Kimo Vaba & The Redwood Camper

It all started with a camper made out of redwood, designed to be mounted on the bed of a Ford Ranchero. It looked as ugly as it sounds and was just about unsellable. When I started at Hayward Ford in late 1970 there were three or four of these suckers in inventory, and they were crazy to get rid of them. They carried a $200 cash spiff, a lot of money in those days. So begins the story about the redwood camper, a stolen ‘63 Chevy, and a customer named Kimo Vaba.

Looking back on it now I suppose Kimo felt pretty lucky to get me as a salesman. Here I was a young and dumb green pea around whom he could spin his web of bullshit. As I remember, he was pretty vague about what he wanted to buy until he saw how badly I wanted to stuff him into a Ranchero and a redwood camper. It was as if he could see the spiff money dancing in my eyes.

Kimo was a Filipino man: short, stocky, about thirty-five and talkative as hell. He claimed he was the executive chef of a restaurant at Sea Ranch, an exclusive housing development on the northern California coast about a hundred and fifty miles from our dealership. Kimo was proud of his position and made it a point to tell me how great a chef he was. The way he bragged I should be honored to even talk to him!

He had a woman named Linda with him, a tall, listless lady with stringy brown hair and large breasts. Together they made an odd-looking couple, but as they say, love is blind. She did not seem to care much what Kimo purchased as long as he purchased something.

It was late afternoon by the time I finished writing up the deal. Kimo wanted to trade in his ‘63 Chevelle and pay cash for the difference. He did not ask for much of a discount, always a plus when dealing with a hungry, budding salesman. A rent maker deal, as Car Men like to say. My brother, Danny, was equally delighted at the thought of making a big pop and getting rid of one of those damned campers. He promptly sent me out to Hal Nelson to get the trade appraised.

The blue Chevelle had Texas license plates, funny because Kimo had not mentioned anything about Texas. Hal asked me to fish around in the glove box for the registration. I discovered not only the registration but also a signed title for the car. The title was not in Kimo's name. I was ignorant about the implications of this, but Hal's kink antenna went up immediately. His negative reaction to the Chevelle made such a big impression on me its Texas license plate number stuck in my mind!

By the time I got back to the sales desk the luster of the deal had dimmed slightly. Danny sent me back to inquire about the trade. Kimo quickly explained that he had recently bought the car from a sailor over at the naval base in Alameda and had not yet gotten around to registering it. He was a busy guy being an executive chef and all.

Danny met the explanation with skepticism, but he still had his hopes up. I was selling one of those cursed campers for God’s sake! In those days unless the deal was completely crazy you rolled the car and worried about the details later. Getting this deal done would not be a problem. Kimo said he would write a check. The problem was the check he showed me was not imprinted with his name and address.

The deal was now getting far too complicated for my green pea mind. I did not have enough experience either in the car business or in life to determine if Kimo Vaba was a buyer or a crook. Danny decided to turn the deal to John Hurtado. John was perfect for the task. He was a big guy who looked as if he could snap you in half with one hand. He would figure out what was going on.

I introduced John to Kimo and Linda then stood back and watched a fascinating game of cat and mouse between the two men. John was familiar with Sea Ranch. He casually asked Kimo several questions about the development and the restaurant where Kimo was supposedly the executive chef. (An inquiring phone call placed by Danny to Sea Ranch had been inconclusive, but it was determined that Kimo had worked there at one time.) Kimo was very glib and really turned on the charm. John’s bulk did not appear to faze him. They talked for maybe fifteen minutes before John excused himself to report to Danny.

A conference was held in the sales office. I stood on the sidelines keeping my green pea mouth shut. John said the deal had bad vibes, but he could not tell for sure if he was dealing with a cook or a con. He was leaning toward con. Danny was rapidly coming to the same conclusion, but hey, the guy was on one of those damn redwood campers!

