Wednesday, May 9, 2012

The Side Dock Story

                                                              The Side Dock Story
                                                                         2002
                                      A continuation of the nightmare regarding the renovation
                                                    Of the side dock in Islamorada Florida
                                                Written 2010 Rewritten 04/29/2016 unedited
                                                                 Howard Yasgar


      Anyone that has ever gotten involved with doing a renovation project can relate to this true story.
      The story was written to illustrate how a fairly minor job escalated into a major job, and how it tried our patience nearly to its limits.
      What had started out as a project that we thought we would be completed in thirty days, stretched out to take over two years to complete, so if you get tired reading this story, I will understand, but remember we actually lived through it.
     When doing this side dock project, we had to personally deal with some the most horribly inefficient construction people that were available in the Florida Keys. It was almost as if we were doing the project in a third world country, some of the people that were used were just plain dumb, and some of them were just inefficient, and some were just crooks, and when looking back on it, I think most normal people would have eventually just given up on the whole project, but we persevered and eventually overcame all of the obstacles.   
     It all started in September of 2001, when we purchased a beautiful property located on Snake Creek. Snake Creek is the major waterway at the south end of the island of Islamorada in the Florida Keys. Snake Creek is the waterway that must be used by all sailing or power boats wishing to get from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean or from the ocean to the gulf, because it has the only bridge that opens and allows boats with larger masts to get through.
      My wife Katherine and I had spotted this particular piece of property when we used the Snake Creek water way ourselves to head out to the Atlantic Ocean to go fishing. The property was almost an acre in size with an odd shaped two story house on it. The property also had a fifty foot wide canal running along its left side. What made this property so unusual was that it had a boat slip facing Snake Creek, that was built under the front of the house, the boat slip had a beautiful walkway bridge crossing over it. That built-in boat slip and bridge was a very unusual design to see in the keys as few properties have them. That’s because today any water front home must be built a minimum of twenty feet from the existing shore line, which would not allow a boat slip to be built, as the sides of the boat slip are considered shoreline.
     When we first saw the property, we thought the boat slip built in the front would be an ideal place for us to dock our boat, however soon after moving on the property we realized that this was not possible due to the wakes of the boats traversing Snake Creek, making the water in the boat slip much too turbulent.
     It was then that we realized why the property had another large concrete dock, which was located at   the left rear of the property on the fifty foot wide Palo de Oro Canal. This concrete dock was quite wide. It had been built on the Palo de Oro Canal because the water there was much calmer with little turbulence making it ideal for docking a boat.
      When we moved onto the property in 2001 we had noticed that all of the properties concrete seawalls, as well as the front boat slip and the side dock, were all painted battleship grey. We thought this was rather unusual until we discovered that it had been done to cover up the brown rust stains coming up through the concrete from rotting steel rebar inside.
      We found out that when the house was built in 1967, it was possible that salt water had been used in the mixing of the concrete. The salt was now causing the rebar to rot in many places, creating ugly brown stains. It also became obvious that the grey paint had been used to cover it all up.
    Once we had worked many weekends with the assistance of our son in law John Troutman, we had finally sandblasted off most all the grey paint. I can still see John, hour after hour standing there on the seawall, wearing a plastic face protector, sandblasting in ninety degree Florida heat.
     Once the grey paint was gone, my mission became to remove all the brown stains on the one hundred eighty foot long seawall as well as the sides of the boat slip. This was done by laying on my stomach and chopping out all the concrete around the stains, and then removing the rotting steel rebar that was inside.
     Once that was done, the rebar was replaced and the concrete patched. Over the period of a year and a half, this was all accomplished using a small Chinese made small hand air chisel, and Home Depot fast drying patching cement.
     By the summer of 2003, it was time to attack the same brown staining problem from the side dock.
The project started when the Florida temperatures were in the high ninety’s, thus making our working in the intense heat nearly impossible. As a matter of fact it was so hot it was the point when I considered giving up the project entirely.
    One Sunday, as I stopped to wipe the sweat pooling in my glasses, I looked up to see someone watching me. I immediately recognized him to be a local Florida Keys contractor that we had met before. “Hello”, he said, “That’s quite a project you are doing, would you like me to send over one of my men with a larger air chisel to help you?”
     Being a firm believer, that if you want a job done right, you do it yourself, I said no. Then he said, “I’m sure you have other renovation projects that you could be doing instead of sweating out here working with that little air chisel.” Well, I looked at all the rust stains remaining, and I realized he was right, I was really killing myself. So I asked him how much it would cost to have him to chop up all the rusty rebar spots and patch the concrete.
      He took his time and looked over the entire dock and said. “I can do the job for $1100.00.” As I again wiped the sweat out of my glasses, and looked at the sun, I realized he was right, I really was an idiot, working on my knees in that heat. He was absolutely right, I had a million other projects I could be working on, so I said sure, go ahead and do the job. He said he would send a team of men over to do it as soon as he could.
      It was about three weeks later, when I next heard from him. I was working in my office in Miami when I was told there was a call for me from my contractor in the Keys. I took the call and the contractor said, “We are on your dock, and started the project, but the job was too big and he said he couldn’t do it for the $1100.00 he had quoted.” I immediately knew I had been the sucker for a classic “Bait and Switch” scam. The contractor had quoted a good price to get the job, but now once he had started, he wanted more money.
