Hammer Time: You Lost The War, Dude!

We used to call Logandale Auto Auction the red light district. In the auction business, when a red light flashes above the auction block, that means the vehicle is selling AS/IS. Once you become the high bidder, you own it. Along with any and all parts that may fall off the vehicle once it exits the auction barn. I have sold vehicles that literally gave up their last gasp right in front of the auction block, and Logandale was the absolute king of these “crap auctions”.

It was so bad back in the late 1990’s that they used to open up with 50 or 60 inop vehicles that were literally pushed in and out of the lane. “End of the line!” would be yelled after the last inop went through the block and boy those words had irony. These cars were worth more dead than alive. Refugees from the impound lots and the side of the road rarely sold for more than $200 back then. But for a little over a year it represented a start for me in the auction business. That is until the evening I got fired… and it all had to do with a piece of American history.

A little over 10 years ago the “War of Northern Aggression” was still being fought in the minds and hearts of millions of Southerners. In the 19th century it had been all about slavery and states rights. By the 20th it was Jim Crow. As time got closer to the 21st century, Georgia and other historically Confederate states had folks who were still fighting the war with re-enactments, segregated proms, and most notably, The Georgia Flag.

You will notice that I capitalized those last three words, The Georgia Flag. There’s a reason for it. That flag has been the most controversial issue in Georgia politics for at least the last 20 years. Native sons and daughters south of the Mason-Dixon are often born and raised with that flag along with the Confederate Flag. From rednecks to southern preps, the Confederate flag’s ‘stars and bars’ symbolising the Southern way of life had been designed onto the Georgia Flag. To them it represented Southern heritage and the virtues of Southern culture.

A lot of black people, and quite a few ‘Yankees’, didn’t agree with that idea. They believed it espoused racism and discouraged economic growth. Coincidentally, at Logandale there were no blacks working at the auction. Not even to clean up the bathtub latrine that was out in the back. But there was one Yankee who was part of the auction staff, yours truly. At the ripe young age of 26, I hadn’t quite learned the subtleties and nuances of addressing this issue in a diplomatic Southern way. Diplomacy and powers of persuasion were strictly done on the block for me. So like any Gen-X’er with too much spit and attitude, I decided after several weeks of hearing n-words and the Southern equivalent of a lynch mob mentality to make my opinion known.

Jimmy Lee Bruce: “Hey there Steve. Do you believe what those damn n’ers from Atlanta are trying to do to our state?”

Jimmy’s Assistant: “I swear they’re gonna have themselves a helluva fight if they try to change our flag and our history!”

Jimmy was my lead consigner so it was my job to listen to his rants and be supportive. Even if it was through silence. Jimmy liked me in the same way televangelists like TV’s. The medium made them money. After a few minutes of listening to bombast and machismo from a couple of out of shape old men, I found my mouth blurting out the following.

“Jimmy, I need to respectfully disagree with you there. If I were black I would look at that flag as a racist symbol. I think you know that.”

That may have been enough. A mutual disagreement and little else. But all of a sudden his assistant said, “You know what. I agree with you Steve. If I were black…”

Jimmy gave his hired jerryrigger a look of utter disgust and hate. “What the hell…” I didn’t pay attention to the words that came out of ever reddening mouth for the next few minutes. But for the moment I was glad to not have the smell of Jimmy’s unfiltered lucky strikes emanating my way. As Jimmy yelled at his ‘yes’ man, I walked off and decided to get ready for the sale.

I did my work… got a break and had some BBQ. All of a sudden, one of the old-time auctioneers came up to me and said, “What did you say to Jimmy? He’s spittin’ mad at Larry’s office (the owner) and he says he’s gonna get you fired.”

“I told him that I don’t blame black folks for thinking that the stars and bars is racist. I was quite nice about it.”

“Don’t matter Steve. He IS gonna get your ass fired. Did you ever know that Larry’s and Jimmy’s daddy’s were Klansmen?”

“Shit no. Nobody ever told me.”

“Well, I’ll tell you somethin’. You haven’t been in the auction business in Georgia until you are fired from Logandale… and guess what… your number just came up.”

At the end of the auction, that’s exactly what happened. Larry had one of his hired officers tell me that my services would no longer be required.

“You mean to tell me he hasn’t got the guts to tell me in person? That’s pathetic. That’s pathetic!”

“I know. I know.” Jack was a Deputy in town and was quite a nice guy. He was used to calming down a lot of people in his line of work.

“What a pathetic little man. Do you know how much BS I’ve dealt with at that place.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve fixed hundreds of deals for Larry over the last seven years and not once did he ever give me a raise.”

I soon found out that Larry’s primary job during the live auction was to use the implicit threat of arrest to enforce a signed contract on a bad vehicle. Larry and his morally depraved assistants would listen to the buyer’s complaints and tell them, “Either you take care of your word, or HE will take care of you.” Jack would be at the door. If the buyer didn’t cough up the money, Jack would lead them out of the building. But usually a stern look by Jack and a couple of fingers on his handcuffs were more than enough to encourage most of these folks to pay up.

Jack and I hung out for about ten minutes and then I uttered, “You know Jack, when you screw people like that you eventually get screwed yourself Jack. Eventually they’re gonna piss off the wrong man.”

It turned out that about a year later Larry had a full blown stroke. He spent the next several years in bed and by the time Logandale had new owners, Larry was dead. But even with new owners the tricks hadn’t changed. I have friends who have been fired three or four times from Logandale. Later on, I got called to do the sale for the new owners. But I never looked back. After seeing the bowels of humanity make tons of money off of the poor and disheveled, I decided that my life’s work wouldn’t be tied to the ‘End of the line!”