How To Turn a Jeep Cherokee Into A Convertible

I tell you what. This kinda weird-ass shit does not happen to anyone else but me. And now, Mrs. Wiggy has been inflicted with my strange attractors as well. I am gonna tell you a story, and you're gonna laugh and say "That didn't happen. No way did that happen." But it did. It happened today, with God as my witness.

Let me start at the beginning. Y'all know I like photography. Yep, I do like to take pitchers. I'm always running around with a camera in my hand. So November 11th, 2004 was Veteran's Day here in the good ol' USA. Always some kinda celebration going on somewhere on Veteran's Day. Big cities get a parade, small towns get a speech by the Mayor and a coupla guys in WWII-era uniforms and a high school band. Wilson, NC is a small town. With me so far?

So I went down to the courthouse this morning, with camera in hand and about six rolls of film, hoping to get some high-caliber photos of a small-town Veteran's Day celebration. And I did. It was just what I hoped it would be.

I went a little bit early, hoping to figure out camera angles and that kinda stuff, 'cause that's what we photographers do, we figure out camera angles and stuff. As I was wandering around aiming my camera at innocent objects, I made the acquantance of a gentleman from the local chapter of the American Legion. Let's call him George. Mainly 'cause that is his name.

George was there with his grand-daughter and he's a right friendly old cuss. He enquired as to my particular affinity to Veteran's Day celebrations, and I allowed that since I was a US Marine some time ago, I kinda felt an obligation to keep in touch. Well, sir, that was my undoing. George rolled his eyes around like a kid in a candy store, rubbed his hands together with glee, and told his grand-daughter to go fetch his recruiting stuff.

Next thing I knew, my wallet was $20 lighter and I was a gen-u-wine member of the American Legion, John Anderson Chapter 13 of Wilson, North Carolina.

It turned out that George was the chapter President or some such, and he proceeded to introduce ol Wiggy to just about everyone wearing a funny hat, and they all made much of your hero. It is to blush, really.

Well, ol Wiggy had just shrugged that off and gotten back to the serious work of photography when he was approached by a representative of the local gubbermint. Seems the town had kind of forgotten to hire a photographer to document the event, and they'd sure like a pitcher or two if Wiggy didn't mind too much. Mind? No, your hero was flattered! He just hoped that he had remembered to take the lens cap off the camera this time - and put film in the camera, focus, and so on. Wiggy gave up a small prayer to St. Vidicon of Cathode and got back to work.


St. Vidicon of Cathode


Then one of the American Legion faction approached and hired yer Wigster to come to an event they were having that very evening in the American Legion headquarters, a dinner that Wiggy and Mrs Wiggy were cordially invited to - but Wiggy must bring camera and and take photos of young honorees of some program that the Legion had sponsored them into. Suckered again, Wigwam agreed. What the heck, free food, eh?

As soon as the ceremonies were over, Wiggy high-tailed it over to the local one-hour photo place and dropped off said film, which turned out actually not too bad. He then informed Mrs. Wiggy of the upcoming festivities, donned slightly more suitable attire - a ripped pair of blue jeans and an old "Cramps - Bad Music for Bad People" t-shirt being not quite up to the moment in Legion fashion.


The Cramps Official Website


Well, the dinner was a lovely thing. The Mayor of Wilson showed up again, great eastern North Carolina BBQ was had, courtesy of Bill's BBQ of Wilson (eastern NC BBQ is a whole 'nother animal, trust me on this - but it's a different story, too).


Bill's BBQ of Wilson



The awards were made, a real Army Colonel showed up to talk, and Wigwam took his little photos. A resounding success, Mrs. Wiggy was talked into joining the Auxiliary, so all in all, what an evening eh?

Now.

You might be wondering - what's this all got to do with turning your Jeep Cherokee into a convertible? And you'd be right - it is all kind of strange. But allow me, dear reader, to pull a few threads together.

You recall that ol Wigwam went downtown with the express purpose of getting some photos of a genuine small-town Veteran's Day celebration, yes? So without Veteran's Day, Wiggy would have been at work, not lolling around in downtown Wilson. And without the celebration, the American Legion would not have been lurking about down there, sand-trapping new members with wild abandon. And yer Wiggy would not have been lulled into a false sense of ephoria by being sweet-talked by the Mayor's henchman into submitting some of those photos for the City to use on their website and perhaps even in the local fishwrap. And without that impetus, Wiggy would NOT have been lulled into joining up with the local chapter of the American Legion, and would NOT have been at the dinner tonight where kids were honored for doing some bloody awful thing, and therefore, Wiggy and the Mrs. would NOT have had a delightful Easter North Carolina BBQ dinner.

And. I'm gettin' to it, hang on...

We would not therefore have driven home on Highway 301 at 9:30 this evening. In our Jeep Cherokee. Under the railroad trestle that crosses Highway 301. And directly into the path of a power cable that had come undone and was plummeting, at that very moment we crossed under the bridge, towards our Jeep Cherokee.

WHAM! All your beloved Wigster knew was that the top of our Jeep had just been peeled back like a can of sardines.

OK, that was an exaggeration. All it did was smash out our windshield. But the sound effect was much the same - it sounded like a dumptruck load of cinderblocks had been dropped from the bridge onto our Jeep. Wiggy hit the binders and spun that Cherokee around like a true bootlegger from the hill country, coming to a graceful stop atop the median and facing back the way we had come. Entertaining.

Hell, Wiggy kind thought we had been shot at. And here's a clew for ya. If you think you're being shot at, the clever move is NOT to turn around and face your attacker, especially when they can see you and you can't see them, your windshield is already shattered, and your wife is in the seat next to you, ready to watch you be splattered for your intrinsic logic and dedication to a concept once known briefly as 'machismo.'

Turns out - the power cable fell at more or less the precise time we were going underneath it. What are the odds of that happening? Took out the windshield in rather spectacular fashion, which is more or less the way Wiggy's luck goes - we had just replaced that very windshield maybe three months ago.





If the cable had still been attached at both ends instead of coming loose completely at one end, yes, the Jeep Cherokee would have become an instant convertible. Unfortunately, it hit the windshield at about chest-high - we'd have been made into convertibles as well, which does not do well for a career in, well, just about anything except being in an urn on someone's shelf and getting dusted from time to time. And that career does not pay well and would not look good on Wiggy's resume.

So there you have it. Take one Veteran's Day holiday, add a crazed country-music legend who pursues photography as a hobby, stir in the American Legion, and you too can have a convertible Jeep Cherokee in no time.

But it seems like a tad much effort, to be quite honest about it. Next time, I'll just use a Milwaukee Sawzall.





Keep Yer Stick on the Ice,

Wigwam Jones