A MAN AND HIS CAR
by Red Green
She was a 1952 Pontiac coupe with a flathead six and the torpedo back. My brother and I did a valve job on her in the driveway (which was just two dirt ruts in the lawn and a lot of oil stains). The job took us all weekend, including the four hours lying on the grass moaning after getting nailed in the groin with a spring compressor.
We got that greasy monster back together and had enough parts left over to make a roof rack. The engine eventually ran, but the block was cracked so the water would seep in through the cylinder wall and sit on top of one of the pistons. Antifreeze destroys cylinders, so we didn't use any. Every winter night the water on the piston would freeze into a hockey puck of ice and, when we started the car on the other five cylinders, the piston would smash the puck into the head, close the spark plug gap and short out the ignition coil.
The motor mounts on the right side were broken so every time we popped the clutch, the engine would jerk over on its left side, pulling the gas pedal to the floor. She had a six volt battery and vacuum wipers, two features that pretty much guaranteed we couldn't see where we were going and nobody else could see us coming. The cigarette lighter was a pack of matches, the ashtray was the window. We didn't smoke, but the car did.
The tires were so old that they were bald and we were so young that we weren't. One was a whitewall, and we were saving for more, till my brother found some old house paint.
We did all the repairs ourselves, which was why the right rear window was plywood, the muffler clamps were coat hangers, the hood latch was a coat hanger (no wonder our clothes were lying on the floor), and the door handles were a pair of vice-grips. We got in her by climbing in the open window. The rust hole on the fender was a perfect step-up, but climbing out would've ruined our tuxedos on prom night. Luckily, we didn't go.
The radio was all tubes and we had to turn it on an hour before we left if we were hoping for music before we got to shcool. The doors rattled and the windows shook, and the heater was designed for a much warmer climate. The car broke down every time we went out in it. Telling somebody we were going to be in a certain place at a certain time was like calling ourselves millionaires just because we bought a lottery ticket. It was barely roadworthy when we got it, and it went downhill from there. It was a worthless piece of crap.
Man, we loved that car.
We went to football games and parties and on dates and down to the beach. Sometimes it would start when we didn't expect it to and we'd go for a drive just so we wouldn't waste an opportunity. It had bench seats front and back so you could really cuddle up. Or do those C.O.D. turns, which meant Come Over Darling - one hard right turn and she slid across the shiny naugahyde and into your arms. And you know the girl liked you the minute she got in that car, because it meant she trusted you more than her own two eyes.
No seatbelts because in those days cars were alot more dangerous when they were parked than when they were moving. It was a simpler time then. Luckily we were simpler too, so we fit right in. People expected us to be late or maybe not even show up. We didn't have a huge load of expectation placed on our vehicle or ourselves. They gave us leeway in those days.
Guys like us needed leeway.
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from "Red Green Talks Cars" by Steve Smith and Rick Green.
Macmillan Canada 1997