Saying Goodbye to the Mustang

Wilmington, North Carolina. January, 2004

I buy the 2003 Ford Mustang with $12,500 cash and my trade, a 1995 Nissan pickup.

It pleases me that I do not have to make payments. It also pleases me that I am driving such a nice car. As a kid, I never thought I would have a car like a Mustang or a Camaro, but here it is. I can immediately tell that this vehicle drives heavier than my little pickup that I traded in. I will also have to get used to the size of the Mustang. Though it is a sports car, to me it feels like I am driving a huge Cadillac.



I bought the car in part because I hope girls will be impressed by it. I do get a number of compliments, but so far not any dates. Maybe that will change…

Carolina Beach, North Carolina. September 2004.

My Mustang really looks beautiful, sitting in its assigned parking space below. I look down on it from the balcony of my condominium, one row back from the beach. The curves of the body, the shining white paint job, the sleek decals, all give me a good feeling. I own that car, I think to myself. That is what I drive. It is a cool car, no doubt.

Mom and Dad and are vacationing at Topsail Island, to the north of the beach where I live. I go up and have a good visit with them. When it is time for me to leave and return home, I roll down the windows and turn up the theme to the TV show, “Knight Rider” on my stereo as I drive away. Dad laughs and gives me a thumbs up.

America. January 2006.

Due to upheaval in my employment, on a whim I decide to move from North Carolina Las Vegas.

It is my brother, Adam, and me taking turns driving the Mustang on Interstate 40 almost all the way across the country. Dad and my Uncle Ken follow behind in the Penske rental truck.

The trip out there is one of the most memorable of my life. We stop and eat at a Cracker Barrel restaurant in Hermitage, Tennessee, take in the Clinton Presidential Library in Little Rock, Arkansas, eat at a great Chinese Buffet in Van Buren, Arkansas, spend the night in Roland, Oklahoma, then Pizza and an overnight stay in Tucumcari, New Mexico, then the following night to Williams, Arizona and a little detour to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, then to the division between the Mountain and Pacific Time Zones at the Hoover Dam, and finally arriving at night at the Stratosphere Hotel and Casino on the Las Vegas Strip.



Once my family has left Vegas, flying back to North Carolina, it is just me and my Mustang out here in the Mojave Desert. I have come out here with no job, and eventually wind up as a salesman at a car dealership.

One morning as I am headed to work, one of the sales managers pulls up alongside me in his truck as we head down Sahara Avenue.
“Drive that Mustang!” he shouts at me. “Drive it!”

The apartments where I live have a really high crime rate. The zip code, 89109, is #2 in the country for stolen cars, according to my insurance company.

“Yeah, you’re not a real resident here until you’ve had a car stolen from you,” my neighbor tells me. “I’ve lived here for eight years, and I’ve had two stolen from me.”

I go to an auto parts store and by “The Club” to put on my steering wheel each night.



Almost every morning when I exit my apartment to start the day, somebody’s car has been damaged- a mirror or window smashed, tires slashed. My Mustang is just about the nicest car in the complex. To my amazement, no one messes with my car for the entire time I live in the apartments.

Alexandria, Virginia. October, 2006.

My Mustang rides me to work each morning at the Post Office- a miserable, stressful drive. I come home from work exhausted.

The weather is starting to turn cold, now, and I wonder if I am going to be able to keep doing this as I climb out of the Mustang around 10pm at the end of another long day.

I click the lock button twice on my key fob, to set the car alarm. The Mustang’s horn honks twice.

I have never known it to do that before. Normally, the horn just blows once to let me know the alarm is set.

I press the key fob twice again, and the horn blows twice in quick succession again.

Huh. That is puzzling, I think to myself. But I go on inside to my apartment.

Early the next morning when I go out to the car, ready to drive to the Post Office again, I see that I left the passenger side door wide open from where got out the Styrofoam to go boxes of buffet food.

To my surprise, no one has messed with the inside of my car. Now I know why the horn was blowing twice- to signal that a door was open.

Fayetteville, North Carolina. Spring 2007.

While I wait to start a graduate program in history at Western Carolina University in the fall, I work again as a car salesman, this time Fayetteville. It is a Chevy Dealership, though we sell a lot of used Fords as well. It amuses me that in Vegas, many of the salesman were professional poker players. They sold cars during the day and played in poker tournaments at night in the casinos.

At this dealership, no one is a professional gambler, but some of the salesmen are also ordained ministers. One salesman carries two cell phones on his belt- a phone for his customers at the dealership, and the other for the members of his church.

Cullowhee, North Carolina. Fall 2008

I have always done better in school than in the work world, which is a bit frustrating. If academic success does not translate so easily to success in the real world, then what is the point of academics? But the lack of a correlation is not true for most people. I am going to see if I can mix the two worlds by making a career in academics.

