Mother Of All Living!

I’ve mentioned times before about the nicks, scratches and small dents vehicles endure as the normal part of existing in NYC. I still get a kick out of seeing the super mobiles traveling around NYC showing the same battle scars of city driving. I’ve also noted how the last couple months the little Honda has received more damage than in twelve previous years of ownership in Atlanta, Orlando, Texas and Los Angeles. And then there was this morning.

A few blocks from home, a scrapping sound from the right rear raises my frustration level that we all have with our older vehicles. Love them or hate them, we can’t get rid of them for whatever reason and there always seems to be something maintenance oriented going on. Can’t you just run trusty old car?

I pulled over, well, really doubled parked and got out to see what was going on this time. A bloody bastard somehow side swiped the right rear quarter panel while my car was parked! It wasn’t there last night. The damage wasn’t the big issue here (the scraping was the body molding come loose but easily enough put in order) as much as the bugger got away with it and now I have to foot the bill. I went home with the wounded Honda too steamed over the injustice to continue the day in a gray state of affairs.

Assessing the damage further after arriving home, a neighbor whom I’ve seen but never met (that only happens during blackouts and devastating snow storms), came out and told me the tale of the construction truck down the street hitting my car, at 8:15am, license plate number and description of the driver included. Stunned anyone would say anything, a smile came across my face and suddenly I’m seeing dollars covering the damage they did as well as two door dings and a scratch from previous encounters. The conversation in mixed English and Spanish was civil and as in most business dealings in NYC, under the table cash is perfectly acceptable.

I went to Romeo’s Collision Work down the street. For five years I purposefully travel by his shop for two reasons: one, he has more vintage sports cars from around the world parked on a daily basis for repairs than the Pebble Beach Concours would after a vandalism spree, and two, a Subaru American Rally Series outfit is next door and they keep in business by outfitting and repairing similar rides for other racers. Good tunes from engine tuning and vintage eye candy are always to be had. It also appears Mr. Romeo keeps in business by being a source for a Porsche dealer’s body repair work. If it is good enough for Porsche, it is good enough for me.

Over the years of walking past Romeo’s, I see it is frequently visited by 911’s from the sixties, a few 914’s here and there and two years ago, I pissed my pants seeing a Porsche GT parked there. It wasn’t so much the sight of a GT outside of auto show confines, but the smashed rear end with temporary tags on. Oh God, the horror! A Ferrari F40 was certainly a sight but only marred by a second one (different tags at least) a few weeks later. Both suffered curb crunches (or pot hole drops) on opposite sides of the front spoiler. Maranello’s kids are infrequently in for repairs but always a nice sight to see from the inside out with bumpers and the like removed.

My Honda’s mishap allowed stalking to become a reality and once past the garage doors, the repair shop was more enticing. A bathtub Porsche sat in disarray with just a touch of sunlight cascading on the rusted metal from the shop skylight above. I wanted to take a piece of sandpaper and go to it. The allure was immense. Past that emotion (as the shop becomes just that, emotional) a Spitfire, a 944 SCCA racer, a last generation M5 just in for touch-ups and then the real magic begins, two Fiat 500’s.

Mr. Romeo is an Italian immigrant of a certain age. The neighborhood surrounding the shop is quintessential Italian and the six by twelve block area is only now being somewhat gentrified, but certainly still home to some first generation American Italians. Mr. Romeo has the charm of an aged craftsman. The scars on his hands from multiple knuckle knocks compliments his epidermis that has endured years of shop dust and paint. If I were the owner of a smashed Porsche GT or a creation from Maranello, I’d want no one else doing the job but Mr. Romeo. I went there with the Honda just for kicks, and I wasn’t paying!

Understanding Mr. Romeo comes from a post WWII Italy will help you understand why his eyes glistened when I recognized the Fiat 500. First, you must pronounce it right and I practiced before picking up the Honda. Click here for practice (http://www.fiat500.com/eng/popup_languages.asp?ID=12) and repeat over and over. Now that you have that down, when I left the bathtub Porsche and bee lined over to the shell of a Fiat Cinquecento (and pronounced it just so) Mr. Romeo and I spent the next 30 minutes discussing the history and future (http://www.fiat500.com) of the 500. This car gave Italy wheels after WWII and a following not unlike that of the Mini Cooper. Rear engine, two cylinders and light as a feather, the wheel base along with a wide stance could give anyone miles of smile power below government speed recommendations. Very certainly below speed limits, but in that size of a car, who cares? And when it comes to expensive fuel, you won’t care either at the pump.

Every car has a history but this Fiat 500 (and the one outside that “almost” runs) is Mr. Romeo’s history. Only now, he works on the world’s most rare and beautiful cars, but perhaps not the most important on a personal, magical level.

Yes, the Honda turned out great and even the paint matching was right on for a red car that likes to bask in the sun twelve years and going. Would I expect any less? Nope. Now, I need someone to hit the front bumper, both doors and mid-tailgate, so I can get rid of annoying car door blemishes. Wait, I lied. I don’t care about the blemishes I just want to visit Mr. Romeo again.