More nostalgia

Since I have now dipped into the world of childhood cuteness, I have to dive a little deeper. When we lived in Indianapolis, my dad drove a Hillman. A Hillman, for those of you who don't know, was an English car which is no longer manufactured. My dad's car was a tiny little miniature panel truck. The car had a heater for the Winter and vents on the sides of the windows for the summer. I am sure if we had had that car when we lived in Alabama or Georgia, it would have been a good vehicle in which to fry eggs down South.

The car had no radio, so my dad alleviated that by buying a transistor radio (one of those old models with the gray leather case), which he would keep in the car for entertainment. I remember driving around with my dad and listening to some Indianapolis radio station which played folk music. We would drive around singing "If I had a hammer" and other songs along with the singers on the transistor radio. I thought of that because there was a program on Pete Seeger on television last night.

A little bit later, the music of the Beatles came to America and everything was John, Paul, George and Ringo. Its no wonder that when my grandfather's English Setter, Annie, had puppies we named them: John, Paul, George, Peter and Mary. I guess there weren't enough male puppies to have a Ringo.

When I was little, there was an apple orchard in Indianapolis which was owned by the Lilly Company. In the Fall, we would drive to the orchard and buy apple cider and apples. I can still remember that sweet apple cider. It really wasn't until we moved to Georgia and could drive up into the mountains to buy fresh apple cider and hot boiled peanuts where we could replicate the freshness and goodness of those apples and the cider.

Oddly, when I moved to Griffin, I met a young woman who had moved to Griffin with her husband from Winder. It turned out that her father had had a Hillman when she was a little girl. So there were at least two American families with Hillmans back in the 60's.

There have been several cars that my family owned which I would love to have access to these days. The first was my dad's Hillman. The second was the little Renault we owned briefly. We didn't know how to pronouce Renault, so we pronounced it Ri nault', instead of Re No'. That Renault had quite a history in my family.

My great-aunt Ada lived down in Punta Gorda, Florida. She had a little Renault which she probably drove maybe once a week. She got to the age where she really shouldn't have been driving any more and asked my dad if he wanted the car. The car, as I remember it, had about 15000 miles on it. I also remember that it had a loose parking brake which would release at a moment's notice. I remember that specifically because one time someone came to visit and parked right behind the Renault. The parking brake disengaged and the car rolled back into the car behind it. Fortunately, there wasn't much damage.

At any rate, my dad agreed to take the car back to Georgia, and drove it all the way from Punta Gorda, Florida. When I was in college, I drove it around one summer on my summer job. My first summer job that particular Summer was working for the Benevolent Order of Police in Dekalb County, collecting donations. I was paid a paltry amount per donation and they sent me all over the city. If I hadn't had that Renault, I would have blown all the money I was paid on gas. As it was, I think I broke even. I worked there one day and found another job soon thereafter.

Later, when I went back to school, Frank inherited the Renault. Driving that little French car, Frank and his friends referred to it as the 'Spinault'. Unfortunately, Frank had bad luck with the car. One time, during an ice storm, he parked the car on a hill and the car slid down into a fence, doing some minor damage to the body. Next, Frank slid on the ice, I think, or maybe the parking disengaged again and hit something else. By the second or third incident, the car was missing several important parts, and my dad was not in the mood to replace them.

The time for vehicle inspections was coming upon us and my dad sold the car to one of Frank's friends. This friend took the car into one of the nearby woods and drove the car around on dirt trails, slamming it into trees, etc. Ultimately, the friend sold the car to one of the coaches at Dunwoody, who also owned a Renault. The coach was going to use the car for parts.

You would have thought that that would be the end of the Renault. But no. When I graduated from Dunwoody, some of my classmates picked up all of the 'for sale' signs around Dunwoody and placed them in front of the school before graduation, as a prank. A tradition was created and every year, right before graduation, some of the seniors executed a class prank at DHS. My favorite prank was the year when someone borrowed a Southern Bell cherry-picker and covered the flagpole in front of the high school with car tires. The custodians couldn't figure out a good way to remove them, so they cut them into pieces to remove all the tires.

Dunwoody High School is shaped like a figure eight. There are two courtyards in the school which were never used when I was there. As a matter of fact, the school was built in phases and the second courtyard wasn't even there when I graduated. That courtyard was only completed a couple of years later after the school was finished.

At any rate, one Summer, when graduation was looming, the custodians came into the school early to find the remains of the Renault, all beaten and banged up, parked proudly in the middle of one of the courtyards. The administration and the custodial staff looked around the school and couldn't find any indication of how the car got there. There was no evidence of anything.

On top of that, they couldn't figure out how to get it out. So they took acetylene torches and cut it into manageable pieces for removal. Apparently, the custodians at Dunwoody like to cut things up. I know the first time the custodial staff ever took their cutting tools to something was when the science teachers had ordered meter sticks for the classrooms. When the meter sticks were delivered, the custodians were told to remove them from their boxes and place them in the classrooms. When the custodians inspected the meter sticks, they visually noticed that the sticks were too long. So they took a yard stick out and measured. Sure enough, they were too long. So the custodians took a saw to the meter sticks and corrected the 'error.'

Those crazy cutting custodians.

The only other car I would love to have back was my old red Plymouth Sports Fury convertible. Man, that was the epitome of American cool. Big and long. White interior. Perfect for driving around in the Spring and Summer. I do remember one memorable trip in the convertible in the Winter time.

One Tuesday word got out at W&L that there was a mixer that night at Sweet Briar. Not having anything better to do, my roommates and myself all piled into the convertible (top up, of course) and headed east toward Sweet Briar. Unfortunately, there was a serious snow storm hitting the Blue Ridge that evening. As we drove toward Sweet Briar we had to stop several times and allow the Virginia Department of Transportation to remove fallen trees off the road. At one time, I lost control of the car on the ice and slid off the road. Fortunately, no damage. Lesser young men might have just turned back. But not us. Two hours later, we arrived at the security gate for Sweet Briar College.

Oddly, the lights were out in the security post when we arrived and the security guard shone a flash light into our car. He quickly informed us that the power was out all over campus. We asked if the mixer was still going on. He said he thought so. So, undaunted, we headed into the darkened campus of Sweet Briar College for Women. Driving around in the dark, we finally found the mixer, and went inside. A lot of girls were in there. Very few guys. A radio was blasting music at one end of the room. A lot of flashlights were being used by the girls. Of course, we had to depend on the kindness of the girls for light. As is always the case.

By the time the mixer was over, the radio stations were saying that the roads around Lynchburg and up in the mountains were closed until morning. What were we to do? Fortunately, one of my roommates had a cousin who attended Sweet Briar. Thankfully, her roommate was off campus, and she could stay in another room. We all piled into her room and she slept with her friend.

Early the next morning we trudged sleepily over to the parking lot, hopped in the Plymouth and drove back to Lexington in the gray light of dawn. The roads were slick, but passable. Later, my dad said I had fulfilled one of his major fantasies that night. My elderly cousin, who had attended Sweet Briar, opined that boys weren't allowed to sleep on campus when she was there. I'm not sure we were either.

Frank got that car after I graduated from W&L. Dad paid our cousin Bill to perform some restorative body work on the car and it looked sweet. Just like brand new. Unfortunately, the owners of the apartment complex in which we lived at Georgia was doing some work on the apartments. One day, one of the small forklifts they were using rolled down and smashed into the side of the car. By the time Frank graduated, I think Dad decided that the convertible had been way too much work to keep. I wonder where it is now.

Anyway, those are a few more tales from the old days.