Elegy For A TJ
It was the end of 2000. I was driving a 1991 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. At the time, it was in its final stretch of being a beauty. White, tinted windows, 12 disc CD player, great rims, brand new front end, etc. But after 8 years, the paint was fading, the engine was bucking because of the deteriorating engine mounts, and the nickels and dimes of repairing were adding up. A buddy of mine was interested in it, while my other friend Paul was trying to talk me into buying his vehicle…a 1997 Jeep Wrangler. I was a bit skeptical at first because the 2 years prior, he had been telling me I belonged in a Jeep. I never knew what he meant. It’s supposedly like a ‘brotherhood’. Well, it came down to crunch time and Paul was relentless. “Dude, you need to get a Jeep. I have two. You need to buy one, even if it isn’t mine.” I went and looked at it. When our eyes met, it was love at first sight. I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated by it. There it stood on a back road in Delran. Black, soft top, shiny, new tires, grey interior, and ready to be driven. It was a stick shift. I hadn’t driven a manual in nearly 10 years. This was a learning process. Once I took the paperwork to my bank and got everything squared away, I was nervous, yet excited. I picked Rohario up at my work, and we went for a spin so I could learn the ins and outs of driving a Jeep. She had a 4CYL, 2.5L engine, better known as the Iron Duke, and the quietness of a buzz saw. Nah, I am exaggerating. But I learned a lot of things about a Jeep that first week. First and foremost, they are not cars. At all. You can’t burn down an exit at 40 miles an hour. You will flip it. You have to watch, as you would with any manual vehicle, how you shift gears. Jeeps can take a beating with the stick shift, but you still have to drive with care, obviously. I also learned that that besides not being the most aero dynamic vehicle that they are also the most noisy on certain terrains. But I didn’t care. The week I bought the Jeep, it was the week of the NBA finals and the Sixers were in it. I actually blew off driving around in my Jeep to watch. (Sixers won game one, then lost 4 straight…so Philly). So I then decided to take my Jeep off road for the first time to a place in Chatsworth called Apple Pie Hill. I won’t get into details about the area, but more or less, it’s the landmark for the ‘novice’ off road driver. This would be my first trip in the back woods with it. My friend Kate and I went burning through to the top and when all was said and done, I was sold. I mean, I had driven to Apple Pie Hill in my Oldsmobile, and my Chryslers…but it just felt ‘right’ in my Jeep. But going to Apple Pie Hill in your Jeep for the first time is like going to the Moorestown Mall for the first time after you get your license. It’s not a big deal. But I was excited. It would be the first trip of many in my new 4X4.
This Is Only A Test
The first test of my Jeep came on February 3rd, 2002 in the back woods of Hammonton and Winslow Township. My childhood friend Nicole and her boyfriend, who she had just met at the time, were having a Super Bowl party at their house. I was still suffering depression from the Eagles losing to the Rams the week before and decided to protest the Super Bowl and not watch it. Yeah right. So, I dressed up in nice casual clothes to attend. Turtleneck, nice jeans, brand new shoes etc, and drove to the party. Once I got there, her boyfriend and his best friend saw my Jeep pull up and said at the same time, “Feel like going for a ride?” At first I thought they were kidding. They both insisted that they were going to help ‘break in’ my Jeep. I told them I would follow them. I broke out in a sweat. I could tell they were trying to see if I would back out at the last minute to go off road in the pitch black darkness. I didn’t flinch. “You think yer little Jeep’ll make it in these parts? HAHAHA.” They handed me a 6 pack and said, “You’ll need this.” So I followed them. Nicole’s boyfriend had a huge pick up truck that was lifted, while the other guy had a Cherokee that was clearly used to being in knee high mud. So there we went tearing through the woods. I had never been here before but had this