The Story of My Defender

 The Story of My Defender

On Friday, October 8, 1993, my close colleague at the Federal Reserve, Chuck M., stopped by my office. We chatted for a while before he asked what I had planned for the Columbus Day weekend. I told him I intended to buy a new Jeep because my faithful 1984 Jeep CJ-7 had finally earned its retirement.

Chuck asked if I had heard about the new Land Rover Defender 90 that had just been announced for the U.S. market. I told him I had not. He returned to his office, retrieved the latest issue of an automobile magazine, came back, opened it to a specific page, and asked me to read the article.

I could hardly believe what I read.

I then pulled out my 41-item list of requirements for a new “Jeep” and discovered that the Defender met 40 of the 41 criteria. The Jeep I was about to buy dropped to second place.

 

Together, we tracked down the nearest Land Rover dealer, located in Landover, Maryland, near Land Rover’s U.S. headquarters. At the time, I could find only seven dealers between Philadelphia and Richmond. I called the dealership and spoke with a salesman named Max, who invited me to stop by on Saturday to learn more about the vehicle. He explained that the first shipment of 200 red Defender 90s was sitting aboard a ship in Norfolk, Virginia, while the government sorted out whether the new luxury tax would apply.

On Saturday, I took Max up on his invitation. I drove to Landover. ClearThe more he explained the Defender’s design and capabilities, the more astonished I became. It seemed almost as if someone had built the vehicle specifically for me.

Max mentioned that Land Rover had managed to remove one Defender from the ship and place it on display in the center rotunda of White Flint Mall in Bethesda. I immediately drove there. Behind a set of security stanchions sat a gleaming red Defender 90. It had no roof and very little else beyond the chassis, engine, transmission, and body. It looked more like a precision expedition tool than an automobile.

I tried to climb over the stanchions for a closer look but was immediately stopped by the security guard.

So, I drove back to Landover and asked Max whether he had any Land Rover literature, brochures, or promotional materials. He loaded me up with everything he could find, including several Land Rover patches and a hat that I still have today.

Armed with my new “credentials,” I returned to White Flint Mall. I told a different security guard that I was with Land Rover and had been asked to remain with the vehicle to discourage people from tampering with it. He accepted my story ---the first of the only three lies I have told in my life--- without hesitation.

For the next several hours, I sat in that Defender, examining every inch of it. I returned on both Sunday and Monday and spent several more hours doing exactly the same thing.

On Tuesday morning, Max called to tell me they were returning the Defender to Norfolk that day and asked if I would like to stop by for a test drive on the dealership’s off-road course.

I told my secretary that I had to leave the building for a meeting (the second lie), drove to Landover, and became the first person outside of Land Rover personnel to drive a North American Specification (NAS) Defender 90.

The following day, I mailed requests for proposals to every Land Rover dealer I could find along the East Coast, from Philadelphia to Richmond, asking each for its best price on a Defender built to my specifications.

The responses trickled in slowly, but as the end of the year approached, I began applying a little pressure. Every dealer eventually responded.

The winning proposal arrived at 5:00 p.m. on Thursday, December 30 ---my deadline for the bids--- from Charles Matthews of a dealership in Midlothian, Virginia, near Richmond. He had a Coniston Green Defender that matched my specifications and offered it to me for $35,000. I told him I’d stop by the next day.

I was up at 5:00 a.m. on New Year’s Eve. Although snow was falling heavily, I set out for Midlothian and arrived shortly before 8:00. The dealership was still closed, so I sat in the coffee shop across the street, admiring that magnificent green Defender perched high on one of those display ramps dealerships use to showcase their desirable vehicles.

As soon as I saw that the lights were on in the dealership, I drove across the street, walked into the showroom, introduced myself to Charles, pointed to the Defender outside, and said, “That’s the one I want.” I handed him my options list and then produced a check for $33,400.

I also explained that I had to conclude our negotiations by 9:00 a.m. because I needed time to withdraw an offer I had already made on a white Defender at another dealership in Baltimore.

Charles hesitated. The price, he reminded me, was $35,000.

He disappeared into the general manager’s office. After several minutes of discussion, I distinctly heard the general manager say, “Let him have it for net-net,” whatever that meant.

Charles returned, punched a few numbers into his calculator, smiled, and announced that I could have the Defender for $33,000.

Hoping he had forgotten that I had told him I possessed only that one check made out for $400 more (the third lie), I calmly reached into my pocket, pulled out a blank check, wrote it for $33,000, signed the paperwork, and drove home to Washington in my new Defender.

The following Monday, I returned by train to retrieve my Jeep. I had already called another Federal Reserve colleague, Al McCracken, who had expressed interest in buying it if I purchased the Defender. We completed that sale shortly afterward.

Since that snowy New Year’s Day in 1994, that Defender has carried me and my loyal dogs for more than 250,000 miles. Together we have driven to places I never imagined existed—from the end of the road in Labrador to the Arctic Ocean at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, crossing remote highways and trails through Quebec, the Yukon, British Columbia, the western United States, and countless places in between.

Of course, the adventures were not without problems. The Defender suffered four breakdowns during my 2016 expedition—in Quebec, the Yukon, Nevada, and Utah—and another on a later trip in 2019 in the snowy plains of Kansas. But somehow those breakdowns became part of the Defender’s character. Anyone who has owned one understands that they are simply part of the story.

If someone were ever to ask me whether there is one experience in my life I would choose to relive, the answer would be immediate: those road trips with all my dogs in that Defender.

None of it would have happened had Chuck not casually stopped by my office on that Friday afternoon in October 1993 with a magazine tucked under his arm.

That is why the Defender has proudly carried the name “Chuck.”.

* * *

Epilog: Chuck died suddenly on March 3, 2007. I have often thought about how a brief conversation in my office on an ordinary Friday afternoon altered the course of my life. Had he not stopped by with that magazine under his arm, I almost certainly would have bought another Jeep.* Instead, because of Chuck, I spent the next quarter century exploring some of the most remote places in North America with my faithful dogs at my side, creating memories that remain among the greatest blessings of my life.

Every time I look at the name “Chuck” on the Defender, I am reminded that we seldom realize, in the moment, just how profoundly a single conversation can change someone’s future.

 

* I have nothing against Jeeps. In fact, were it not for the Defender, the Jeep would be the only other vehicle I would ever drive, until the Grenadier came along. As a testament to my loyalty to that capable vehicle, my license plate since 1993 has proudly been JEEP.