Anyway, here at Western Carolina University, I am in the midst of the happiest year of my life, and I fully realize it.



I am actually getting dates, now. Girls are riding in the passenger seat of my Mustang on an almost regular basis, which was the main goal when I bought the car.

Tallahassee, Florida. 2009

“You have that nice Mustang, and you take the bus to school?” One of my friends asks me.

In my first year of law school, I use the Tallahassee transit system to get to and from the campus. During all three years in Tallahassee, my Mustang gets a bit of a break. I do not drive it that much. The main trip I make is to the grocery store with my classmate and neighbor from New Zealand, who does not have a car or a license at this point.

Kissimmee, Florida. Fall 2011.

I park my Mustang under an oak tree at my residence and walk to work. The tree dumps a lot of dirt and leaves on it in the coming weeks and months. Dirt gets into crevasses and linings in the car which are difficult if not impossible to clean. It is beginning to become an old car, I understand, now.

On a trip to visit my family in North Carolina, my brother washes the car and peels off the decals of the horses on the doors.

“It makes it look like less of a girl’s car,” he says.

Miami, Florida. Summer 2012.

I almost get into a major car accident coming out of Miami International Airport. There is a lot of construction there. It is nightfall and raining heavily, and I miss seeing a Yield sign posted amongst the orange and white barrels.

A taxi cab traveling at a high rate of speed taps the front of my car, as I pull out into his lane. But he keeps on going and I do not try to catch up to him and flag him down. At first chance, I get out of my car and survey the damage. We traded paint. Black and yellow is scuffed into my bumper, and it will not buff out.

This year in Miami, I really grind the Mustang, driving all over the city in stop and go traffic. The trunk, back seat and passenger seat are all stacked with boxes of books and other supplies for my job. It is not what the car was designed for, and I apologize to it and tell it what a great job it is doing on a daily basis.



Live Oak, Florida. 2013.

The driver side automatic window has stopped working. It costs approximately $500 to have a new window motor installed to have the problem fixed. A short time after I spend that money, the “Service Engine Soon” light comes on. I find out what the problem is. Though it is not an urgently needed repair, it will be another $500 to have this fixed. At times, now, the Mustang is also not driving as smoothly as it once did.

It is time to get a new car, I know, though I keep putting it off. I like the Mustang. It has been with me for ten years, ten turbulent years.

Lake City, Florida. April 26, 2014.

Today I must say goodbye to the Mustang.

When I bought it ten years ago, I thought that it would help me with women, help me get into adventures.

I have been on plenty of adventures with this car, though the passenger seat has remained empty for them.

I could buy another, brand new Mustang if I wanted to. But what is the point? It is sort of like buying a nice large house with lots of rooms, and then living in it by myself.

Instead, I buy a new Ford Focus. It has a moon roof and a trunk that will easily accommodate a bike rack, two things I want that the Mustang did not have. The gas mileage will also be much better. Perhaps I will have this Focus for the next ten years. I will get into adventures with this car, too, though I hope the next ten years are not as rocky as the previous ten.

Just as I am about to drive off the lot in my new car, I see my Mustang parked in a visitor space at the dealership, the license plate removed.

I get out of my car, go up to the Mustang, and put my hand on it. The emotion that springs up inside me is genuine.

“Excellent job, Mustang,” I say to it. “You are the best car I’ve ever had. You have served me well. If there is a heaven, I would like to see you there with me. I will miss you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone walking toward me. It is the salesman who did the deal. I assume he is coming to move the Mustang to the back of the dealership and out of the visitor space, but he abruptly turns around and walks back inside when he sees me.

I am a little embarrassed. It probably looks like I am praying over my old car.

I tell the Mustang that I hope its new owner will treat it well. Then I hop back in my Focus and give the Mustang one last look before I head out on the highway back to Live Oak.

The 4am Hobby

Tallahassee, Florida. April 19,2014.

Live Oak is a beautiful place to work and reside. The rural landscape here is much easier on the eyes than in Kendall, part of south Miami, where I lived last year- though Miami is beautiful in its ways, too.

Here, I can walk or ride my bike to open fields with flowers and cows. For long term living, I like that much better than amongst a maze of crowded freeways.





The people in Live Oak are great, too. They are very friendly, as one would expect in a town in the Deep South. It can get a little quiet here, though. The most popular restaurant and bar in Live Oak is actually closed on Saturdays and Sundays. Friday night is the time to get into adventures there. There are a couple of other bars that I sometimes go to on Saturdays, but it is inevitable that I see the same people over and over again, at the bar and then at the grocery store and everywhere else.

Gainesville is not too far away. But that is Gator country, and it is a town with which I am unfamiliar. I went to Florida State for law school, so I am much more comfortable in Tallahassee and walking into places where there is a lot of garnet and gold as opposed to orange and blue.