sense of confidence, despite my fear of winding up not being able to get my Jeep out of a mud hole. As we continued to drive at high speeds through the sugar sand trails, we came to a semi-cliff. The angle was very steep. They both got out in the darkness and smiled at me. “Ready to take the hill?” “That’s no hill guys, it’s a wall.” I responded. “Come on, you can take the hill. Maybe the little Jeep can do it.” They laughed as they got back in their trucks. Nicole’s boyfriend was the first to hit the cliff. Charging at full speed, he hit the hill and as soon as he approached the top, a tree stump caught his differential and axle, ripping it out of the wall, and paralyzing his truck. Then his friend hit the hill at full speed. This time a tree sticking out of the ground at the top of the hill cut his radiator hose. Antifreeze was everywhere. Now, it was my turn. (gulp). I hit the hill at about 15 miles per hour and still keeping myself in first gear. It was all a blur. The next thing I remember I had actually leaped OVER the cliff because of my speed and landed perfectly on all 4 wheels. My black Jeep was now brown completely covered in an inch thick grime of mud. The two of them stood there in disbelief. My Jeep door opened and mud was oozing out of all crevices. “You guys need a ride back?” I asked cleanly dressed and curious. It should have been a Jeep commercial. After returning my silent and dejected passengers back to their homestead, I drove back home with a mud enriched trophy. I refused to wash it off. I was proud.
From Atsion To Harrisville
I began my exploring with my Jeep in early 2002. I started going down back roads of Burlington County trying to get an understanding of the physical world I grew up in, and gain an appreciation of all the scenes and history around me. It wasn’t just a place I cut through to get to the radio station anymore. It was history. I began an outline on how I wanted to formulate a possible story but as time went by, I found myself burning through local history books. I couldn’t get enough. And my Jeep became my time machine. We traveled to colonial New Jersey, pre civil war New Jersey, and post industrial age New Jersey. I would meet some cool people as well who enjoyed the same off roading as I did. I would hook up with my buddy Ben of the Pine Barrens website, and we would get lost exploring for hours. My Jeep truly became my everything; a car, an amusement park ride, a place to sleep, a tanning bed, a moving van, a training tool, a charity mobile on 9/11, a hospital for wounded animals, a mobile stereo, a tailgating center, and most importantly a friend. My Jeep and I would travel to the Poconos, upstate New York, New England, New York City, Nearfest on numerous occasions, the jersey shore, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and Pittsburgh and god knows where else. I hit 3 deer with it, clipping 2, and sadly killing one. I got engaged in front of it, shot at in it, was a victim of a hit and run in it, and was in another accident that almost cost my life. I restored it with bigger tires, new soft top, multiple stereos, new hoses, new radiator, new differential, new brakes, new carpet, and a new clutch. In return, I received my therapy in that no matter what was going on in my life; my Jeep was freedom to me. It was my identity. Paul was right, I was the Jeep. I don’t think people really get it. When you own a Jeep, it’s a frame of mind. I have to say, there is nothing in the world quite like owning a Jeep. The sound of the road beneath you, the stereo blasting in the roll bar, the top down, the windows off, the wind, the shifting of the gears, the smell of the air, riding the sand roads….there is really nothing like it. It is a frame of mind. When I raise my hand to wave at the other Jeep owners, there is a feeling we all have. We own Jeeps. It sounds corny, but you have to own one, and preferably like it enough to accept its shortcomings to even WANT to raise that hand up to wave back. In my darkest moments, I had my Jeep. I’d look out the window and slightly smirk.
Under A Raging Moon
In the searchlights
You could see us as we circled around
Down below us
You were screamin’ I could hear the sound
I could see your arms
Reaching up to me….
By the time the trip to Montreal came up, I started thinking of what I could do next to the Jeep. But something was wrong. I started hearing a faint noise in the under carriage of the engine. I was convinced it was something that the recall was causing. After battling with Triplex and being convinced they caused it, I started shopping around for mechanics. I figured what’s the worst it could be? Another 1000$? But that time would be abruptly coming to an end. In the course of 3 weeks, my Jeep started deteriorating. It wasn’t losing pressure or driving erratically, but you could hear the engine. As the odometer was approaching 200,000, I could feel that something had to be done. Every person said something different. “Timing belt” “Timing chain” “Valve tap” “Bad lifters” “Piston damage”. But no one really knew for sure. Then came that unforgettable night. I had finally found a supposed honest mechanic that was going to tell me regardless what the problem was, if it could be fixed, and if it would ultimately be salvageable. As I left to bring it to him under the full moon, the noise beneath me intensified, and then the sound of a chain snapping and grinding, then BOOM. The Jeep just stopped right there on Briggs road. Dead. Nothing. Not turning over, not doing a thing. I knew just then it was helpless. There was nothing I could do. A tow company came out and told me that they would figure out what the problem was. I had to call the other mechanic where he insisted that I pay the tow and have him come get it. So the Jeep then went from Lumberton to Hammonton within a week for further investigation. Meanwhile, I waited and waited and waited. When all was said it done, it was pointless. The timing chain was broke, one of the pistons was going, and on top of all of it, the heater went as well. To put a band-aid on it, 1500$. To get a new engine? 3500$ to 4000$. I was deeply saddened. I realized there were a lot of things I should have had done to it that I missed out on in the last 2 years. But this was it, and my fault.
Like a demon
Feel the madness running thru the crowd
We were freedom
From the moment that we hit the ground
And the wild man
He laid the thunder down
The Long Wave Goodbye
Rohario let me borrow his Nissan Stanza for the time being until word came through on what I would be doing with the Jeep. The mechanic offered me 1700$ for the Jeep. 1700$ for a lifetime. There was no need to get it fixed. I have had 6 other vehicles and never really cared, well maybe a little for most of them in the end. I mean, the Oldsmobile bothered me a little because it was something else when I got it. Since 2000, I’m not really used to driving cars per say. I feel like I am hugging the ground and the suspension is just too nice. I think internally I like to have that lifted feeling. Napoleonic complex? You be the judge. So, I had to make that trip. The trip to say goodbye. I drove down to Hammonton on the Atlantic City Expressway not even realizing I was doing 80. I had too much pressure on me coming from all sides at the time to really think straight…most of those close to me were supportive and offered advice, some had no answers, and others didn’t care what the answer was or what my situation was as long as I did what was ordered of me. I was so out of it and exhausted that I forgot to bring coins for the toll. Great. I was able to get into Hammonton though. When I approached the garage it was being held at, I walked around the back to see it sitting in a junk pile. My heart sunk. I realized, of anything I ever owned, this Jeep had more of a soul than any of them. If cars had souls, this one CLEARLY did. As I walked over my eyes welled up. I started cleaning up the stuff that was mine inside of it (which was a lot) and got it ready to be destroyed. I filled the box of memories. I sat down inside of it and smoked the last cigarette. I remembered everything that transpired in it. I remembered the smell of it, how excited I was when I got it and everything I wrote above. I came to the realization that it did in fact carry two times its weight in gold. She fought to keep me as her owner…even when the odds were against us…in a sea of hands, she kept shining through. I gave her a big kiss on the side of the new top I had just bought for it and said I was sorry, and then goodbye. I felt like a dope as my eyes refused to stop welling up. The cash was handed to me, and off I was, out of Hammonton, and back on to the Atlantic City Expressway. (Theme from the Makado starts to play here)But as I approached the tolls, the irony smacked me in the face to see I had 1700$ in cash on me, yet no change. I figured since it was Roger’s car, that if I searched in the seats there’d be some change. There was no ‘good faith’ envelope to give to send the toll when I got home, or anything. I was perplexed. Now what? I have no change, yet all this money, and no one to help me. So I figured, who would really be watching me as I drove down the exit? I DOUBT that I would get photographed or anything. So I drove home listening to cassettes of Tears For Fears (it’s all the car had as a stereo but I was grateful) and philosophized about the Working Hour.
