body work to date. Over the years, I had kidded the owners telling them that I would take the car off their hands and graciously pay them $1500.00. His wife remember my offered over the years and asked if I would still be interested in paying this amount, regardless of what they had invested. She wanted the car restored and would not allow it to be sold to anyone else. So, I bought the car and promised to finish it off.

New fenders, bumpers, brake lines, brake, all new interior .. everything had to be replaced. The body shop literally cut the brakes lines and wires when the removed the body from the pan. The wiring was a mess. When I when to get the car, I literally brought it home in boxes. Parts were missing, headlight assemblies were gone. This thing was a mess. And so, over the winter months .. I worked for endless hours on this wreck. Today, I drive it everyday to work. Anyway .. long story. As you also own a '73, I just thought I would share some photos of mine with you. You can share this with other club members if you would like. The photos can be seen at: