Saturday, May 05, 2007



WILL'S WONDER WAGON


The time had finally arrived; the moment of moments, the day of days, for I had finally reached the fantastic age of 15 and one half. Anybody who is anybody knows what that means. Experience, wisdom, knowledge; they all fold together to produce the young man that is ready at last to meet life head on. It is the beginning of freedom, when a youth achieves the ultimate, the numero uno, the coveted, yes, even the driver's license learning permit. At least, that's how it was in January of 1962, in Riverside, California.

There were, however, one or two slight hurdles to bound before the only other event that supersedes the permit, that is, the driver's license, could take place. The first challenge was perhaps the most difficult and that was convincing my parents that I was ready. That took some doing. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that my Dad had several other kids to raise and that I was entering uncharted territory. As the oldest kid, I already knew that every time I turned another year older, my parents had never had a kid "that old" before. I was their trail blazer, a dangerous occupation, especially for an amateur.

My five brothers and I could put away quite a bit of hot chocolate and toast (breakfast), peanut butter sandwiches (lunch), and spaghetti and meatballs (dinner). This, along with a mortgage, utility payments, and many other living expenses, may have been a little taxing on Dad's income.

The family car presented another challenge. It was a 1955 Pontiac, 4 door, with a two tone paint job and a sight to behold. This vehicle resembled a Sherman Tank, minus the big gun. The manufacturer would have made it out of heavier materials, but none were to be found. In any fender bender accidents, the other vehicle automatically lost. It had a huge, gas hogging V-8 engine, (no matter, gasoline was only 15 cents a gallon) and that engine had over 200,000 miles. Special options included automatic transmission, power steering, power brakes and, get this, a push button radio. No seat belts were included, since that was only for wimps that didn't like flying through windshields.

I knew my Dad dared not part with so worthy a vehicle for the sake of driver training and the dangers thereof, so, being a shrewd business man, I set upon a plan. I would pay for the auto insurance and the car in one stroke. I had worked the previous summer, clearing weeds from vacant lots for the staggering sum of five dollars a lot. I had a whole $300.00 saved. $200.00 bought the wonder wagon and $100.00 covered the insurance. Suddenly, shazam, I was the proud owner of my own tank and I didn't even have my driver's license yet!

Dad used the money as a down payment on another vehicle, for the family and soon my driver training began in earnest with Dad receiving the envious job as trainer. Oh, what days those were! What marvelous bonding between father & son! Running stop signs, running traffic lights, running out of gas; it was all there and more. I wasn't used to power brakes, so when we came to a stop, I would hit the brakes and Dad & I would hit our heads on the windshield. "BILL!" he'd say. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TAP THE BRAKES LIGHTLY!" The most exciting event occurred when I pulled into the inclined driveway of our family home, stepped on the brakes a little too lightly and drove the wonder wagon into the corner post of Dad's recently built, six foot high wooden fence! The fence lost as advertised but Dad was not impressed.

I didn't have a whole lot of free time after that, since I spent every spare moment, tearing down the fence and putting up a new corner section. It was great fun. Finally, in June of 1962, much to the surprise of all my family members, I actually lived to see my 16th birthday. I took my driver's test in written form and only missed two questions, a proud moment.

Next hurdle, the driver's practical test, scheduled on the day of the junior prom, perhaps not a wise choice. I was somewhat distracted, having other things on my mind. I feared most the parallel parking but accidentally did it properly, the very first time. I drove about city traffic without a hitch until it came time for lane changes. I did four of these for the instructor. I looked into the mirror prior to changing lanes, without looking over my shoulder into my blind spot. A big no, no. The instructor said each no, no cost me eight points or a total of minus 32 for a test score of 68 or fail. I was devastated, worse, I was crushed. How could I go to the junior prom with the girl of my dreams, if someone else drove? Heaven forbid! I pleaded with the examiner to show mercy. I told him about the prom and begged for leniency. Finally he agreed to give me two points and my score was changed to 70 or barely pass. I was saved!!

That night, I wore my white sport coat, with a pink carnation, in memory of a song popular in those days. I picked up my date and we were driving to the dance when I suddenly, being distracted again, realized I had taken the left fork of the road, but I needed to be on the right fork. Now, a "normal" driver would have just turned around or pulled over and backed up, but, after all, that would be the same as admitting I made a mistake. Couldn't happen, not to someone who had been driving as long as I had. Instead I chose to play dune buggy and drove over the wide, dirt meridian, between the left and right fork. We were actually air born for a second or two. The take off was fine but the landing was a little rough. "What was that?" she said. "Oh, I always do it that way." I said matter of factly. "It was fun, don't you think?" Deep down I was thinking, I sure hope I didn't damage anything expensive.

The dance, the corsage, and then dinner, pretty much cleared out a year of earnings for a professional lot cleaner, like myself, but it was still a night to be remembered. The tank and I shared other wonderful memories like showing me the value of walking when it broke down. One of my first improvements to the Pontiac was a genuine $10.00 chrome plated accelerator pedal, a sorely needed expenditure, never mind that I needed a new battery. I proved my grit again by spending a whole $50.00 for a metallic, deep blue, single tone paint job. Unfortunately the painting was done by a "friend" of Dad's who took a month to do a two day job and painted it two tone aqua because he ran out of metallic blue and didn't figure I would mind. The result was disappointing at best but I was too embarrassed to complain, after all, the guy was a "friend."

The power steering and power brakes proved to be a setback. You ever try to push a tank off to the side of the road when it breaks down? Now try it without power brakes or power steering, since the engine is shut down. What a workout. Can't steer it and can't stop it without tremendous brute force.

Finally, I had a few more workouts than I wanted and sold the tank for $50.00 and bought a motorcycle instead. The last time I saw the Pontiac, some kid was using it for what I used it for on that prom night, a dune buggy. It bit the dust in the end and got sent to the wrecking yard.

Today, I have my own mortgage, cars, kids and grand kids but, sometimes, I think back to when the wonder wagon was the car of my dreams.

1 Comments:

At 12:59 PM, Blogger Unknown said...

Bill, this is the Duke that hired you way back then. Please contact me.
Duke McCracken
dmnm10@yahoo.com

 

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