This is the working hour
We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes
And fear is such a vicious thing
It wraps me up in chains
Rain Falls In Pemberton
The big, regular season programming show was planned a few months in advance. It was a big undertaking and the first of its kind at the college. The plan was to have a live show at the College as part of the new Gagliarchives Concert Series. It was very special. The station had a basketball game being broadcast at the time, so I had the beauty of watching 2 rookies nervously run the board for it while I got to observe how far the radio show has come. Radio Massacre International was to perform live. I decided not to charge the limited audience to see the performance and instead have them bring canned goods. After organizing the cafeteria, which was perfect for the setting on this drabby day both physically and mentally, the audience began to walk in with their cans. Jack and Ryan showed up to do their videotaping and Carol provided all the snacks and beverages and kept me rolling through a stressful night technically speaking. We were able to land a PA for Steve, Gary, and Duncan and they set up with no help. They were quick and efficient, and before you knew it, Cyndee showed up to play with them for the first time even though she was featured on the latest disc Rain Falls In Grey. It was a magical night that reinforced the strength and power of the ‘live’ show. RMI was incredible and hypnotic. Everything was put back together and we all ended the night with a humorous, yet good interview with the gang. I have invited them again to play down the road which they happily obliged. Carol, Jack, Ryan, and Brett were a big help that ultimately pulled off the show that was easier than expected. It made me wonder, why don’t the other jocks utilize this room? It could be a big factor to attract more live bands of different magnitudes.
After The Fire
Big things are happening on some fronts. Big things. One door closes, and another opens. In other areas, ties have been cut, less stressed and all the previous pressure on things that weren’t even rectified to begin with have been absolved. I felt no pain oddly enough. There was no animosity for the things lost, but I learned never to just settle. Even after dire things that can be said, done, and thrown at you. Faint jabs can build to a crescendo. When you are unhappy how things are going in your life, even if they have been band aided, you have to keep focus on staying fluid. Make a change. You have to respect you. But you have to be smart on where to draw the line. I sometimes refuse to see that line because I easily let by gones be by gones. This in the long run is not always healthy. You can’t be forced with an agenda and build when there are problems within the foundation. One can only give so many chances to have something fixed. Sometimes, people need to have confrontation at any level to reassure who they are. But when you are beyond the games, the ultimatums, and petulance, it comes back down to who you are and how you deal and handle. When it clicks and the light can be seen, it’s time to regroup and correct those things you let happen to you. Sometimes, it’s just how people are. They aren’t going to change. And now, I feel relieved despite my several tries to right the wrong things. But as I said, big things are happening. It's time to make it happen.


After searching for a Jeep, I finally found what I wanted. She’s clean, bronze, and taken care of. The stress of a car payment is there, but hey, what can you do. I can afford it fortunately.
They were very nice sellers; their daughter owned it up at Martha’s Vineyard and made several trips to Boston babying it in so many ways. When all was said and done, I registered it, insured and drove it home. Parked in the spot the other was for so many years. I came home to get a phone call from Roger.
Me: Yo bro
Roger: Dude, are you an idiot?
Me: Why what’s up?
Roger: Dude, I can’t believe you.
Me: Rog, what’s wrong?
Roger: Did you blow through a toll on the Atlantic City Expressway a month ago with my car?!?
Me: Wait, no, it’s not what you think. I had 1700$ cash on me and no change…
Roger: I have a picture of you doing it you dope…
Me: Rog, I swear..it was an accident
(Curb your enthusiasm theme starts to play now, credits roll)

After the fire the fire still burns
The fire still burns, raging through the pain
Blackening the promises the tears and the rain
The fire will burn
'Til the wind begins to turn
And it all begins again
After the fire the fire still burns
The heart grows older but never ever learns
The memories smoulder and the soul always yearns
After the fire the fire still burns