Finally, Danny decided it was time to speak to Kimo himself. It was now close to
7:00. I had been with Kimo Vaba and his girlfriend for over two hours. I listened as Kimo and Danny verbally sparred. In the end, my brother made a deal with Kimo. There would be no roll that evening. Instead, he agreed to get the Ranchero and camper mounted and ready for delivery in the morning. We would take the Chevelle in trade, but Kimo would have to produce either cash or a cashier’s check for the balance. Danny figured that if the money was real, the story about the Chevelle was probably real too.

Everyone appeared to be happy with the arrangement except for me who did not understand a hell of a lot about cashiers checks or suspicious trade-ins. I just wanted that $200 in cash! To put that much money in perspective I was renting a furnished, one-bedroom apartment for $185 per month! Kimo assured us he would be in around noon the following day with the money. At least for the moment my spiff appeared to be safe.

The next morning I showered and was listening to the morning news on the radio as I prepared to go to work. The broadcast was interrupted by a special bulletin. Someone had attempted to rob a bank in South San Francisco claiming he was armed with a bomb. Something went wrong; the hold up was thwarted. The perpetrator fled but not before a bank employee got a good look at the getaway car. It was a blue Chevy Chevelle, the newscaster reported, with Texas license plates. The plate number just happened to be the same as the car driven by Mr. Kimo Vaba.

I freaked.

The newscaster advised that anyone with information concerning the robbery attempt should contact the FBI. My spiff dreams were now shattered, but I managed to get myself together and report to work. My brother received the news grimly. Always a Car Man first, he called the shop and halted the mounting of the camper on the Ranchero. The second thing he did was to call the FBI.

By 10:30 six FBI agents pulled into the dealership in two nondescript Fords. They interviewed my brother, John Hurtado, and me. The lead agent, a fatherly-looking man named Bill Miller, informed us that the Chevelle was a stolen car. Seeing my nervousness he assured me that I would be in no danger. They would nail the sucker the moment he stepped out of the Chevelle. Somehow that did not make me feel much better.

So we settled in to wait for the arrival of Kimo Vaba. Noon came and went. I imagined him driving around the Bay Area looking for another bank to make a quick withdrawal. At 12:30 he called. With agent Miller listening in on another line he told me he had been delayed. He gave me some sort of cock and bull story as to why. All I remember is that he assured me that he would be there by 2:00.

“Is the Ranchero ready,” he asked. “I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“Sure”, I replied.

In the meantime I was showing Agent Miller new Pintos. He declined my offer of a test drive.

2:00 came and went. No Kimo Vaba. I was mostly relieved, though the thought of him in handcuffs appealed to me. That bastard had wasted my time and cost me a lot of money! I was just hoping all this would end soon so I could go out and find another customer. Kimo called again. Do not worry, he said. He would be there as soon as he could.

That was the last time I heard from him.

What scared Kimo Vaba off is a mystery. Maybe he heard fear in my voice; maybe he had been watching us from atop the hill across from the dealership. I will never know.

I have often wished that this story had a more exciting ending. It would be cool to write about a shoot out or perhaps a hostage situation, but alas, it did not happen that way. There was plenty of tragedy for me though. Since I did not sell the Ranchero or the redwood camper I did not get a commission. I did not get my freaking spiff! The whole thing had been a definite bummer, but it was not without a couple of high points. A week later I sold Agent Miller a new car.

About six months later, Agent Miller came to see me. He had something he thought I would find interesting. He placed a couple of mug shots in front of me. Was this Kimo Vaba, he asked? It sure as hell was. Apparently Mr. Vaba had been arrested in Chicago after attempting to blow up a bank. They traced him back to where he was living—with a group of domestic terrorists violently opposed to the Vietnam War. Since Kimo was an executive chef I suppose they were a well-fed bunch. Kimo had also found a temporary home for another one of his talents—making bombs.

When you think about it, it is too bad things worked out as they did. Considering his lifestyle, I bet that Rancho and redwood camper could have come in handy.

Talk to you later,


David