     My wife overhearing the conversation came into my office to hear what was going on. The contractor now wanted three thousand dollars and he said that he couldn’t guarantee the job.  Once we heard he couldn’t guarantee the job, I asked him, what were our alternatives, and he said, “I can pour a new slab of four inches of concrete over your entire dock for $5000.00 and the concrete will cover all the rust stains.”  Now, what had started out as a simple stain removal job had now escalated into a big $5000.00 concrete project, and we knew that the contractor had us over a barrel, because now he had already started chopping up our old concrete dock, so after a short discussion, my wife and I agreed to let him pour a new four inch layer of concrete over the dock.
     The following week Katherine and I passed by the local town hall and met with one of the building inspectors. Katherine wanted to know their opinion of the qualifications of the contractor. I listened as she was told that our particular contractor was the premier concrete contractor in the entire Florida Keys. He was the best they said, so now we felt confident that we had the right man for the job, as supposedly he knew what he was doing.
     After several weeks and several phone calls later, Katherine and I arrived on a Friday evening to find a large crew working on setting rebar over the entire side dock. It looked like they were doing a very nice and professional job. As we were watching, a heavy set fellow came over and introduced himself, he said he was an independent concrete contractor and had been hired by our contractor. It appeared that our “Premier concrete contractor,” knew nothing about pouring concrete and he had hired another company to do the job.    
      By the following week the rebar work was done and we expected to see concrete truck coming to pour the new dock, but the concrete truck never came.
     After two months we were becoming concerned that the rebar would become contaminated with the salt water, and if there was ever a storm, the rebar would be covered with salt water and start corroding.
So I expressed our concerns to the contractor week after week, until eventually the concrete truck finally arrived. The concrete truck came from a major cement producing company located up the road in Florida City, which was about forty to fifty miles away.
     The cement was poured, and we felt relieved that the project was finally done. The contractor instructed us to hose the dock down with water every week for a month while the cement was hardening, and we did exactly as he said.
      About another two months passed, and we noticed hairline cracks beginning to appear. At first they didn’t seem too bad, but as time went on the cracks covered the entire dock and started becoming bigger. So I called the contractor on the phone several times to come over and look at the cracks, but he never came. I knew that as soon as it rained water was going to go into all the cracks and start rusting the rebar inside and we could have a huge problem.
     Eventually the contractor did show up, and he looked over the cracks. I asked him what he thought had caused the cracking, he said he didn’t know. This was not exactly the answer we expected to hear from a fellow who was supposed to be the premier concrete contractor in the Florida Keys.
     Even I knew that concrete cracks when it hardens too fast. I suggested to the contractor that he call the concrete company in Florida City, as possibly they would admit the concrete was defective. The contractor said he would do it, but I didn’t believe him. We had a long conversation regarding it, and I said, look, we hired you to chop up some rust stains about six months ago, and now we have a five thousand dollar dock that is cracking and it is now worse than the original dock was.
      The contractor said, “Next week I will have my men come over and chop up the whole dock. I said look if you do that it will ruin our original old dock underneath, “Yes he said, but I’m not responsible for that, and I’m not pouring you a new dock.”
     At this point you might say the best thing to do is get an attorney and sue the contractor, but has anyone ever tried getting a small town attorney to sue a small town contractor, the attorney usually ends up being the contractors uncle, also our hiring an attorney could cost more than the entire project cost, so I told the contractor we needed to think some more about what we would do.
    The next week our friend and architect Larry Nix stopped by. Larry said he knew what caused the cracking. But he said he was working out of an engineering company’s office and he thought one of the structural engineers could stop by and give us his opinion of what had happened, and why the concrete had cracked.
    The following week Larry said the engineer had confirmed what the problem was that we had, it was due to “Hot Concrete.”  Hot Concrete is when the concrete starts to harden in the truck, and the driver then adds more water to cool it down, as he pours it, it was exactly what I had suspected. So the following Monday I took it upon myself to call the concrete company, and I told them what had transpired. I told them we and the engineer suspected that it was hot concrete that was poured. The fellow at the concrete company said they would immediately send down their engineer to determine what the problem was, and he said that he would call me back.
     Over the next two weeks, I called the concrete company up twice to find out when they were sending their engineer down to inspect the dock, I knew I was getting the real run around from them, but finally after the third week, they said, “Our engineer inspected your dock and tested the concrete, and he confirmed that it tested at five thousand pounds tensile strength.”
     I knew, that he knew very well that the engineer was supposed to look at the cracking, not the tensile strength.” “No” the concrete company representative said, “Our engineer was supposed to check the tensile strength,” I was left speechless, it was obvious the guy thought he could just baffle me with bullshit, and after the conversation, I felt foolish to ever having contacting them in the first place.
     Over the next month Katherine and I discussed all the alternatives we had available to us to fix the problem, and  we eventually determined that we could coat the dock with a good sealer filling in all the cracks, then we could lay brick pavers over everything in a nice multi colored decorative pattern.
     There was a local company in Islamorada that advertised “Discount pavers installed”, so we contacted them, and the following week a nice young man came over, he was very professional looking and had a measuring wheel on the end of a pole to accurately measure our dock. After measuring it, he said he would contact us with a price. The price he quoted was $5000.00. Here we had been expecting the highest price to be about $1000.00. The discount paver company should have been called “The rip off Paver Company”.
     We knew that in Miami, there were many tile and paver companies and there was one located just off the Palmetto Expressway near the 103 Street exit, very close to where we lived. So, Katherine and I took time off work and visited them. This particular tile company represented a local paver manufacturer that had all types of pavers in all colors. The salesman said he was happy to work with us, my wife had already designed a pattern and color scheme that required four different colors of pavers. The salesman calculated that all the pavers delivered to our house in the Keys would cost less than two thousand dollars. We gave him a deposit, and waited.
     About three weeks went by and the salesman advised us that three of the colors of pavers had come in and the Miami paver manufacturer had told him the third color would be there in in a week. We were so happy to be able to finally resolve our dock problem, so we went to the tile store and we paid him.
     Another two weeks went by and the salesman called Katherine to advise her that the final shipment of pavers had arrived. It was a Friday and he wanted to know if he should ship them to the keys that afternoon. I thought that would be terrific, it meant I could lay the pavers that very weekend.
     My wife Katherine suggested that we go by the tile company and inspect everything before they shipped, I gave her a hard time but I eventually agreed with her, and we both went to inspect the pavers, and it was a good thing that we did, the final shipment of pavers was all the wrong color.
     The tile company salesman said he couldn’t understand how this could happen, but he would get it corrected, and he called up the paver manufacturer while we sat at his desk.
    Well, weeks went by and no pavers ever came, again we took time off from work and visited the tile company salesman, we did it several times. Finally, the salesman said he was sorry, he said that he was at his wits end with the paver manufacturer and he refunded all of our money.
    While all of this paver business was going on, Katherine and I were shopping for tile to use in our renovation of the house. Also Katherine had come up with a nice salmon color that she wanted to paint the house.
     We stopped at a company called D and B Tile, located on 36 Street in Miami, and we found that they had a salmon colored porcelain tile made in Italy. After seeing it, we felt the color was perfect, and we could tile our entire seawall, as well as the dock with it, so we ordered five thousand square feet,
Of 12 inch tile, plus a 1000 square feet of 4 inch square black and orange accent pieces, and we paid for it. Then, we spoke at length with the salesman at the tile company, explaining to him all about the project we were doing in the Keys. We knew that the tile Company had several trucks with rubber tired forklifts attached to them. The forklifts were used to unload the heavy pallets of tile, and the forklift would be especially useful unloading the tile on our property which was all covered in pea rock.
     Well, on the appointed day, we waited in the Keys for our tile delivery. It came and there was no forklift on the truck. We had absolutely no way of unloading the truck, and even if we did we had no way of moving the tile on our property to where we needed it. So I immediately got on the phone and called D and B Tile Company, but now the salesman wasn’t so friendly. He said the company policy was “Curb side” delivery only. But I told him we had no way of unloading hundreds of boxes of tile in the Florida Keys. But arguing with the salesman was getting us nowhere, so in frustration I called the owner of D and B tile’s main store which was in in South Miami. After much discussion they agreed to ship the tile on a truck with a forklift.
     Because we has assumed our doc job would have been finished months ago we had ordered a new boat lift made out of Aluminum, and the boat lift company delivered it. But because the dock was not yet tiled, they piled up all the aluminum parts on our property. I was expecting every day to look and find that it had been stolen.
     Katherine had designed a beautiful tile pattern and we laid the tile on the whole dock using thin set mortar and a grey grout. All the neighbors watched us as we worked on our hands and knees setting the tile.
     On day while we were tiling, as we drove to the keys we saw a company making concrete animals. The lady said her talented husband made the animals right behind the building, while she ran the store. We met her husband and we purchased a lion that was way too heavy for us to move. The husband and wife team agreed to deliver it. They showed up as promised and the lion was beautiful and fit on the dock perfectly. The next week we visited them they were already divorced, and closing the store.
     When we were finished tiling the dock. It still had a three foot tall cement block wall all around its entire perimeter. We knew that the best stucco company in the Keys, was headed by an elderly gentleman named Mr. Haroldson, and fortunately they were working nearby on a neighbor’s home, so I went and I practically dragged Mr. Haroldson over to our place.
     Now Mr. Haroldson, was about eighty years old and his team of men have probably cemented the exterior of seventy five percent of the houses in the entire Keys, and you would think they knew all the methods of doing stucco. I asked Mr. Haroldson if he would stucco the wall around the dock in white stucco and add a little chipped marble for sparkle. He looked at me like I was a lunatic and said no. He said he had never done such a thing in his entire life.
     So I went to Home Depot bought some white cement and plastic sparkles and did the job myself.
     Now even though the side dock wasn’t one hundred percent finished, it was tiled, so we had the boat lift installed. Believe me, it was a truly a miracle that no one had come on the property and stolen the boat lifts aluminum parts while they were piled up in the yard.
     After the boat lift was installed. We needed to get a 220 volt electricity line to the dock to use it. Fortunately our good friends Tommy and Sandy were visiting from Connecticut. Tommy being in the construction business knew how to swing a pick, so in the intense summer heat, we dug a channel from the electric box located at the house all the way to the dock, we had to stop every few feet just to sit and cool down under a palm tree.
     Now with the dock tiled, and boat lift installed, it was time to install PVC bumper posts. Each post needed to be eight to nine feet long, and we needed ten of them. That’s when we found out that the Home Depot PVC posts were all too small in diameter. So we searched on line and eventually found the right diameter PVC posts, but we had to have them all shipped in from out of town. And we had to deal only with their distributor in Miami.
     Once the PVC posts were bolted in place, they were filled with steel rebar and cement. It was our intention to put white rubber boat bumper material on to the PVC posts so as not to mar the finish on any fiberglass boat, tying up to the dock.  
      It was then that we found that the PVC posts were too long for me to reach down to the waterline to screw on the rubber bumpers. Somehow, I would have to get closer to the water’s edge.  So one late Friday evening while we were driving through Key Largo we spotted a father and son selling a twelve foot aluminum dingy and trailer. We bought only the dingy for three hundred dollars, and loaded it in the car.
     A few weeks later, we had visit from Mike Murley and his wife from Detroit. Mike was a small guy and a marine mechanic so he stood in the little aluminum dingy and screwed in all the lower stainless steel screws holding the rubber bumpers on the PVC poles. Once all of this was done, we purchased a cement fish cleaning station at one end with a PVC drain pipe.
       The side dock was finally finished and it had only taken us two years.

