My Love/Hate Relationship
with Cars
Part 4
To replace the wrecked Chevy I
bought another old car, a 1951 Hudson…very temperamental lady, that old Hudson.
She wouldn’t start on cold mornings without a jump start. I learned how to
squeeze a drop of ether into the carburetor to get it to start with a kaboom.
My neighbor, Whitey, had a repair business and knew how I always existed with a
shortage of funds. He fixed it with spare parts for free. That Hudson had parts
from a variety of different cars. If it fit, Whitey used it.
The parking brakes didn’t hold very
well so I carried a cement block in the back seat to wedge beside the tire when
I parked. The trunk didn’t lock. Every time I went over a bump in the road, the
trunk lid flew up so I devised a way to hold it down by tying it to the bumper
with rope. The battery had corrosion around the terminals so I kept a hammer in
the glove compartment and banged on the terminals to remove the crud. A large
hole in the muffler enabled everyone to know when I approached long before they
saw my car. As dilapidated as that Hudson looked, it served me well for six
years until I had a fender bender one night that drove the fan into the
radiator.
In a hurry to take my babysitter
home, I followed the car in front too closely. When he suddenly braked, I did
too, but not soon enough to prevent hitting his rear tail light. The other
driver stormed out of his car.
“I hope you have insurance lady,” he
scowled.
“Yes, I have insurance but look at my
car.” The front grill buckled inward. Water flushed from the radiator. I began
to cry.
“I have to get my babysitter home and
my kids are home alone and I have to go to work in the morning. How am I going
to get all that done with a busted up car? All you got was a broken tail
light,” I sniveled.
“Calm down lady,” the man said. “Let’s
first get your baby sitter home. I’ll take her.”
“I’m not letting her go with you,” I
shot back.
“Then you take my car to take her
home and I’ll wait here with your car and push it off the road,” he offered.
“Oh, okay,” I brightened.
After taking the baby sitter home, I
returned to the scene of the accident. The man sat patiently waiting.
“Now, I’ll take you home and pick you
up tomorrow and bring you to work,” he said.
“No, I called a friend from the
babysitter’s house and he’s on his way. I have a ride for tomorrow too,” I
answered.
“Here’s my name and phone number if
you need help,” he said proffering a piece of paper.
“Thanks.”
He returned to his car, shaking his
head and muttered, “I don’t know how I’ll explain this to my wife.”
He never got my name, address or
insurance information and I never called him.
....to be continued
