How does an original New York Checker taxi-cab end up in
Cape Town, South Africa? Here is the story:

I love Cape Town. Very much so. But I must admit, when I first heard about my owner's plan to take me away from my country of birth - the good ol' US of A - I was quite shocked. And to Africa of all places.

But let me introduce myself first. I am an original A-11 Checker taxi-cab, built in Kalamazoo, Michigan, by the not so very well known American car manufacturer Checker Motors Corporation. Founded in 1922 by a Russian immigrant, named Morris Markin, Checker produced mainly taxi-cabs. After 60 years, in 1982, they stopped making cars. My particular (and very distinctive) body style was offered without any major changes between 1958 and 1982, which makes me the longest ever produced American car. My birth certificate says 1976 and luckily in the 70s Checker used Chevy parts in their cars. But my luck doesn't stop there.

I wasn't ordered by a NY cabbie from the factory - otherwise I probably wouldn't be here today to tell the story. It was the American government who bought me! Can you believe it? The New York branch of the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) was in dire need of an unsuspicious undercover vehicle in Manhattan. What better disguise than a yellow Checker in the Big Apple? Because of my upcoming law enforcement career I was fitted with the strongest available engine, the mighty 5,7-litre Chevy V8 power plant. Real cabbies weren't fond of its fuel consumption and preferred the straight six-cylinder Chevy.

One of the plain clothes cops was acting as the driver, the other on as the passenger. Most of the time we just stood around, checking and observing suspected drug dealers. But then, sometimes, the command I was longing for came through the radio: "Let's waste those mothers". Jeez. Those were exciting times. I loved it when their Glocks pounced on my shiny black vinyl seats. And during those hunting times I was also able to forgive them the myriads of doughnut crumbs and stains of spilled coffee on my carpet.

My one injury, the dent in the front bumper, is still clearly visible today. And I am proud of it. I can't remember exactly, but I think rookie Steve was at the wheel, when this guy with his Don King hairstyle tried to make a run in his Caddy. We chased him into Central Park. I loved those scared joggers and cyclists, who desperately tried to clear the paths. After crashing through some shrubs I finally pushed the Caddy into a fountain. That's where I hurt myself.

But those injuries were nothing compared with what my yellow brothers hat to endure as "real" taxis. Mercilessly driven over pot-holed streets, shift after shift, day after day, they clocked hudreds of thousands of miles and were rapidly approaching extinction. Especially after 1982, when production ceased.

Nevertheless our species, the checker cab, had reached cult status by then. We were and still are American icons and symbols of New York, immortalised in movies such as Taxi Driver, Escape from New York, Stuart Little and most recently Almost Famous. But whereas in the 70s and 80s we were still part of the tough streets of Manhattan, the 90s saw the first well paid and nicely restored Checker movie stars, who just acted as regular cabs.

The very last official, real, genuine, working, yellow New York Checker taxi-cab retired in 1999. His driver, a Jamaican by the name of Earl Johnson, had clocked 1,6-million kilometres in his particular Checker. He offered the cab to Sotheby's in New York to auction it on his behalf. Well, the final bid changed everything. Checker cabs are now sought-after collectors' items, and happily retired Earl and his wife are running a B&B in Jamaica.

Yes, I know, the sum? US$134 500 - in words one hundred and thirty-four thousand and five hundred green backs. If I'm not mistaken that equals more than a million in localk Mickey Mouse currency.

But back to myself. The upcoming extinction of the Checker cab in New York had a negative effect on my inconspicuousness. Checkers were - all of a sudden - a welcome sight. Everybody loved them and tried to hitch a ride in one of the last remaining ones. My agents felt more and more uncomfortable and finally refused to hit the road in a car that attracted more attention than a naked jogger on Times Square.

Subsequently they got their Chevy Caprice and I was sold at a government auction for a song. For a while I was rusting around in a used car lot until Orlando L. stepped into my life. I felt a slight twitch in my automatic gearbox. The Columbian-American looked exactly like the guys we used to hunt while I was with the DEA. And he didn't take much care of me. He just wanted to make money. That's how my new career as a movie star took off. I acted in several commercials and some major productions, such as Carlito's Way (yes, Al was sitting in my backseat!), 200 Cigarettes and Last Days of Disco.

After a couple of years he had earned enough (without investing anything but the bare necessities in me) and he decided to get rid of me.

As he used to talk to himself, I found out that he had discovered a German guy, while surfing the Net, who had been looking for an original Checker cab for years.

He asked a hefty price, which made my rear leaf springs ache, but the German was apparently so keen on me, after seeing the four out-of-focus Polaroids Orlando had sent them, that they cut a deal.

At this stage I was in desperate need of some repairs, my front bushings were so badly worn, that, when Orlando hit the brakes, my front end almost crashed into the pavement.

Then one day, in October 1999, Orlando put on his greasy black jacket (his only one!) and told me that he was going to deliver me to my new owner. He had flown over from South Africa, where he apparently lived, close to a place called Cape Town, and was waiting now in front of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel opposite Central Park.

