This is a tale from my youth, a very confusing period of my life, including the habit of drinking myself into a drunken stupor just for the fun of it, reckless driving of Jack Baruthian proportions, and generally excessive wanton behavior. In short, a day in the life of an average college kid, knee-deep in a period of Sturm-und-Drang. I was young, I was stupid and I had a death wish none of this world. I usually spent more time at the local café than in school, and I was out partying five days a week. I was twenty years old, I went to college, I had an apartment of my own, and I was the proud owner of a car, minus the driving license.
The car was a family hand-me-down, a Volvo P210 Station Wagon, of the 1968 vintage. It had remained in the family for some twenty years (eventually replaced as the family truckster by a certified pre-owned Toyota Hiace van). I was handed the keys on my eighteenth birthday, though the car usually stayed at the family residence. Again, I didn’t have the license to drive it. However, I took some artistic liberty in the use of the car, usually with the excuse that some friends of mine had a driving license. And on those occasions it was proudly parked outside my apartment. None the better for resisting temptations. I couldn’t help myself but to take it for a ride now and then, usually at night.
One night, I was playing games on my Commodore 64 (yes, it was that long ago) when I heard someone knocking at my door. It was my two friends Peter and Paul (names changed to protect the innocent). They asked me If I wasn’t perhaps in the mood for some partying? “Yes, well, of course,” I said. “And who’s gonna be there?” “Well, there’s you,” they replied, “and then the two of us.” “Sure,” I said, “why not.”
Paul wanted to party-crash his parents’ house out in the country. That meant we had to take my Volvo for a ride. Said and done, we arrived at his parents’ house some half an hour later.
It was a big and very flat house with overhanging roofs, built in the bungalow style. It was meant to be some fancy up-scale variant, with lots of white marble and tables of brass and smoked glass. Its moment had come and gone in 1983.
After a couple of hours of ransacking his father’s liquor cabinet, proving a point in a discussion I can’t remember (neither the discussion nor the point), Paul decided to fetch a cross-bow his uncle had in storage at his family’s other place. It seemed like a great idea. On our way out, we took Paul’s parent’s car, a late 70s euro-spec Ford Granada Station Wagon. I have never driven my parents’ car while intoxicated; Paul smiled in a smirky fashion. And we should have known better.
It was two o’clock in the middle of the night. There was no car in sight on the dark back roads of the Swedish countryside. Paul was up front, I was riding shotgun, and Peter was sitting in the back, right behind me.
Not long after we got started, we were lost. Paul decided to turn the car around. While backing the car into an exit, he missed it by several meters, and backed right into a ditch. It took us some time to get the car back up on the road again. If only we’d quit then . . .
Ten minutes later, we were driving on an avenue, with trees on both sides. The last time I looked at the speedometer, we were traveling in excess of 180 kilometers per hour. Suddenly, the avenue of trees made way for some open fields, the pavement made way for a gravel road, and a sharp turn to the right was advancing at an alarming speed. Paul cleared the turn to the right, but he lost control of the car. It made a violent return skid to the left, only to see the car exit the road to the field on the right.
There was a downward inclination of about a meter or so down to the ground,. The car hit a tree, two times, due to it being sideways and inclined. First the car hit the tree with the front left, then it bounced and hit the tree once again, on the left side. The tree made a man-sized indentation—on the side where no one was sitting.
After a moment of silence, we asked ourselves if we were okay. And we were, pretty much. Paul was in shock. Peter had a couple of broken ribs. I somehow managed to be completely unharmed, save a couple of minor scratches. The big tire jack, formerly placed in the open back, was fifty meters away from the car, out on the field. Had it hit us on our heads on its way out, I wouldn’t have been here telling you this.
Paul, who always had been slightly criminally bent, started meddling the locks with a screwdriver, so it would look like the car had been stolen. And then we began our way back to the house, on foot. An hour later, we arrived back at Paul’s parents’ house. It was four o’clock in the morning, and we were almighty bruised and tired.
