The Miracle Man

Miracle Used Cars was a different kind of place to buy a used vehicle.

The car lot sat on a piece of property just off Grand Avenue, the boulevard that dissects Phoenix, AZ. and rolls on through Glendale, Circle City and Wickenburg before it veers north to Las Vegas.

I had just accepted a job as a reporter in Phoenix and was shopping around for a used car. Jack Karie, a crime reporter for the Arizona Republic, sister publication to the Phoenix Gazette for which I was working, had introduced me to the owner of the car lot at a Friday night poker game.

'This is Slim Sarwark,' Jack said, nodding at the reed-thin man with the tanned skin and looking like a cowboy out of a Marlboro cigarette ad. Slim was rolling a cigarette and stuck out a gnarled hand.

'Pleasedtameetcha,' he mumbled.

Jack continued as though Slim was not there. 'He's a gambler through and through. He owns a stable of horses at Turf Paradise that have never won a race. And he occasionally cheats at poker. Besides that, I don't know anything else nice that I can say about him excepts that he owns a car lot and you might be able to find one there that runs.'

Slim lit the cigarette and blew a circle of smoke in Karie's direction. 'Be careful with that libelous kind of talk. My attorney gets out of jail tomorrow and I may have him call on you.'

The poker game was being held at Jack's house. His wife served us sandwiches and cold beer. We were playing dealer's choice and there were a lot of different choices going around the green felt table in Karie's den. Baseball, Spit in the Ocean, Low Spade in the Hole and other nonsensical games that poker players dream up.

Jack told a funny story about Slim. It seems Sarwark, a native of Texas, had bought a young colt at a horse auction in El Paso. After his trainer had worked on the horse for several months, Slim went to the stable to check on his investment.

'Well, what do you think?,' Slim said, eyeing the black two-year-old. 'Can he run?'

'Maybe someday,' said the trainer. 'Workouts been pretty slow. I'm running him in a maiden claimer Saturday, just to see how he handles the crowd.'

'So I shouldn't bet on him?'

The trainer laughed. 'Slim, I wouldn't touch this animal with a 10-foot pole til we see how he runs.'

The horse went off at 30-1 odds. It broke first, increased its lead and won the race by 10 lengths. It was the only race the horse, appropriately named Black Comedy, ever won.

Slim didn't have a dime on the horse.

That night he gave me a card. It had his name and phone number along with the address of Miracle Used Cars on it, along with the slogan IF IT RUNS GOOD, IT'S A MIRACLE.

Slim shrugged. 'Negative advertising sells.'

Monday morning i showed up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the car lot. I arrived around 9 a.m., one of half a dozen customers who were roaming over the property and checking out the autos. A big yellow sign warned, BUYER BEWARE. ONCE YOU DRIVE IT OFF THE LOT, THE CAR'S YOURS. Another sign quoted comedian W.C. Fields, 'Never give a sucker an even break.'

Slim greeted me with a hearty handshake.

'Welcome to Miracle Used Cars,' he said. 'Sorry for check-raising you on that last hand when I had aces-full. I needed the money.'

I ignored the obviously insincere apology. 'What can you show me that will get me around town, with an occasional side trip to Las Vegas/,' I said.

After considerable looking around and haggling over price, Slim sold me a car. It was an MGA sports car. The trim blue product of Great Britain sparkled in the sun.

'To be quite honest with you, Son, which is a rarity for me, I know nothing about this car. Nothing at all. Fellow came in over the weekend and sold it to me for a ridiculously low price. Said he had to go back to England and get married. I'm letting you have it for a hundred over what I paid for it. Cross my heart and hope to die if I ain't telling the truth.'

I counted out the money and paid him.

Months passed and the sports car ran beautifully. I kept in touch with Slim and Jack at Karie's Friday night poker games. One Friday night he told me he had a horse running in a maiden race at Turf Paradise the next day.

'You might want to put a couple of dollars on it,' he said, winking. 'The horse is called Blue Miracle. I named it after the MGA.'

Karie and I promised to be there. Blue Miracle was running in the third race. Two minutes to post time, the horse was listed at 12-1 odds. Jack and I marched up to the seller's window and placed our bets. I put $20 across on the horse, and Karie did the same.

Blue Miracle broke fourth out of a pack of nine horses. He went wide at the turn. And then wider. And then REALLY wide.

The horse ran into the rail on the far turn. It hit the railing so hard, the jockey was tossed over the fence.

Not only did Jack and I lose our bets. We watched sadly as the horse was carted off the race track in a van.

I walked up to Slim, who was tearing up his tickets while glowering at the vanishing van.

'Think the horse will live?,' I said.

'I hope not,' snarled Slim.

Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.

(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter. If you have a unique gambling story to share with him, you may qualify for a cash award. Send your story with all the details to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).