                     
       
    
  

The Smuggled Gears Story



                                                           The Smuggled Gears Story
                                                 Smuggling and the Canadian Stink Bombs                                                       
                                                                          1959
                                         A true story written 01/2010 and R-written 04/27/2016 
                                                                     Howard Yasgar

 
      In 1957 my cousin Allen and I started going to Canada, Allen had relatives from his fathers side of the family living in Montreal. It was to open up a whole new world for us, a world  we were never new existed.
     Both Allen and I were working part time in a Gulf gas station that was managed by a local New Haven fellow name Scotty.
     My cousin Allen and I both loved working on automobiles, not only the automobiles that were coming in to the gas to be serviced but we were also always working on our own cars as well.
     When we were not in school or not working at the station, you could always find us in my back yard working on our cars, or working on some friend’s car.
      One day Allen told me that he had relatives living in Montreal Canada and he wanted to go visit them, it really sounded exotic, so we both went to Montreal, and I have to admit that trip became a life changing experience for me.
      At the time I had just graduated from Hillhouse High school and my cousin Allen was completing his last year at Commercial High School.
      I had just started rebuilding the engine on my 1940 Ford Convertible.
    I had driven that poor 1940 Ford convertible mercilessly until the engine just couldn’t take it anymore, and finally gave out.
     But I was fortunate enough to meet a fellow named Billy Flynn who offered to teach me how to rebuild that Ford flat head engine.(See the Billy Flynn Story).
     Once I started rebuilding the 1940 Ford engine, I got the brilliant idea that I could soup it up, while I was rebuilding it and make a hot rod.
      So that’s when I went out and bought a Ford Model a roadster body and chassis.
     I bought it with the intentions of making it into a drag racing car, and I was going to use  my souped up engine that I would remove from my 1940 Ford.
     At the same time I was thinking about this, my Cousin Allen was working on his own hot rod project.
      Allen had a 1949 Ford Coupe and he had installed a 1957 Oldsmobile V8 engine in it, and his car was always a work in progress.
      The bottom line was, at the time neither of us had a reliable car to go to Canada.
     Fortunately my dad had a 1952 Pontiac, and he had just bought a 1955 Oldsmobile four door sedan,  so naturally I hit on him to lend us his Oldsmobile to drive to Canada.
      One weekend, we gathered  all our available cash and we did it, we made the eight hour drive from New Haven to Montreal Canada.
      We found that driving from New Haven into Canada was really interesting because we had to go through Canadian customs, and swear we weren’t smuggling anything in.
      Then you had to do the same thing with U.S. Customs when you returned to the United States.
      As we weren’t smuggling anything, we thought going through all the Customs nonsense was all kind of a big joke.
      We had heard from friends that they could confiscate your car and put you in jail if they caught you smuggling.
      Once we were in Montreal, it was a cultural shock for us.
     They served French fries with vinegar, instead of ketchup and some of the people we spoke to didn’t speak English, they only spoke French.
     Then we were pleasantly surprised to see that our money was worth 25% more in Canada, which meant we could buy more Molsons beer.
     We met Allen’s cousins, There was Allen’s uncle and his aunt and they had four children. The oldest was Billy and Joyce who were both about our age and Gloria and Lorraine who were a bit younger they were perhaps eight or nine years old.
    They were all wonderful people and they always made room for us to stay in their home in Montreal North.
      Back then in 1957 and 1958, the hot rod craze was in full swing throughout the United States, and my cousin Allen and I were not immune to it.
      I had started attending New Haven State Teachers College, and I was driving my father’s 1955 Oldsmobile.
      One day dad said he was getting tired of me always using his car, so he went out and bought me a 1959 Chevrolet to have reliable transportation for college.
      Once I had that Chevrolet , we  could use it to drive to Montreal.
      Allen and I were now driving to Montreal about once a month.
      I have to admit that after meeting my cousin Allen’s very pretty Canadian cousin Joyce, she was the attraction for me making the trip every month.    
     Now back in 1957 and 1958, if you were building a race car, (Street Hot Rod) you needed a strong heavy duty three speed transmission.
      Hot rods with beefed up engines needed a transmission that would hold up under the strain of the high horsepower.
      So it was determined by the hot rod professionals that the three speed transmission used in the old 1939 to 1941 Cadillac’s would do the job perfectly.
    So, all of a sudden everyone started going to junk yards and buying up all these old Cadillac transmissions.
      It wasn’t long before the price of a used transmission was over $150.00 each, and that was only if you could find one. $150.00 back then was equal to $1500.00 or more today.
     So by 1959, looking for a used old Cadillac transmission in a junk yard anywhere in the United States became an impossibility.
     One day we were talking about it, and my cousin Allen suggested that possibly no one was even looking for these old transmissions in Canada, and if we looked there, we could probably find them.
     So I thought about it, and I concluded that Allen was right, no one living in Montreal would ever be looking for these old Cadillac transmissions.
    We could drive around the country going to all the small junk yards and probably buy them for about $20.00 each.
     So I told Cousin Allen that I thought it was a real good idea.
    It was then that I got to thinking about how to bring a used Cadillac transmission back over the border into the United States. The Canadian and U.S. Customs were very strict about that kind of stuff. it would probably require a lot of paperwork.
     I thought long and hard on the subject, and finally I came up with an idea.
     If we put a couple of junk transmissions in the trunk of my car, when we entered Canada we could declare them junk transmissions. Once we were in Canada we could throw them into the woods, and replace them with two good used Cadillac transmissions that we would buy from the junkyards in Montreal.
     Then when we returned, we could declare to U.S. Customs that they were all the same parts and they wouldn’t charge us any duty, I thought it was a great idea.
    So the next time we headed for Montreal, it was in my new 1959 Chevrolet, and we had two broken, junk transmissions in the trunk of the car.
