How to Crush a Car

Grampa Abe was the scrap-metal king of Monroe,
Georgia. He began with Atlanta’s rags in the 1920s,
moved on to dry goods, then got a taste of scrap

metal — rusted radiators, toasters, antique stoves.
In ’47, two weeks after purchasing his first
crashed Chevy he said, “My dance card will be filled

with accidents” — and his world evolved to totaled sedans
and wagons. When wealth hit in ’59 he bought a ’60
Caddy, then belly laughed as he smashed it to sharp, shiny

pieces, while the Jew-excluding, old-money, country-club
barons sipped their Wild Turkey and spectated. Three years
later he threw down the gold-embossed invite, crushing it

with his heel, looked me in the eye and said,
“Some day the world will be a better place.”

Gary D. Grossman
MacQueen’s Quinterly #24