Live Oak has Tallahassee beat for cost of living, traffic, peace and quiet, and rural scenery. I am a bigger fish in a smaller pond here in Live Oak than I would be in Tallahassee.

In 20 years, if I am in Live Oak doing what I am doing right now, I will probably say that it has been a happy 20 years.

Still, if I lived in Tallahassee, I would take advantage of what that place has to offer. I would try all the restaurants, attend the plays put on by FSU’s Theater Department, go to many of the sporting events, especially football and baseball, and probably audit a random evening college class each semester or each academic year.

So I have also begun reaching out the 80 or so miles to Tallahassee, trying to renew a connection there and recapture a bit of my days as a student.

The main vehicle so far is weekend runs in Tallahassee organized by the Gulf Winds Track Club. Every Saturday morning, there is a 5k or 10k race starting at 8am. Each week, it is in a different part of the city. I see some of my colleagues from law school at these races, and that is a good feeling.

The first of these races for me was the Springtime 10k/5k in downtown Tallahassee.



It was raining all night and into the morning leading up to the race. I set my alarm clock for 5am, and struggled to get out of bed and get going. I thought I would get to Tallahassee with plenty of minutes to spare. But by the time I negotiated the traffic lights and found a parking spot, I had to run to the registration tables to avoid missing the start of the race. The sky dumped rain on me the whole race, but it was a breath of fresh air to be in Tallahassee again and see some familiar faces.

Now, for the first time in my life, I am regularly running 10k (6.2 miles) during the week to be as competitive as possible in the longer races. It amuses me, the number of people in Live Oak from work- clerks, bailiffs or other court personnel, who tell me that they see me on the road, running all the time. I really do not train that much compared to the more serious runners in these races, but even people in the bar in Live Oak have told me that they see me out running.

The past two races, I have set my alarm clock for 4am on Saturday morning. This works for getting me there on time.

What this means, though, is that I cannot go out on Friday night, the best night to be out in Live Oak.

Today was the Red Shoe Run benefiting the Ronald McDonald House in Tallahassee. The course took me through the beautiful Southwood community, over rolling hills of large, new homes and open landscapes of fields and a golf course. It was the first time in my life that I have run a 10k race.



Some runners talk about experiencing a “high” as they pile on the distance. Between miles two and four I was feeling pretty good. It had everything to do with the novel scenery around me, though. I doubt it will inspire me to train for a marathon. My runs of the same distance down familiar roads in Live Oak are just something for me to get through at this point. I would much prefer to bike them. The newness of what I was seeing today is what made the run very pleasant.

All of this is an effort- a new hobby that requires me to wake up at 4am on Saturday. It was cold, windy and misting today. I was shivering when the starting gun sounded.

Today, too, I saw no one from the law school other than a girl whom I asked out a couple of times when we were students. She was running with her new husband, and I let her be.

So there was no one I knew, and I ran alone.

But today, the overall experience was enjoyable enough for me to keep skipping Friday nights out in Live Oak, waking up at 4am, driving to Tallahassee in the dark and running these races by myself.

We will see if my resolve remains a month, two months and more from now.

Pain, Happiness and The Paper Chase

Tallahassee, Florida. The Summer of 2009

“You’ve never seen The Paper Chase?” the attorney asks me.

I shake my head no.

“Oh, it’s great. There’s a scene where one of the guys is trying to give his outline to his friends, and the wind takes it. He freaks out because his whole semester’s work gets scattered everywhere.”

“I’ll have to check that out,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s a great movie about law school.”

***

Live Oak, Florida. Present Day

I use the DVR (Digital Video Recording) feature on my satellite TV subscription extensively. Pretty much all I watch now is sports and recorded movies. I enjoy being able to record a film off the Turner Classic Movie Channel at 2am, and then watch it at my leisure later. My DVR memory space is completely filled up with classic movies, so that now when I record one, I have to decide which movie I must delete in order to create enough memory space. It is a difficult decision.

Thanks to the DVR, I recorded and then watched The Paper Chase this week.

The attorney whom I worked for in the summer of 2009 was right, it is pretty spot-on as to what the first year of law school felt like.



Granted, the film is about Harvard Law School, and I went to Florida State University. Also, a big part of the story is a romance. I never enjoyed a romance in law school, not with a girl like Lindsay Wagner, not with anyone. Still, the brightest people whom I have ever met in my life were in Tallahassee during those three years, from 2008 to 2011.

John Houseman’s performance as the Contracts Professor was highly entertaining. My own Contracts professor ran his class much the same way. He was younger and more energetic than Houseman, but after watching the movie, I would bet my professor borrowed a few things from Houseman’s performance.



The movie stirred up some painful memories for me, though. The scenes with the study group and how the students divided up the outlines were particularly intense and accurate. I could actually picture specific students with whom I went to school saying some of the lines of the actors.