    In the interim, my cousin Allen had studied the French language and had mastered an entire paragraph in French.
     He had memorized how to ask a French speaking junk yard owner, if they had any 1939 to 1941 Cadillac transmissions, and that we buy them for twenty dollars.
     So on the next trip to Montreal, we drove around the entire island stopping in every small back yard junk yard.
     Some of the little junk yards had cars in them that were so old, trees were growing through them.
     We would park in front of an old farmhouse, and Allen would knock on the door.
     Usually an Elderly French speaking husband and wife would answer the door and Allen would go into his prepared speech in French.
     I’m sure that listening to Allen speak French was so humorous that I the people didn’t know if they should laugh or cry, but they all listened to him, and we did find and buy two transmissions.
     We then threw into the woods the two old junk transmissions, I had in the car, and we brought back to the States, the two used Cadillac transmissions.
     Everything went as planned without a hitch, so we knew our smuggling system worked perfectly.      The following month, Allen and I were working at the Gulf gas station.
     The new manager now was a fellow named Tony.
     Tony had taken in a job to replace a noisy rear differential in a 1953 Buick.
     Now removing a differential from a 1953 Buick is no joking matter, neither Tony, Allen or I had ever removed one before.
     As hard as we tried, we couldn’t get that noisy differential out of the car, so we tried beating on it with a sledge hammer and chisels, and we even tried using crow bars, but it just wouldn’t come loose.
     So finally I went home and came back with my oxygen acetylene cutting torch, and with the torch we heated up the parts until they were red hot and then with Allen beating the hell out of it with a 5 pound sledge hammer, the differential finally came out of the car.
     We replaced the differential with a good used one that Tony ordered from a local junk yard.
    The old Buick differential that we had removed looked terrible, it was completely black from using my torch to heat it up, and it was dented from Allen beating on it with a hammer, so I just threw it in the junk pile behind the gas station.
     When it was time to make our next monthly trip back up to Montreal, I needed a junk transmission to put in the cars trunk, but I didn’t have one. All we has was that beat up 1953 Buick differential, the one we had thrown in the trash, so we put it in the car to show Canadian Customs. 
     At U.S. Customs, they made me open up my trunk, and the young customs officer asked me what the hell the awful burnt and dented part was?
     I said it’s a used transmission, he scrunched up his face and looked at me like I was some kind of nut, he knew it didn’t look like a transmission, but the part was so burned, dirty and greasy he didn’t even want to even touch it.
     Then he took me inside the Customs building and he had me fill out all kinds of papers.
      I got very nervous as I thought he was going to confiscate my car.
      I  knew that he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know exactly what.
      He must have wondered what in hell we were up to, bringing a dirty piece of junk like that into Canada?
      I watched as he looked for a serial number, but he did it without wanting to touch the dirty burned
Up differential.
      There were no legible numbers, so he hesitatingly closed my trunk and told us to move on. I have to admit both Allen and I were more than a little shook up over the inspection, and that’s how we somehow ended up heading to Montreal on a different road than we normally took.
      It was late in the afternoon as we entered some small town, but as we entered it there was a big billboard, it said, Kupferberg Transmission Rebuilding, straight ahead.
     We both thought it must have been an omen from god, possibly Kupferberg had the old 1939 Cadillac transmissions we wanted.
      By the time we reached the Kupferberg Transmission Company, all the employees had already gone home, and the only person still there was Mr. Kupferberg himself.
      So we got out of the car and asked him if he had any 1939 Cadillac transmissions?
      Mr. Kupferberg was about fifty years old and spoke with a heavy German accent, he said he couldn’t believe we two young Americans  looking for the old transmissions.
      He said, he had never seen kids our age that knew anything about old transmissions.
      He was very curious and he asked us how we smuggled the transmissions back into the States.
      I told him the whole story of how we brought junk parts in and smuggled the transmissions out.
      Kupferberg said, “What kind of junk do you have in your car now”. I told him we had a beat up 1953 Buick differential.
      His facial features changed completely, he said let me see it.
      So I opened the trunk and there was the burned and banged up 1953 Buick differential sitting there.
      Mr. Kupferberg rolled the dirty differential over and there was tears in his eyes, he was almost crying, and he said, “How much do you want for it. I have a customer that needs one right now and I don’t have one.”
     I said, Mr. Kupferberg, you can have it for free.
     He couldn’t believe it, he picked up the dirty differential and carried it into his store.
     Then he motioned for us to follow him to the back of his building. It was a big warehouse that had a concrete beam ceiling.
     From the ceiling were hanging greasy burlap bags, each had a used differential in it.
     Kupferberg said he was the biggest rebuilder of U.S. differentials in Canada. He said he bought used transmissions and differentials in the United States and he personally smuggled them into Canada by the truckload. Kupferberg was so proud of his business, he showed us his entire transmission and differential rebuilding shop.
     It appears he now felt we were fellow smugglers.
     Just as we were leaving, he reached down under the front counter and brought out a brand new set of Chevrolet 4/11 differential gears, they were still in in an original Chevrolet box.
    He said please take this in exchange for the 1953 Buick differential you gave me,  I can’t take it for free.
    Those Chevrolet 4/11 ring and pinion gears were like gold, because  they were not readily available in the states, they were priceless.
     While my Cousin Allen and I were in Montreal, we had stopped at a magic and trick shop just off Saint Catherine Street, the store sold all sorts of tricks and magic items.
    I bought a box of stink bombs, they were small glass vials of liquid that when they were broken they gave off a horrible Sulphur stink like a fart.
     On our way home we stopped at the Canadian customs office where the inspector gave us the hard time about bringing the 1953 Buick differential into Canada.
    We asked if we could use their rest room, and they said yes.
    So once we were in the building we taped with a band aid a fart bomb in the corner of every door.
    We placed the glass vial so it would break when the doors were closed.
                     


