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Menachem's Writings I live on a laneway at the end of a cul-de-sac (a dead-end street, no thru road). The laneway is a pedestrian mall, shaded by fruit and pretty smelling trees. It is idyllic when you have little children who can wander around without fear of being trampled by garbage trucks, tractors or automobiles, but is problematic in getting from your car to your house during inclement weather (rain, snow, sleet and hot sun). We all like to park as close as possible to our residences. The street (and laneways leading off it) are occupied by people originating from many different countries: Australia, Slovakia, Poland, England, South Africa, Hungary, Holland and even some Americans. We even have a professor, who was born in Persia to German carpet salesmen and was educated in New York City. So you see it's quite multicultural, a real melting pot. You can hear different languages and the blend of smells from the local cooking can vary from tantalising to foul. Nearly all of our group is quite intelligent/academic: a professor of statistics, a paediatrician (he's from South Africa, so he is not a paediatrician), a retired doctor who spends his day trading stocks, a couple of dentists, an architect, a tour guide, a futures trader, an optometrist, a builder, a computer scientist and ... a used tractor salesman. Quite a colorful, colourful neighbourhood. And the most colourful (is matted black hair also a colour?) of all is the slightly used tractor salesman. (I told you in my introduction that I will be writing about some strange, imagined people.) For the last twenty-three years I have had the great and painful misfortune of living in his proximity, near the end of the cul-de-sac. Bentley (as in the poor man's Rolls Royce -- he, or his mother perhaps, wish, in their wildest dreams) is not your usual tractor salesman. He is originally from New York's lower East Side (arriving there following a stint in Brookline, a place really far from South Dakota, and not just in miles). And he has a real foul mouth. Now don't get me wrong -- I don't have a problem with tractors (John Deere is actually someone to admire and John Froelich's model preceded the first automobile) but used tractor salesmen are another story. Remember the famous poster featuring Trickie Dickie, the former U.S. President, Richard Nixon, with the caption, "Would you buy a used car from this man?" Well Bentley (also known as Big Ears as will become apparent later in our story) certainly does not enhance the reputation of his profession. (Speaking of politicians selling cars, former Australian Prime Minister, John Gorton, actually did appear in a car commercial after leaving office, though that advertisement was for new cars, which are covered by warrantee, and not the second-hand variety. And he did not leave office in disgrace.) Years ago, Bentley owned a used tractor lot in town. (Albuquerque isn't actually blanketed with used tractor lots.) He then had two business names, CIA Motors (See Inside, All is there) and MI5 Tractors (Motor Included though with only 5 spark-plugs). But why pay for expensive real estate when you can park in the street outside your neighbours' houses and outside the local church, where morning parking is at a premium? Bentley moves his tractors around between the two locations as well as up and down the street, so people think (well he must think they do) they belong to visitors or maybe little green people who occasionally drop by. He takes up half the street with his old tractors. They leak oil all over the place. The street is covered in it! You can't talk to Bentley about it. It's like water off a duck's back. "Dis is a public street you know!" he says. Very observant, Bentley! The motto for our town's half-jubilee celebrations this week is, "Our town is great, and what makes it great is you, neighbour". We get lucky once a year. Bentley goes back to the slums of Mexico City (to ingest enough Mexican Jumping Beans to keep him going -- now you know the source of his temper) from where his family hails, for two months to sharpen his "sales skills" (for some reason he usually travels via Budapest or Slovakia). His tractors usually inhabit our area for a couple of weeks following his departure. After that the police come in and tow them away. You see, as Bentley does not have legal title to these vehicles, we report them as stolen. Apart from not paying rent and rates for his used tractor private parking lot, he also retains the implements as registered in the original farmer's name. This saves him the title transfer fee, in addition to another generation of owners. But the downside for him is that he can't prove they belong to him. Be warned if you are thinking of selling him your crankshaft. It will remain registered in your name until he finds another sucker. I see it everyday out here in our street. Sometimes a tractor may disappear. The neighbourhood gets excited (we used to throw a block party), but the excitement is often misplaced, or at least usually a little premature. After a few weeks, up to two months, the old yellow tractor returns. I guess he rents them out to farmers for the ploughing and harvest seasons. Our friend Elijah's tractor has made a return from the dead at least eight times in the past year. At least old Elijah got some money for his vehicle from Bentley (or so he tells us). That old tractor was in a bad way, but it's been painted in a new shiny, bright yellow now. Elijah walked straight past it without recognising it. Bentley makes cameo visits to our swimming pool. Swimming is not his forté He however lectures in the Turkish bath (and makes a few tractor sales there, perhaps -- no, not any more -- except for Nick -- who keeps buying tractors which break down continuously -- Nick has a good heart and blames the mechanics, but ... we know better). Bentley may as well be speaking Turkish as no-one else in the facility does and that's about the extent of his audience, but with the background hiss of all the steam, I don't think he even notices. No-one talks to him in the street, so why in the steam-room? However in the locker room, there is only din of happy voices and political discussion. Bentley has a sixth sense -- it's uncanny. He knows when people are going to discuss him and his merchandise. He is first to leave the room, but we know that he stands just outside the door, listening to his comrades. If his name or merchandise are mentioned, he suddenly appears back in the change room, casting his piecing black eyes in the direction of the offending voice. Pierce all you want Big Ears. In our part of the world, where we cannot afford Jaguars or Cadillacs, you are famous and precious!
Menachem Kuchar 22nd April, 2008 Update 22nd April, 2025 ... Bentley Junior now sells used refrigerators and clothes washers at the end of our cul de sac. Praised be He, they are stacked up along the sides of their off-road parking space ... well for the moment. Now we have new additional traffic in our street, of wagons and trailers. And junior does do his personal washing in the car park.
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