When I saw Orlando's typical greedy facial expression in the back mirror I got rubbed up the wrong way. I didn't want to be part of this. Immaculate, immaculate condition, he had promised him in his e-mails, the damn liar. I wanted to warn the German and broke down. Orlando found the loose wire, but his hands were so dirty by then, that the potential buyer would see immediately that something was not quite right. On the other hand I was quite fed up with Orlando and very much looking forward to a new, caring owner.

When I saw his shocked expression, as Orlando got out of me, I felt sorry for Elke and Dieter. It's not my fault, I wanted to cry, but all I could manage was to spurt some greenish radiator cooling liquid through a broken pipe right in front of them.

Please take me anyway, I promise to be good. My German was never brilliant, but I still understand it quite well, thanks to the painter in the Checker factory in Kalamazoo, who originally came from Hamburg.

I could figure out that they were trying to get me fixed up. On a Friday afternoon. In Manhattan. That's what I call commitment. I fell in love with them there and then.

Now for the most exciting part of my story. Almost unbelievable. After government agents, car dealers, drug dealer look-alikes and film directors, I was in the hands of a travel journalist and his photographer wife - and in for a surprise. Their plan: Travel with me through the States and produce a coffee table book about it. From Manhattan to Miami, from New Orleans to San Antonio, from Big Bend National Park to Santa Fe, from the Grand Canyon to San Francisco and finally to Hollywood, where most of my yellow colleagues ended up living in luxury.

For a city slicker like me it was an almost head-gasket-blowing experience. After the first couple of days I got four new white-walled tyres (all the same size and brand - a first!). Just in time for the Skyline Drive in Virginia, where I enjoyed not only forests and mountains, but my first windy roads.

For me the only disadvantage of the trip was that Elke and Dieter made three journeys out of it and I was stored in the meantime. The first time in Miami (for almost six months), the second time in Santa Fe (for four months). When they came back in September 2000 to get me out of my dark shack there were three of them. Lisa had joined the family and was now sitting in her baby seat, mounted between Papa and Mama on the front bench.

It was a marvellous trip, despite some hiccups. And while cruising through the National Parks in the Southwest the first hints about my future surfaced. About driving me in Africa. About restoring me. About souping up (what the hell are you talking about?) my engine.

In Death Valley I gave them all an adrenaline rush, when I pretended a break down at 50 degrees Celsius (no available shade). And in San Francisco I couldn't resist, I had to do it. On one of those really steep roads I refused to stop when he braked. As predicted, Dieter just missed the red Jeep in front of him and veered on to the empty sidewalk. You should have seen their faces.

The subsequent shipping procedures were less funny. They chose a German company, Schenker International, apparently for their thoroughness. A big mistake.

While my owners were waiting for me in South Africa on the agreed date of arrival, sometime in November 2000, I was still standing around in the harbour in Houston, Texas, where a truck had dropped me off after ferrying me there from Los Angeles. Not one of those idiots even bothered to phone South Africa.

After many phone calls, faxes, e-mails and some angry higher level talks in the US, in Germany and South Africa, Schenker finally managed to put me into a nice warm container and ship me directly to Cape Town.

Jeez, was I excited. After weeks of going up and down on the Atlantic waves, I heard the first seagulls crying. And then the container was moved around. Eventually I heard voices. Yes, it's them, Elke and Dieter, to get me out of this dark metal box. Not yet - the Schenker idiots had lost the keys to the container. After a security guard broke the lock with a bolt cutter I was finally free.

And since the end of January I am a real Cabtonian. In the beginning   I was a bit scared, you know, driving on the wrong side of the road. But the welcome I got in this country was absolutely overwhelming. South are car crazy and they love me. Whereever I cruise through town people wave, stop me and ask about my history. As some of Cape Town's streets bear a striking resemblance to Manhattan, there are a lot of American production companies filming in town. And guess who they're gonna call? Yes, me, the little piece of the Big Apple that immigrated to SA.

And my owners kept all their promises. My front and rear suspension has been fixed. My heart hat a complete overhaul, including some modifications, such as a Holly carb, a cam lifter and an Edelbrock manifold. Combined with a 57mm stainless steel performance exhaust I have a hell of a lot of fun at traffic lights now. With about 300 hp even my weight moves - to the astonishment of fellow drivers, previously smiling at the chubby cab. And my licence plate can't be topped: NY TAXI - WP.

The latest improvement to my appearance is the newly upholstered seats. The torn vinyl is finally gone, replaced by black leather with yellow piping, which does not only look great, it also makes me smell much better. And I don't have to be embarrassed any more when I have to make a matric dance delivery. Jeez, I love that feeling, when those firm, elegantly dressed butts are touching my skin.

And the future? Looking good. My owners have no intention of ever selling me. My looks are constantly improving and my movie career seems to be unstoppable.

I am the Cab of Good Hope.

Hail the Yellow Cab!

To hire the Checker taxi-cab in Cape Town for film and photographic shoots, for weddings, matric dances, anniversaries, promotions or simply for an unusual fun ride contact Dieter or Elke, phone/fax (021) 791-4366, e-mail: dieter@lossis.com .

Elke and Dieter Losskarn published a coffee table book in German about the trip and car: Checker - Im legendären New York-Taxi von Manhattan nach Hollywood, ISBN 3-7243-0365-3. It is available at the German site of Amazon.

© Dieter Losskarn

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Last updated:
December 31, 2008