The American Repossessor

Recoveries in an urban setting as opposed to those in a rural setting are two very different birds. While the end result is the same, I find those done in the country to be far more dangerous and difficult than those done in the city. There are those that would argue the issue, but in my opinion, there are far too many variables to think otherwise. However, that’s not my point. This is a story about a rural recovery.

In the summer of 1996, I was dropping a unit at one of my used car lots in Greensboro when I walked into the office to find the dealer on the phone, screaming at some poor soul on the other end. I turned to leave when he motioned for me to stay in his office. He finished and told me that he was talking with a debtor who had purchased a 1983 Dodge P/U from him a year back and still had a few grand left on his note. He said that this debtor had been refusing to talk to him for about 2 months when he finally reached him at his parents house. The debtor, a 25 year old guy, told him that he wasn’t going to pay him another dime on the truck, that he had put too much money into it for him to surrender and that he would burn it before the dealer ever got it back. Needless to say, my guy wanted the truck back and wanted it right away. As he was getting my paper work together, he told me that this guy had lifted the truck, put some MT’s on it and it would have to go on a roll back. I told him no problem and he said if I had it back to him tomorrow, he’d double my fee.

I got back to my office and started looking the account over. This kid hadn’t paid anything on the truck for over 90 days and his payments before that were sporadic at best. I called the last work number they had for him and when I asked for the debtor, they said he hadn’t worked there in… you guessed it, 90 days or so. I won’t go into all the details for this story, but about an hour later, I had skipped the kid staying back at his parents house in Caswell County. I had another address that had to be checked in a small town in that County so I planned my route for the night to include a swing out that way.

A fishing buddy of mine had been going out with me every so often over the last month to see what field work was like and for the few bucks I’d throw his way. I called him up and told him to grab some dinner. I’d be by in a while to pick him up. After grabbing a shower and a quick bite myself, we set out to make the Dodge our first stop of the night. Caswell County is a fair sized place with just a few small towns and plenty of tobacco and other farm operations. Our target was about 8 miles from the Virginia line and we arrived there just as the Dodge was pulling into the address. I drove past him without slowing down. After the exchange on the phone with the dealer, I knew that a demand scenario was out of the question. At least not at first. I turned around and drove past the property getting a good look this time. It was a large farm with a long, tree lined, 300+ yd. road leading up to the main house. At the front was a large barn that had a scattering of 6 or 7 mobile homes around it that had to be housing for the field help. The main house was too far from the road and it was way too dark to see the truck from the road, so I decided to go run my other address out here and come back later in the night after everyone had a chance to settle in. I knew my unit was there.

The address on the other account turned into a dead end and we returned out to the farm about 0:100 a.m. My plan was to just walk down the property’s road and drive the truck out. I parked at the edge of the front pasture and walked the fence line down to the drive having told my friend to get in the drivers seat and wait for me to pull out. As I was edging my way past the door on the large barn, some dogs at the trailers started barking and a light came on in the one closet to me. I stood in the darkness for a few minutes while the dogs quieted down and then continued on down the road. I got about halfway to the main house when I saw some headlights come on and start down the drive towards me. Not wanting to be seen, I jumped over the fence into the tree line and hugged the ground. The headlights came down the road and I could make out the shape of an older pick up and it slowly went to the main road and stayed there for about 5 minutes until it turned around and went back to the main house. I can only assume that one of the farm hands called the house when the dogs got stirred up and they drove up to take a look around.

I stayed lying where I was until about 10 minutes after I saw the headlights go out and started out towards the house again, staying inside the fence. I made it about 20 yards when I heard what I thought was the friend I had left in the truck running up behind me. When I turned around, I could just make out the silhouette of a bull coming right for me. Like an Olympic sprinter out of the blocks I was off, running faster than I had since High School. I came to a fence and scrambled over it just ahead of the bull. Continuing to run, I made about half a stride and ran right into a barbed wire fence, flipping right over it. I tried to stand up and started getting electrocuted. I was tangled up in the barbed wire and a hot wire. A hot wire is an electrified strand of wire used to keep horses and livestock contained and from eating wooden fences. So here I am, cut and bleeding, my pants and shirt caught up in the barbed wire and every time I move to untangle myself, I get a pretty good zap, not to mention a rather large bull is snorting in my face two feet away. Finally, after much muffled cursing and an eternity, I get myself free and try to focus on the task at hand.

I climb yet another fence and am back on the driveway and can see the Dodge. I get the key out of my pocket and focus on the door to the house. I get maybe 10 feet from the truck when I sense the dog before I hear him. He’s big, has a snarl of teeth to match, a low, throaty growl emitting from beyond his fangs. I half rolled my eyes back, making a dash for the truck, praying it’s not locked up. I make it inside and the dog is on his hind legs, paws on the door, and barking his fool head off. Lights come on from inside the house. I slide the key in the ignition, praying this time that it works, and the engine roars to life and off I go down the dirt road.

Out on the main road, I stick my head out the window and tell my friend to come on. He said that it took me a while and asked how it went. I just laughed and said;

"Pretty routine!".