Last weekend we played a community festival. One of the attractions for the event was an antique car
show.
Clouds gray as gun barrels hung low in the sky, but the weatherman swore there would be no rain. Both Jilda and I were skeptical, but not a drop fell while we played.
After our set, we walked around to look at the booths of handmade art and crafts. I picked up a bag of fried peanuts, before we collected our guitars and made our way home.
In the lot next to the stage were a row of antique cars on display. My mind was elsewhere until I glanced at a jet-black 1946 Plymouth Coupe.
I stopped dead in my tracks and stepped over to the old ride. A flood of memory came rushing through my mind.
The very first car I ever owned was a 1946 Plymouth Coupe. My brother bought the car and spent an incredible amount of time an money on the old beast. He'd bought new tires, moon spinner hubcaps, and he painted the old car metallic maroon.
He got laid off and was strapped for cash so he asked my mom for a loan. He wanted to head out to California to try his luck on the left coast.
He negotiated terms and promised to send her the money he owed and come back for the car. But that didn't happen.
So for my fifteenth birthday, my mom gave the car to me. Insurance and lawsuits were practically non-existant in those days, so when I could get the car cranked, I drove it to school.
I LOVED that car. It had mohair seat covers and a steering wheel as big as a hula hoop. Hanging from the rearview mirror were a pair of fuzzy dice.
The inside smelled like an old sweater with a hint of motor oil, ancient tobacco, and sweat.
The car was parked in my parents' back yard when I was drafted in 1971 and when I returned in 73, it was not there.
Apparently, my dad had grown tired of cutting around it when he mowed the lawn, and he gave it away. I can see why he did it, but it broke my heart to lose my first love.
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| Photo from Zuoda Images |
Clouds gray as gun barrels hung low in the sky, but the weatherman swore there would be no rain. Both Jilda and I were skeptical, but not a drop fell while we played.
After our set, we walked around to look at the booths of handmade art and crafts. I picked up a bag of fried peanuts, before we collected our guitars and made our way home.
In the lot next to the stage were a row of antique cars on display. My mind was elsewhere until I glanced at a jet-black 1946 Plymouth Coupe.
I stopped dead in my tracks and stepped over to the old ride. A flood of memory came rushing through my mind.
The very first car I ever owned was a 1946 Plymouth Coupe. My brother bought the car and spent an incredible amount of time an money on the old beast. He'd bought new tires, moon spinner hubcaps, and he painted the old car metallic maroon.
He got laid off and was strapped for cash so he asked my mom for a loan. He wanted to head out to California to try his luck on the left coast.
He negotiated terms and promised to send her the money he owed and come back for the car. But that didn't happen.
So for my fifteenth birthday, my mom gave the car to me. Insurance and lawsuits were practically non-existant in those days, so when I could get the car cranked, I drove it to school.
I LOVED that car. It had mohair seat covers and a steering wheel as big as a hula hoop. Hanging from the rearview mirror were a pair of fuzzy dice.
The inside smelled like an old sweater with a hint of motor oil, ancient tobacco, and sweat.
The car was parked in my parents' back yard when I was drafted in 1971 and when I returned in 73, it was not there.
Apparently, my dad had grown tired of cutting around it when he mowed the lawn, and he gave it away. I can see why he did it, but it broke my heart to lose my first love.
I have a hidden love for old cars but I still cannot live without all the perks of the newer ones (heated seats, ac)but if I could, I would buy an old Bel Air (54 or 55)
ReplyDeleteMy old neighbor had a 36 Plymouth and it was so beautiful, think he loved it more than his wife!
Men and cars...that's all I have to say...
ReplyDeleteMen certainly love their cars, my father was an avid collector;)
ReplyDeleteAwwwww!!!! I'm sorry you returned to find your first love was no more! Oh dear!! But you have the memories! Yay! Take care
ReplyDeletex
Hi Rick, nice to meet you. My 18-year-old son just bought his first car and he fawns over it like a new love :)
ReplyDeleteOh, that's so sad, but what a great story. I don't think we ever forget our first cars. I lost my virginity in mine.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Janie
Oh no kiddin!
ReplyDeleteI had a love in a 57 olds my Dad had.It was a black beauty so warm and insulated so well. It drove like a tank.
You could go 120 mph and not feel it at all like we do today in the new cars.I spent hours polishing the chrome and keeping the tires white and clean.
I wanted him to up keep it but he let it go and it finally
rusted away.:(
I LOVE antique cars--especially the roadsters!! When my husband was going to put an art studio upstairs in the house for me, I asked him for an Excalibur. He said I could only have one if I parked it in the studio. I had to pass!!
ReplyDeleteJust a man and his "ride" - what a twosome.
ReplyDeleteMy first car was a brand new '72 chevy malibu...pure poetry that I paid for with my own hard earned money. I loved that car and it served me (and later after I married..my family) well for over 10yrs until cancer ate away the finish..sob..sob..I'm OK now. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteGreat story.Tesla and Elon Musk
ReplyDeletewww.youtube.com/watch?v=SrzMdoKPPaA