Paul immediately woke up his kid brother, who had been at the house all the time, sleeping and unknowing that we had been there before. Paul’s strategy was for us to swiftly move back to my place, making it look like we had never been there at all, with his kid brother as a witness of the non-existent events that had just taken place.
An hour or so later, we were back at my place in town. Kennedy-like, we immediately went to sleep. I crashed on my bed, the sofas were occupied, and the kid brother made use of the spare mattress in my tiny one room apartment.
Nine o’clock sharp, there was a loud knock on the door. I went up and opened the door. “This is the Police,” they said, “are you Mr. So-and-so?” “Yes,” I answered. “Good. We have orders to escort you out of town. Apparently, you have failed to show up at your military training, which was due this morning, and we will see to it that you get there.” “All right,” I said, “let me fetch my contact lenses, and we’ll be on our way.”
While the police waited, I’m sure they had a look around in the room, and I’m equally sure that all my friends were now widely awake, but hiding under their blankets. As I hadn’t cleaned in a very long time, the room was very untidy. Empty wine bottles lying around, records out of their sleeves, someone had puked in the kitchen sink, and there were fresh cigarette marks all over the carpet. It looked like we had partied like there was no tomorrow.
In the ride out of town, one of the plainclothes men asked me who it was in my apartment. “Oh, it was Mr. Paul and Peter so-and-so,” I said. “Yes, well, I thought I’d recognized them,” he replied. “We had a party last night,” I said. “Yes, we could see that,” he retorted dryly. And the rest of the ride they were silent.
As I had failed to show up for my military training five times in a row, in two years time of not making up my mind, I didn’t have to do the usual physical routine or intelligence tests, but had to go straight to the line to see the psychiatrist. I was very thankful for that, as my entire body ached, some tremendously.
After waiting for an hour, I was let into this room with this very nice lady, who looked at my papers and then looked at me and then looked at my papers again. “I can see that you don’t want to do this year in the military,” she smiled, “but what reason should we come up with?” I took that as my cue to tell her the long and tedious story of my life, exaggerating all the points that would make me unfit for my military duty. She slapped me on the wrist and let me go, with the written conclusion that I was “too individually minded to fit in the collective whole of the army.” I was handed my one and only daily wage from the military, some 38 Swedish kronor or about five dollars.
The young cadet in the counter smirked and called me a simulating SOB. I had left my wallet back home, but luckily for me, the bus fair home was 32 kronor. On the way back, I got myself contemplating and tried to grasp the absurdity of life. Back home, on the kitchen counter, there was a gift-wrapped bottle of Gordon’s London Dry Gin and a note from Paul’s girlfriend, thanking me for insisting that all in the car should wear seat belts. I laughed with the most uncanny laughter I’ve ever heard, went straight to my bed and slept for fifteen hours.
Never again.
An hour or so later, we were back at my place in town. Kennedy-like, we immediately went to sleep.
Too soon?
{snicker}
The Kennedy-reference is just RF having fun with the edit button.
And, when it comes to jokes, there is no such thing as being “too soon”.
Ingvar, I’m sure the bus was fair, but you probably still had to pay the fare.
@tsofting:
Yes, of course, you are right. I’t a lapse of thought. The thing is, english isn’t actually my first language. Things like that happen in the heat of the night… It took me four hours to write, endless cups of coffee, and a whole pack of cigarettes…
Ingvar, you write better than most native English speakers. I had to copyedit only a few things in your piece. It took me longer than usual, though, because I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
Stay safe, everyone!
Looking at that picture, I’m remind of how beautiful that car actually is. I’m not sure if the Americans are familiar with the P210, or “Duett” as it was called. Was it ever sold over there?
