Whenever I see a load of crushed cars on their way to the melting furnace, I think (as Jed Clampett would so remorsefully lament), “Pitiful. Pi-ti-ful!” These hunks of scrap were somebody's dream once. Somebody's pride and joy. What they sacrificed many a party night for. Now, look at them! Flattened and stacked like so many pieces of dried cod fish!

On the road, load after load of these rusted carcasses whiz by, neatly arranged, covered up and strapped down as if in some bizarre 18-wheel funeral cortege. Some of them sparkle defiantly as if their owners had given them one more soothing polish before sending them off to their metallurgical fate of razor blades and paper clips. Can't you just feel the spirit of that crushed Caddy with every stroke of the shaving razor?

As I carefully watch for falling radiators, bumpers and alternators, I visualize makes and models and I'm emotionally moved to compose a short eulogy for each cold, metallic cadaver:

• Studebaker - A popular “guy thing” was to remove the b-a-k-e-r from the logo. Wishful thinking.

• Ford Granada - aka the “Grenade.” Explodes first time, every time.

• Yugo - A Communist plot.

• Chevy Chevette - Drive out of the dealership, pull over when gas gauge reads “E,” take your plates.

• Chevy Citation - Drive out of the dealership, pull over when the gas gauge reads “E” after the second fill up, take your plates.

• Ford Pinto - The world's only factory-produced car bomb. The Auburn Police Department had one - and a VW bug - decked out in black and white paint, lights and siren. Easy to outrun even in another Pinto or bug.

So, fellow motorists, when you're out and about behind the wheel and you see one these jalopy hearses, tip your hat and say a prayer. Your old creampuff, after all, may be aboard.

Paul N. Luziani

Union Springs