H. Reg Creasey
THE LITTLE
RED FORD
By
H. Reg
Creasey
I can't remember Dad as proud and happy as he is
today. I have seen the sparkle in his eye
and broad smile on his face many times in my life but nothing like the
way he looks as he walks around that brand new bright red Ford. The red paint
glows--the chrome bumpers, grill and side trim dazzle in the bright afternoon
sun. Neighbors from up and down the street gather around the car as it sits in
the driveway. The men admire the compact design while the women marvel at the
plush interior. Dad grins as he rocks back and forth with his arms folded
across his chest extolling the virtues of the sleek body style and engine
performance. Mom sits in the front seat and talks about all the Sunday drives
the family is going to take.
It
is their first new car after twenty two years of marriage. The sea gull floats
slowly by riding on the air--a silver streak glistens in the sun. There is
silence all around when the huge white glob
appears directly in the middle of that beautiful gleaming red hood.
Day one ends with
Dad washing the car as the sun sets.
- DAY TWO –
That
night Mom relayed the following events to me. Dad usually gets home shortly
after four p.m. However today it was about five thirty when he burst through
the door.
“You
won't believe what some idiot did at work today!" He exclaimed as he poured a cup of coffee and dropped
himself into a chair.
"Some
fool parked his car right next to ours--so close that when he opened the door
he banged MY car and put a dent in the door, a huge scratch in the paint. I
talked to the night foreman and his crew. Seems that no one saw or heard a
thing! Wouldn't you know, on the first day I take that car to work-- I just
wanted to show it off a little! It sure is a honey sitting there. What are ya
gonna do?"
Mom
said she could not get a word in for thirty minutes because Dad was ranting and
raving so much. She said he slowly unwound and they both went outside to see
the damage. Mom said she expected to see the whole door caved in. When they got
beside the door Dad said, "See, see that, isn't it terrible?" Mom
agreed. When she told me the story she admitted that she could not see anything
except a very tiny scuff mark.
She was sure that when Dad washed the car it would disappear. But it was not
worth arguing about. She totally agreed with Dad when he said that tomorrow he
was going to ask the boys on his crew what they knew about it. "There is
going to be hell to pay for this!" Mom said that was a direct
quote.
Day two ended with
Dad sitting in the kitchen looking out the window admiring that car with a
slight glaze over his eyes.
- DAY THREE
-
It
was summer time and I was off doing things when Dad left for work. I didn't see
how he looked but he was usually positive every morning. A simple view at life -- every day was better then
the day before and tomorrow even more so than today. At noon when I stopped by
his office, he was really worked up, wrathful, very angry. My dad is of the
short, stocky build. He stands about five foot six or seven inches. He weighs
about one sixty five, maybe one seventy. He is muscular from the heavy freight
boxes he moves every day for the railroad.
He
supervises a crew of about eight, all roustabouts of varying degrees of
background but the same general antisocial attitudes of men that work hard for
a living. My Dad usually has a smile and a kind word about most everything,
except today. It takes a lot to get him riled but when someone does they had
better watch out! Today was one of those.
"Hi
Dad, what's happenen?"
"What
do you want? No! You can't borrow five bucks!
Don't--Do
not even think of asking to borrow the car.
Damn it anyway!"
"Hey,
what's up? I just stopped by to say hello. Don't bite my head off." He
continued as if I hadn't said a word.
"I
just don't know about some people's kids. Ya know! They have no respect for
other people's property. On my way to work this morning some idiot woman ran
into the back of the car--while I was stopped at a stop sign. She just plowed
right into the rear end. She scratched the bumper. Didn't hurt the paint. Damn
it anyway. She said she was admiring that beautiful red color highlighted by
the pretty bright chrome, She just forgot to put her foot on the brake. Can you
believe it? She forgot to put her foot on the damn brake!"
I
reached over to pat him on the shoulder as he had done for me many times while
I was growing up--needing a little comfort. He shot me a glance that would kill
an elephant--I slowly backed out of his office. Once outside, I said hi to a
couple of the guys.
"Boy!
Your dad sure is on the pad today. Use-to-be he was easy goin’. Ever' sense he
bought that fancy car he has developed a case of tight cheeks."
They
started laughing as they exchanged shoulder slugs while they walked into an
open box car to get another load of freight. They were still talking about the
fancy car and who did my dad think he was anyway, the president of the company?
More laughter. I could not hear any more of their comments. Knowing their
nature I am sure it just got raunchier.
I
stopped by to see the damaged rear bumper. It was bent and scratched. This time
it was damaged, trashed is more like it. Much worse then Dad had let on. Maybe
he was getting past the new car syndrome?
Day three ended
with mom, my brother and I eating TV dinners in front of the tube while Dad sat
by himself alone at the kitchen table with his favorite drink, a sagebrush.
Some people call it a Presbyterian, he once told me. We lived in Idaho; he
liked sagebrush. His eyes were a little misty but fixed on that little red
Ford.
- DAY FOUR
-
Day
four start much like any other. The sun was in the sky there were few clouds
around. Mom served Cheerios, toast and milk. The little red Ford's battery had
died and it would not start. As Dad was in the process of giving it a push out
the driveway, a chrome strip fell off the front fender. My brother and I took
off, he to a friend's me to work. Neither of us wanted to be near the house or
that car.
When
I arrived home I found Dad taping a piece of cardboard over the Ford's broken
window. The circumstances were bizarre at best. On the way home from work
driving the same route he had for the past four years, he passed by a vacant
lot where some kids were playing ball. One boy hit the ball.