Perhaps one of the most durable and practical cars ever made. BOF, rear-wheel drive, simple and sturdy mechanics. Mine had its B18-engine swapped to a B20 from a Volvo 144. A hundred hp or so, it was mighty fun. The car in itself is very similar to the Willys Jeep Wagon.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volvo_Duett
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willys_Jeep_Wagon
That’s a rather curious system you have over there. Compulsory military service, yet the authorities actively look to find you an exemption when it’s clear that you are not interested/willing to serve. I can’t decide if it’s incredibly enlightened or the most Catch-22 worthy beaurocracy I’ve ever heard of.
Well, that deserves an explanation.
Officially, Sweden has a conscription army, were military service is compulsory. Back in the days, it really was a Kafkaesque expierence in the Catch-22 manner, where if you didn’t want to do the service, they forced you to it, on pain of being jailed. However, in the early 90´s, due to budgetary constraints, and less fear of the Russians, they began to more lax. Like, “if they don’t want to, we can do without them.” I was the first generation of that period. Nowadays, it’s still mandatory, but only if you really really want to. Like, they ONLY take those that has an actual interest in the military.
Personally, I regret not doing my service. But I was not mentally or emotionally ready for it then. I had too much shit going on in my life to even care about it. From a democracy standpoint, there are no better alternatives than a conscription army, the regular Jane’s and Joe’s of the people. Because, if they are figthing an unjust war, there will be riots and upheaval. People doing it for the money don’t give a shit if it’s right or wrong, as long as they get paid.
“simulating SOB”
-Shame on you Ingvar, I thought you were an Actual SOB, you SOB! :D
*Now if Paul’s girlfriend had been in the car, got killed by the flying jack, you three ran off and RF added that you’d Kennedy-like, blamed her death on poor bridge/road construction, that may have been too soon??
-nah, maybe not! :P
Excellent post. Thank you for that.
I worked in the parts department of a Volvo dealership of several years and had 1966 122 sedan myself. They made their cars like tanks back then. Simple, strong, and reliable. With the advent of the 740’s and 760’s with their Hella controlled electric window and door switches, problems started to happen. I can only hope there’ve been some improvements since then.
Ingvar Hallstrom :
September 5th, 2009 at 7:16 pm
From a democracy standpoint, there are no better alternatives than a conscription army, the regular Jane’s and Joe’s of the people. Because, if they are figthing an unjust war, there will be riots and upheaval. People doing it for the money don’t give a shit if it’s right or wrong, as long as they get paid.
I like your article…but I’d quibble with you on this point. I think the question of whether or not to fight a war is up to the people, not the soldiers, and the people will voice opposition to an unjust war whether the soldiers fighting it are conscripts or not.
I also think there’s military value in having volunteer soliders – they tend to be more motivated to be in the military.
For a country like the United States, a voluteer army is the better bet, I think. Maybe not so much for Sweden, a country whose military is basically designed for self-defense, not power projection.
I know this is getting political now, but how many unjust wars have Sweden fought the last couple of hundred years? And how many the United States? Except for peacekeeping operations under the UN flag, the last time Sweden was at war was the Campaign against Norway in 1814. We haven’t been to war in 195 years.
The key difference is of course that the US is an offensive economy and war power, whilst Sweden is a defensive one. The point is, what happens when the soldiers finds themselves in an unjust war? Should they obey order at all costs, á la the Nazis? Or make themselves heard, like in the protests of the Vietnam War? Vietnam changed the scene for the americans, it was the last time they had a conscription army. Is the war in Iraq a just or an unjust war? Recent news reported that more soldiers dies of suicide back home, than in actual battle.
Why would so many soldiers take their own lifes, after that experience? Is volunteers more motivated? The Jane’s and Joe’s are motivated to fight for King and country, for women and children, to protect their homes and their lands. In short, the people will only fight if the cause is right. Volunteers, on the other hand, work for those who pay the best. It’s like the Method Actor asking the director for instructions: “What is my motivation in this scene?” and have the answer slapped in their face: “Your salary is your motivation”.
