Remembering family's cars is like
taking a trip down Memory Lane
By Gordon Garnos
AT ISSUE:
Remembering the various cars that were in your life while
growing up is like taking a trip down Memory Lane. I was in
Minnesota the other day and was listening to a talk show from a
Minnesota radio station. The gist of the program was the search for
the old family car of 20 years ago. This got me to thinking about
the cars that were in my family, at least while I was growing up.
Those cars, including my dad's bread trucks, stirred a lot of
memories, most of them good. A couple of them not so good.
IT WAS A
'32 CHEVY. That was a long time ago and my recollection of that
old car is a slim one at best. That car had already "reached
maturity" by the time I came into the picture and my picture of that
old car is not a good one.
This takes me
back to when I was about three years old. That would make it about
1938 when my mother took my brother and me on a trip to Ellendale,
N.D., to see my aunt and uncle who had a bakery there. About the
only memory I have of that old car and that trip, I might add, was a
few miles outside of Ellendale, the car hit a wind row of gravel
that rolled us into the ditch. So much for that '32 Chevy.
The car that
is well implanted into my memory was Dad's 38 Plymouth todor (two
doors) and that is about all it had. No radio, and CDs and tapes
were still long way from being invented. It did have windshield
wipers and a straight stick on the floor.
THAT
PLYMOUTH WAS the vehicle I used to teach myself to drive. Up and
down, up and down, up and down the long driveway behind my dad's
bakery. No one knew of my talent for driving until I dropped the
back wheels in the ditch across the alley. None of my driving
talents could get those blasted wheels out of that ditch.
The bottom
line here is my mother called the Hiway Garage and a wrecker was
dispatched. I don't know what Mr. Rabern charged my folks for
getting the car out of that ditch, but I well remember I didn't
attend any Saturday night movies for quite a while.
Not only was
that the family car, it was Dad's bread truck during the war (WW
II). Three times a week bread box after bread box was loaded in the
back seat and trunk of that car for Dad's trips to Kennebec, Lyman
and Reliance and later, Lower Brule.
A couple of
times that old car made it all the way to Plainview, Nebr., to visit
another aunt and uncle. One Sunday that car even got us to Mitchell
where we got to see the Ringling Brother Circus from unloading from
its train all the way through to the final performance. Knowing a
baker's life, I believe that was one of many times Dad went for 24
or more hours without sleep.
FOLLOWING
THE WAR the next car in our lives was a hot DeSoto, a cousin to
the Plymouth. That was some car, a wowzer dowzer, one might say. It
was complete with a radio and a fluid drive transmission, whatever
that was.
I was old
enough to order some special accessory parts, really shiny ones,
from a supply catalog. That DeSoto had several big teeth in its
grill. When I removed every other one and got those shiny parts
attached to that car, it really looked sharp, I thought, for about
two hours, until Dad got home and saw what I had done.
BY THE TIME
I WAS a teenager, barely, a beautiful Buick Special became part
of the family. At about the same time I had a part time job working
for the local funeral director. One dark and gloomy night, a family
of the deceased called, wanting more "Thank You" cards and it was my
job to deliver them. Dad, being a baker, had gone to bed so my
mother allowed me to take those cards to the family in that brand
new Buick.
On my way
home, there was a young lady whom I asked if she would like a ride.
Remember above where I said a couple of times those memories were
not so good. Well, that was one of those times. Not when I picked
her up, but later.
It was two or
three miles out of town on a country road. There was this old car
parked on the wrong side of the road and, you guessed it, a
collision occurred. That Buick was to take my big brother to college
the next day, but, needless to say, that car wasn't taking any trips
except to the body shop.
THEN THERE
WAS that bread truck that took several of us to the Chamberlain
drive-in theater. Thirteen, I believe, was the highest count. I had
a little trouble explaining why there was some popcorn found in it.
The next car
didn't come along until I came home on leave from the Air Force. Dad
and I took a trip to Winner to check on a new Pontiac. What a
beautiful car! Windshield wipers, radio, automatic transmission, a
lighted hood ornament, electric windows and even an air conditioner.
I couldn't believe it. Dad didn't like it. Too many gadgets and who
would ever want an air conditioner in a car? Here we are in the
middle of July, who wouldn't want an air conditioner in their car?
Yes, those cars and bread trucks
bring back a lot of good memories, at least most of them, the ones I
could print....
Gordon Garnos was long-time editor of the Watertown Public Opinion and
recently retired after 39 years with that newspaper. Garnos, a
lifelong resident of South Dakota except for his military service in the
U.S. Air Force, was born and raised in Presho.