In the movie, I would have been one of the guys who got kicked out of the study group for failing to make a useful outline. Outlining was a key to success in law school, yet I never made a single one. I never figured out how to do it, or maybe my brain just did not work that way.

My first year of law school, I joined a study group with what would turn out to be some of the best students in my entire graduating class. I talked a lot that first semester in the study group, perhaps more than anyone in the group.

I remember arriving at the school library one night, to continue my studying. As I walked up the stairs, I saw the students from my study group coming down the stairs, carrying an empty pizza box. It was obvious that they had just finished a study session, and they had not invited me. It stung even more because I had some pretty strong affection for one of the girls in the group. They realized that they were caught, but they did not know what to say, so we kind of awkwardly passed each other. I trudged up to the library.



After the first semester, I really did not participate in study groups. I succeeded in large part by finding the student who booked the class (made the highest grade) the semester or the year before, getting his or her outline, and taking notes on top of it. Though using others' outlines is perfectly acceptable and widespread in law school, some of these students from whom I got the outline resented me a little, I think.

Most of whatever success I had at grades, though, came from hard work. I out-studied a lot of students who were smarter than me. In the end, I managed to graduate with honors, inside the top 25% of my class. I also booked three classes during law school. The number of students in those three classes were significantly smaller than our first year classes or the required course after the first year, Constitutional Law II, but I was proud of the fact that I did not use anyone else's notes but my own to achieve the highest grade those three times.

Overall, law school was a fantastic experience. I am glad that I went to Florida State University. The fact that I could not prepare a good outline, though, and the fact that I am not a great legal writer and thus failed to make the law review, foreshadowed that I would not be successful in a large swath of what constitutes law practice. As the dean of my law school said on occasion, the practice of law is a literary endeavor. Most lawyers spend their lives performing research, drafting and editing documents, and writing memos. What is more, they do this in measured, six minute increments called the billable hour system.

My brain cannot function in such a system. I tried it, and I was miserable living my life that way.

The highest point, and the most important single victory that I scored in law school, was the night that I made the Mock Trial Team. I have written about that experience before. It opened up an avenue of employment for me- that of a trial lawyer- and barring any unforeseen incidents, criminal trial law is what I will do for my career. The research in criminal law, at least at the trial level, is typically low hanging fruit. It comes easier to me than research in civil litigation. More often than not, too, the case is not won on legal research, but rather arguing the facts in front of a jury. There is more room in my mind to be creative in that kind of game.

Just as important, one can practice criminal law without use of the billable hour system, in either private practice or as a Public Defender or State Attorney. This was not depicted in The Paper Chase, though.

Unfortunately, The Paper Chase brought back the memory of the single lowest point in my law school years…

I worked as a mentor in a summer program for the law school, to help incoming 1Ls (first year students) adjust to what they would be facing. My fellow three mentors were some of the best and brightest at the school, members of the law review.

As part of the program, the mentors were to grade a mock law school exam taken by the incoming students. To make sure that we as mentors were on point with our grading, we took the exam first and had it graded by one of the top faculty members at the school.

I cannot remember all of the details, as I have actively tried to forget the incident in the years since it happened. But the next day after the professor graded the four exams, we came in and my three colleagues had theirs handed back to them by a staff assistant, along with their scores.

The staff assistant told me that the professor who graded the exams wanted to see me in private, though. So I left the room, with my friends looking on at me curiously.

Again, I cannot remember the exact dialogue, but I do remember the professor calling me on the carpet to basically question my intellectual abilities. He gave me a look like he was wondering how I ever got admitted to his school, and he told me to go off and review the copies of the other three mentors’ exams so that I might learn what an answer should look like.

It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life, and I am sure my face was bright red when I walked back into the room with the other mentors and we had to discuss our scores.

My dad later asked me over the phone how I did on that practice exam, and I snapped at him some angry response. Dad left it alone after my answer.

I suppose that anecdote could be humorous if told the right way.

All in all, though, I am happy with my life and career and what law school has done for me. I wish working as a government trial lawyer paid more money, but it is nice to wake up each morning and feel confidence in what I do.

Unlike the top students in my law school who enjoyed success at any number of activities, time and experience have taught me that there are precious few things in this world that I am good at. But trial law is one of them.

Though I suspect I will always battle butterflies and nerves bubbling up in court, I have no fear of going to trial. I have no fear of losing trials, though of course it is disappointing when it happens. I have no fear of who the other attorneys might be, I do not care who the other attorneys are, or if there is one attorney or twenty lined up against me. I feel like, given and equal set of facts, with the law and judge being neutral, I can beat anyone in the world in front of a jury. I do not care if that sounds arrogant. In front of a jury, I can beat the professor who thought I did not belong in law school. The courtroom is my room.

That makes me happy.