Ingvar,
Thanks for taking the time to write your excellent cautionary tale. It could have been straight out of my own life, but I’m glad its not. I was quite the car jacker/borrower back then.
Yes, the Volvo Duett wagon was imported to the US, and one used to see them reasonably often. I always had a very soft spot for them, and could have seen myself in one. I would love to find one for a Curbside Classic.
Ingvar Hallstrom :
September 6th, 2009 at 5:53 am
I know this is getting political now, but how many unjust wars have Sweden fought the last couple of hundred years? And how many the United States? Except for peacekeeping operations under the UN flag, the last time Sweden was at war was the Campaign against Norway in 1814. We haven’t been to war in 195 years.
True, but I also think it’s worth mentioning that if not for the U.S.’ “offensive” power projection, Sweden almost certainly would have been fighting one just war it would have lost – World War III, against the Soviets.
You can thank us any old time, Ingvar… :)
And I think you also ignore what happened during WWII. How can a country call itself neutral when it sold vital raw materials to the Nazis, and let the the German traverse Swedish territory to attack Finland? In fact, Sweden played both sides in the war politically to stay “neutral.”
I understand Sweden’s political thinking – play both sides or get conquered – but I think the “neutrality” argument doesn’t exactly wash, given those facts.
Re: soldier suicides – if you take a look at the cause for most, the justifiability of the Iraq war was a non-factor. In most cases, it was PTSD.
Very nice post!
As for conscription versus professional armies, there are several arguments for both varieties. The quality of soldiers (education, skills, etc.) tends to be massively better in conscription armies. People who have much better oportunities in the civil sector still have to go, as opposed to volunteer armies. The counter argument is that much of modern equipment is very complex and takes a long time to learn to operate, by the same token constant training is required. In military exercises conscription armies often beat professional ones (and I do not only mean the Israeli conscription army) ;)
However, as always, I suppose both have their place in different societies and suit better in some circumstances.
“You can thank us any old time, Ingvar… :)”
I’d rather thank the Russians, thankyouverymuch. Without their stronghold of the Eastern Front, to the tune of sacrificing some twenty million lifes, D-Day would have been a piss in the Nile.
But Yes, I don’t like Sweden’s stand against the Nazis either. But hadn’t they played nice, Sweden would have been invaded in less than a heartbeat.
Remember, the invasion and occupation of Denmark and Norway had one and only strategic purpose, to secure steel deliveries to Germany, and to prevent Allied forces to disrupt those deliveries. The Swedish steel was made in the north of Sweden, either shipped to the Atlantic via Narvik in Norway, or shipped through the Baltic sea. To understand the Swedish stand, you have to understand the government fully well knew that the Germans had occupied two entire countries just to get their steel shipped securely.
In a twist of irony, my grandfather worked in the very same mines during the war, that mined that very ore. And he was a hardcore communist, leader of the local communist party, a working class hero, one of the so called strong men of the community. And he knew fully well where that steel went away. Their stand was, “what can you do? That war is so far away it doesn’t concern us. We have to put food on our tables either way.” And I can understand that view, and I can respect that.
Ingvar Hallstrom :
September 6th, 2009 at 4:13 pm
I’d rather thank the Russians, thankyouverymuch. Without their stronghold of the Eastern Front, to the tune of sacrificing some twenty million lifes, D-Day would have been a piss in the Nile.
I was actually talking about the Cold War. Without the United States, there would have been no NATO, and without NATO, the Russians would have run roughshod over Europe in about 10 minutes. Lord knows they had the army to get the job done, and with nukes, it would have been a fait accompli.
Given the historical antagonism between Sweden and Russia (exacerbated in no small part by Sweden’s behavior in WWII), I bet Sweden would have been one of the first targets.
Like Sweden’s “neutrality” policy, the U.S.’ power projection is not something you cannot make “black and white” instant judgments about.
Also, back on the subject of WWII…American involvement went FAR beyond D-Day.