 
    
   
    
        
     

   

The George Lustig and the Cognac Story


                                         The George Lustig and the Cognac Story
                                                                  1975
                                   A true story about my friend George in Chicago
                                          Written 1/2012 Re-written 05/02/2016   
                                                           Howard Yasgar

      As I go through life I have met several people that I can say they were real “Characters”.
      I can tell you George Lustig was one of those people.
     George lived and worked in Chicago, and in 1975 he was buying and selling large quantities of excess automotive and truck parts.
      George was what was known in the industry as a “Surplus parts dealer”.
   He had started out as a young man attending government surplus auctions in Chicago and eventually he hooked up with a fellow named Bobby Keene and they began dealing in commercial truck parts.
      That’s was what George Lustig was doing when I met him.
      If you can, please read (The George Lustig and the pipe bender story).
     In 1956, when I was living in New Haven Connecticut, I had gotten involved in the buying and selling of surplus in a small way. Because of this, I had the privilege of meeting several larger surplus dealers that were operating in my home town of New Haven and also in New York City.
    What I had learned dealing with them, was that after WW2, around 1950, when the sources of military related surplus material began slowing down, all the surplus dealers started looking for other sources of excess surplus material.
    Many of them eventually moved into the commercial parts market place where they found that excess merchandise could be bought cheaply from all the large factories.
     So by 1974, I was setting up two companies in Miami, one was API Marine and the other company was Rebuilders Supply of Miami.
     Rebuilders supply sold automotive electrical parts both in the U.S. and also for export.
     It wasn’t long before the demand for our products outstripped our ability to supply the export market. We needed to find a good source of  excess surplus automotive parts.
     Several friends told me that some the surplus dealers were in business in the Chicago area. I was told that I should contact a company called Fleet Supply, and ask for a fellow named George Lustig, which I did.
      I called George and eventually went to meet him in Chicago.
      His Company was called Fleet Supply and was located on Canal Street.
     George had a very large warehouse that was just loaded with lots of new automotive and truck surplus parts.
     For me, finding Fleet Supply was like finding a gold mine, so as time went by, my relationship with George Lustig became just as nice as it could be, and George appeared to be thrilled to have found a new customer from Florida.
      Over the next year or so, I visited Fleet Supply many times, buying everything he had that suited our business.
      I think  we had become a good customer for George.
     So, one day in the winter of 1975, I was walking through George’s warehouse, in Chicago looking at all the wonderful new surplus items he had acquired.
      As I was walked around the warehouse, I bumped into another customer who was from Texas.
      The Texas fellow was doing the same as I was, but he was buying different items than I was.
      The Texan, looked to be 35 years old, just about my age.
      He wore cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and he had a big silver belt buckle. There was no question this guy was a real Texan.
      We were both walking around George’s warehouse together, each of us picking out the items we wanted.
      By late that afternoon after we had both finished finding everything we wanted.
     That’s when George invited us to follow him into the break room, it was a room which was located in the back of his warehouse.
     Just before we entered the break room, George opened up a door into what appeared to be a storage closet.
      Standing in there was a large metal bakers rack, that was about 4 feet wide and about 5 feet tall with 6 shelves on it.
     Each of the shelves contained assorted boxes of expensive cologne’s and perfumes, I also recognized several bottles of expensive whiskeys and several bottles of what appeared to be some kinds of expensive looking wine.