“The
best hit that kid ever made. It sailed clear out of the lot, past the sidewalk,
past the parking strip right into the back door window. It was a perfect
landing, almost in the center of the rear window on the passenger side. I can't
believe this is really happening. Why me?"
Day four ended
with Dad in the kitchen, another drink in his hand. I think this time it was a
double. He stared out the window looking at the little red Ford's taped up
glass and it's missing chrome strip.
- DAY FIVE
-
Today
was Saturday. I had to be a work early because there was plenty to be done
before the afternoon newspaper hit the street. Mom and Dad planned to take the
car for a spin. Dad held a couple of part time jobs. On one he maintained coin operated bubble gum machines; on the other he
delivered the local newspaper to some of the nearby farmers. Saturday
morning was the time to collect for the newspaper and fill the gum machines. In
the afternoon he delivered the papers.
That night, as we stood in the
driveway looking at the smashed fender,
he told the following story:
"Along about noon your mom and me were headed up
Boulevard, just before the drug store and right after the school, when this old
pickup truck came barreling out of fourteenth street, right through the stop
sign. I swerved to the left and jammed the brakes hard. Threw your mom's head
against the windshield, it's a wonder it didn't crack her skull. Well, anyway,
he was quick enough to turn right and we just skimmed each other. No damage,
just a lot of heavy breathing and adrenalin. He kept apologizing. He was more
worried about the paint than he was your mom's head! He kept saying it sure was
a pretty little car--he sure was glad that he hadn't hurt it. I wanted to
throttle him. It WAS his fault that the brakes failed. There should be a law
against people who drive old clunkers on the road anyway."
"Come-on
Dad…get on with the story!"
"Mom
just had a slight head ache and I was still excited about the ordeal so we swung into the A & W for a root beer. After we finished the cold drinks we both felt
better. Every thing went smoothly until after we finished collecting at
the Hansens'. We were going down Sunnyside road near the entrance to the park
when a car came through the stop sign and nailed the fender. You know the roads
there are all gravel and neither of us could turn or stop. Everything was in
slow motion; we could see the car coming and there was nothing that either of
us could do except wait, watch and wonder. The cars finally came to a rest in
the barrow-pit. Neither of us were going very fast so no one got hurt. The kid
driving the car that hit us said he was trying to get a better look at our car
so he pulled further out in the road to get a better view when we drove past.
Can you believe that? Anyway, we called the sheriff and the tow-truck. By the
time we were ready to leave there was quite a crowd gathered around, everyone
asking questions about the car. Some said how sorry they were for us--such a shame,
they said. Others wanted to know about how the car handled, gas mileage, etc.
How did it accelerate? Did it have a good top-end? I told them to leave me
alone! I did not want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to go home."
Day five ended with Dad sitting
in the kitchen with his back to the
window.
- DAY SIX -
It
was the day of the picnic. All the family was going to Lava Hot Springs for a
swim and picnic. The car didn't look too great: one smashed fender, chrome
missing from the other, a missing window and lots of mud splashed around the
fenders. We started to tease Dad about washing the car before we left on our
trip and quickly decided against it -- after he shot us that look.
I drove because Dad trusted me, and I had been driving
since I was fourteen. He just wanted to
sit back and enjoy the family; it was his way of letting us boys take on
responsibility. It always made us feel good
when he showed support and confidence in our ability to do something.
It
was about seventy-five or eighty mile from our house to Lava. Not a long trip
but a great drive. There were no freeways in Idaho yet--the roads were all two
lanes, so we motored along enjoying the countryside. A few miles before Lava,
coming from the north, the road gets narrow as it winds through the foot-hills.
It is very picturesque except when you are behind a truck, especially a BIG
truck.
After
following the truck for what seamed to be hours there was a break in traffic
and a clear stretch in the road. It was slightly uphill, but I decided to pass
anyway. The little six cylinder was working away -- the speedometer read sixty.
I swung out to pass. While I was slowly gaining on the truck I spotted a car
coming my direction. It was time for action. The little red ford was an
automatic, a "Ford-o-matic," the best and latest in Ford engineering.
I stepped down on the gas and felt the car shift into passing gear, expecting
the car to leap forward as those little horses did their thing. Was I
surprised, when the engine sound increased (the sound of all that horse power)
the truck pulled ahead of us, not slowly as I had been when passing him, but
quite quickly; more like I was standing still or had put my foot on the brake.
I looked at Dad. He looked at me and said, " What did you do?" I, in
shock, said, "Ah, I, I stepped on the gas."
Meanwhile
I was still holding the gas peddle to the floor, the car was going only fifty
and still slowing down. The truck had pulled way ahead of us. The engine was
racing, sounding as if it was ready to go into orbit. The rest of the day was
spent rehashing what had happened. On the way home Dad drove and repeatedly
tested the passing gear, each time with the same results. The little red Ford's
engine would race and the car would slow down.
That
night the family watched the Ed Sullivan show. It capped off our day when a
juggler trying to balance fifteen plates at one time missed.
Day six ended with Dad saying, "Tomorrow I am
getting rid of that car."
- DAY SEVEN
-
Dad took the afternoon off from work and returned the
car. It was not worth all the hassle, the frustration, the danger, the expense,
or the humiliation. He learned a big lesson in vanity. The car he came home
with was a nice family car of tan color and standard options. Over the years
Dad owned twenty two cars. Some were very nice and some were real dogs. None
was like the little red Ford. He became very cautious after owning that Falcon.
He checked out the manufacturer's claims. He identified his needs before he
made a purchase. He knew before he went into a car dealership what he wanted
and why. I bought many cars in my life but I never owned a red one; nor did my
brother.