It was Patton who defeated Rommel in North Africa, denying the Nazis the Suez Canal and Middle East oil supplies. The Air Force bombed the crap out of Germany pretty much from the day we got into the war, hampering their war effort.
But most importantly, it was American involvement that saved Britain, and neutralized the one war-winning weapon the Nazis had – the U-boat.
U.S. aid to Russia also made sure that there WAS a Russia left to fight the Nazis.
People complain a lot about “Imperial America,” but it sometimes makes sense to stop and remember that without it, the world might be a far, far worse place right now.
Perhaps so. But if I were you, I would send a thought to the Russians and the tremendous effort they made that paved the way to victory. The Russians alone stood for 65% of allied military casualties during the war, while the United States stood for 2%. 65% in one hand, 2% in the other. I think you should be thankful for their sacrifices.
And of course, I’m not saying that the American war effort wasn’t small. The point is, the USA, like Sweden, made a ton of money running guns to all sides of the war prior to 1941. Henry Ford had his hand far up Hitler’s ass. So, it sounds like hypocrisy when you blame Sweden for not being neutral. And the US continued making tons of money, through and after the war. England lost their empire during the war, USA gained an empire.
Ingvar Hallstrom :
September 6th, 2009 at 8:12 pm
Perhaps so. But if I were you, I would send a thought to the Russians and the tremendous effort they made that paved the way to victory. The Russians alone stood for 65% of allied military casualties during the war, while the United States stood for 2%. 65% in one hand, 2% in the other. I think you should be thankful for their sacrifices.
By no means would I discount that! The Russians definitely bore the brunt of the suffering, but I’d make two points here:
1) The high casualties were largely due to a conscious strategic decision on their part to fight a war of attrition until they could decisively beat the Germans.
2) I understand and appreciate the suffering that was inflicted on the Russian people, but the minute they went on the offensive, they decided to repay the Germans – they literally burned, maimed, killed, and raped their way through Germany.
I think that last point has relevance for our discussion. Yes, the United States is a power-projecting country, but it has NEVER sought to subjugate and occupy any country for the sake of doing so. After what Germany and Japan did, we had every reason to keep them under a boot heel, but the occupation was focused on rebuilding, not subjugation, sucking them dry resource-wise, or using them as human sheilds against an enemy.
The Russians have, and I think they’d do so again if given the chance. That, among many things, makes it hard for me to understand why America gets such a bad rap.
The fact remains, the United States is a war powered economy. The US has been at war more than every five years since World War II. Like the Roman Empire was a slave-driven economy that could only grow as long as the empire expanded, the US can only maintain their economy by subjugating and maintaining “control”.
Some of those wars have been greatly unjustified. Two million deaths in Vietnam, one million civilian casualties in Iraq. That’s a mighty bill for someone else to pay for your cheap gas and McMansions. But I can understand that many Americans have a hard time understanding why Americans gets such a bad rap. For the rest of the world, it’s very easy to understand. But let’s not open this can of worms, shall we?
I’m closing the political discussions on this board, and calls for the discussion to go on topic again, ok?
Funny Ingvar we sound as though we are close to the same age. Regrettably, I didn’t have the luxury of growing up with Swedish women.
One night at a university party, a friends VW got ‘stolen’. It was the blown version of the Corrado. He never noticed it missing, and was only aware of it’s being pinched when the police came to the door. His car had rolled down an embankment and been totalled.
A year later, another friend of mine confessed after a few drinks that he and another friend had been dying to take the car for a spin and had snuck away during the party for some spirited driving. They weren’t drunk, but overdid it. They got the hell out of there, throwing the keys in some bushes.
To this day, I think we are the only three people who know.
Well, Ingvar, you are one lucky SOB. Glad you learned the easy way.
My sister had a friend in high school–a girl–who did something similar. Less booze but a totaled car in the bush, and to this day, the girl’s mother probably thinks the car was stolen.
David