      As I looked, I couldn’t help but notice on the bottom shelf  was what appeared to be a
some kind of liquor.
      The reason I noticed it because the bottle was a darker color than the rest, and it had a bent neck. I had never seen a liquor bottle with a bent neck before. That bent neck made it stand out from all the other bottles on the rack.
      The bent neck bottle also appeared to have a handwritten label on it.
      George quickly stepped in front of the rack and said, “Fellows, I would like you to take whatever you want, as my gift to you”.
      That really bothered me, when he said that, and actually I was a little insulted that he would be offering me an expensive gift.
      I felt  like it was a bribe he was giving us to do business with him.
     I told George that while I appreciated his generosity, I thought that instead of offering me an expensive gift, he should lower his prices on what I had bought from him.
      I could see the Texan agreed with me and neither of us took anything off the bakers rack.
     Our not accepting a gift, didn’t appear to bother George at all, and he said, “Come on guys follow me into the break room, I have something I want you to taste”.
     He then motioned for us to have a seat at a table.
     The table was like a long picnic bench with an oilcloth on it.
      As I sat down on the back side of the table, the Texan was sitting  across from me.
      George said, “I want you guys to try something very special”, and he put two whiskey glasses on the table in front of us.
      George then went to an upper cupboard in the break room and very gently took out a bottle of Cognac.
      It was identical to the bottle I had seen on the lower shelf of the bakers rack, and it had the same bent neck and handwritten label.
      George poured each of us a shot glass full of the liquor.
      He said, “This is some of the finest and most expensive Cognac available, I had imported a case of twelve bottles that were shipped to me direct from Cognac France, each bottle cost me $800.00”.
      George handed me the bottle and I could see it had a special hand written label on it.
The label had some kind of story written by hand in cursive French writing, and I could see that Georges name and the date were also written on it. George had said that the Cognac was made exclusively for him in Cognac France.
      I lifted my glass, and I quickly drank the Cognac.
      It was possibly the worst thing I had ever tasted. I don’t know how I kept my composure, but I knew George was watching us, so I gritted my teeth and managed a smile.
      But I watched the face of the Texan sitting across from me and I thought he was going to throw up.
      Unseen by George, the Texan’s face was contorting in every possible way.
      “Now wasn’t that really good” George asked?
      Both the Texan and I nodded in agreement, but I saw the Texan was crossing his eyes
as he looked at me.
      George went on to say, “That Cognac should be good after costing me $800.00 a bottle. Plus the cost of shipping it here to Chicago.
      George then went on and told us a cute story about how he had kept in his liquor bar at home, one of the $800.00 bottles of Cognac.
      He said it was in a locked cabinet, and it was protected inside a sealed cardboard sleeve.
      George said he was saving that bottle of expensive Cognac for a special occasion.
      One day, when the special occasion came, and after George had finished telling his guests all about how expensive the bottle of Cognac was, he removed the bottle from the cardboard sleeve, only to find the bottle was empty.
      It appears that every week when his maid came to clean his apartment, she took a nip or two, and over a period of time she had emptied the entire $800.00 bottle of Cognac.
      It was a funny story.
      That evening as we were leaving Georges warehouse, I mentioned to him that I had noticed his last $800.00 bottle of Cognac that was sitting on the lower shelf of the bakers rack
      I asked George, what would have happened if when he offered me anything on the bakers rack, and I had picked the bottle of Cognac with the bent neck.
      George got very quiet. He was thinking, then he said, “I would have given it to you”.
      I should have told George that I wouldn’t want that bottle of Cognac even if he paid me to take it, but I didn’t say anything.




Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Stolen Boat Story


   
                                            The Stolen Boat I didn’t Want Story
                                                                1976
                                                          A true story
                  
                                           Written 3/2011 Re-Written 05/02/2016
                                                        Howard Yasgar
    

In 1976, I was running a small precious metals refining company in Miami.
At the time it was a part time business, that I was doing in the evenings and on the weekends.
I was also doing business with a friend that had a booth at the Miami Jewelry Exchange in downtown Miami.
Because I was the only one doing any precious metal refining in Miami at the time, it wasn’t long before he started sending me all sorts of strange people.
One day a father and son came over to see me.
The father was about 45 years old, and his son looked to be about 20.
After I initially met them, they came by several times bringing me some platinum metal scrap, and sometimes they brought small amounts of gold.
After several months, we became very friendly, and we talked about a variety of subjects.
The Father told me that he was a now a bachelor living with his son in a one family home in Miramar Florida.
He said that he and his son had tried refining precious metals themselves by emptying out their swimming pool and then setting up a small stove to heat chemicals up in the bottom where the deep end of the pool was.
He said they were trying to refine some metals just like I was doing.
He said that by their doing it in the empty pool, it kept the neighbors from seeing what they were doing, however the smell of the acids they were using was stinking up their whole neighborhood.
One evening he stopped by my house and brought me a small quantity of scrap gold and said he wanted to show me something.
He placed on my desk a small ingot of what looked like pure gold.
It weighed about 1/4 lb. I looked at it and I used a simple jewelers method of testing it.
Before I made a more intrusive test, I asked him how much he wanted for it.
He smiled and said he couldn’t sell it to me because I was his friend and the gold ingot was a fake.
I held it in my hand, and it sure looked pretty good to me.
It had the right color and heft to be real gold.
He said he and his son were having the ingots made out of a mixture of metals called jewelers alloy. Then they had a fellow who was electroplating them with 24K pure gold.
He said they said they were selling the ingots to investors that put them away in safety deposit boxes and vaults.
They felt that the investors would never discover that they were not real gold ingots.
It was easy to see how they could do this, as I was almost fooled myself with the sample he brought.
Now after listening to them, I now knew that what I had suspected was correct. I was dealing with real criminals, and con men.
He left that day leaving me with his sample of the fake gold ingot.
As I was a source of income to them, it appears that they considered me as being a friend that they could trust, and not report them.
One day, they came by and we were having a conversation. when I asked them what else they did for a living, and they said their real business was insurance fraud.
They went on to explain that many people wanted their cars or other property to disappear so that they could collect the insurance money.
I knew that, I had heard of Insurance fraud, but I never knew it was a real business, nor had I ever met any one who admitted that they were in that kind of business.
I wondered what did they did to make things disappear ?
They said that they drove lots of cars into the canals that were all around Miami.
They said that they had had put so many cars in some canals, that they couldn’t be used anymore, they said some canals were now 5 cars deep.
It was a big problem for them as they had to find new canals to sink the cars in.
I was flabbergasted to hear their story.
I always knew that stolen cars sometimes ended up in the canals, and here I was with the very people that put them there.
It was then that they asked me if I wanted a new car, as they had several late model ones every week to dispose of.
I told them that I didn’t need any cars, but jokingly I said that if they ever ran into a good legal fishing boat cheap, I would buy it.
About two weeks later, long after I had all but forgotten about the conversation.
I came home about 5 PM and there, parked in my carport was a boat on a trailer.
I got out of my car and walked up to it, wondering what this boat was doing in my car port.
It was a 18 foot fiberglass bowrider type boat on a trailer. It had a 200 horsepower Chrysler outboard engine on it.
It also had several fishing rods onboard and some other stuff.
My wife said she had heard some noises in the carport earlier in the day, but hadn’t noticed anyone putting a boat there.
It then dawned on me that my friends, the insurance fraud guys, had brought me a stolen boat.
I started to think of what would happen if the police found the boat at my house.
I knew that I certainly couldn’t ever use the boat, as it probably was already reported stolen, and the police were probably already looking for it.
The more I thought about it, the more nervous I became.
That night I could hardly sleep, worrying about the possibility of the police finding the boat in my carport.
The next morning, I got the fellow on the phone and asked him if he had left the boat, he said yes.
I asked him if f it was legal, did he have papers and if he did, how much did he want for it.
I knew he didn’t, no one sells a boat with fishing rods and other stuff on it.
He said, the boat was part of a friendly divorce and the owner wanted it to disappear, so he could collect the insurance.
I told them that I was very concerned about having a stolen boat in my carport, and I wanted them to remove it as fast as possible.
He was very calm about it and told me not to worry he would take care of everything.
The next day, when I came home, the boat and trailer were gone. But there were 3 fishing rods left leaning against the side of my house.
I never heard from him again, or his son.
You can be sure I never tried to contact them, as I now knew for sure that they were not only con men but car and boat thieves as well.
I didn’t want to anyone to ever associate me with them, so I was quite happy not to see them again.
Fast forward 20 years later to 1995.
In 1995 I had bought a small building that had been owned by an old friend.
I went to my friends office to talk with him.
His secretary told me that he was in a meeting with his new accountant.
After a few minutes, my friend walked out of his office, his accountant was right behind him.
Boy was I surprised, it was the same con man that was involved with the insurance fraud and had brought me the boat and left me the fake gold ingot.
He was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I tried not to show any sign of recognition and he did the same.