CRUSING THROUGH MOUNTAINS IN A SPORTS CAR

( A blog in two parts)

ONE

BUYING THE CAR

 

It was August 18, 1970. I was into my third year in the Army, and stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky as a photo lab specialist, after my tour in Vietnam. This was the day I rode a bus to Louisville, to a Volkswagen dealership with some friends. We were fixin' to buy Karman Ghias. All three of us. Mine was a beautiful blue. It looked like the blue of the sky on a clear day. My favorite color. Theirs were convertibles, red and green. I was leery of convertibles, and rightly so, it appears, for my friend's eventually had leaky roof problems every time it rained. I paid cash for it from money I saved overseas, $2,800.00. Can you believe it? My first real car to buy on my own. I loved this car. “Why not splurge?” my tight wad conscience said.” After all I'm single and need transportation.” So I did. This wouldn't be my first Volkswagen though, I had an old used tan beetle when in college. But this would be a sports car, a brand new sports car. There's just something about single guys and sports cars, isn't it? Granted, mine wasn't a fancy sports car like a Lamborghini Miura, or Ferrari, or Mazda RX-7, not even a Pontiac Fire bird. I was a poor single guy still in the army, not even finished with college, foot loose and fancy free, with a beautiful blue sports car. So what, if it was a Volkswagen? I loved it, it suited my personality. Girls still looked and smiled.

I felt like a rich, grown man with money to burn. There is just such a special feeling about buying a vehicle on your own, with cash, and driving it off the lot the very same day. I declare, I traveled to Timbuktu and back before going home to Elizabethtown.

I couldn't wait to share the news with family, but that had to wait until I got home and found a phone. Remember, this was 1970 and there were no cell phones, so I had to wait until I got to Mrs. Hall's. I no longer lived on the base and was renting from a dear, sweet, 87 year old lady I considered a grandmother.

I called home as soon as I could. Daddy, of course, answered with his usual greeting saying, “Hi, son, you want to talk with your mother?” So I gave Mama all the details about the car and promised to send her a picture. (Again, remember, this is before cell phones, so I had to take out my Pentax K1000 camera, make sure I had loaded it with Kodak Gold Ultra 35mm color film, take the picture, then wait to develop it the next work day in the lab.) Mrs. Hall was just as excited as Mama was. She couldn't wait for me to take her around the block, I used to tease her about her middle name being, “yes, let's go.” She and I got along famously.

Eventually, the photo made it home by snail mail. Daddy thought I had wasted my money and should have gotten a truck, Mama, the free spirit, thought it was perfect. The more we talked, the more she wanted to come visit. We decided that I would use my leave time and the two of us would take a road trip across the mountains in the fall. Mama had never really seen fall leaves that only the Appalachian states can produce. We planned to drive through the Cumberland Mountains to Washington, D.C. Just me and Mama, together on a road trip in a, basically, two seater sports car.

We planned for October when the leaves would be at their peak. “We could drive to the east coast in my new Karman Ghia. It would be super fun,” I said. “After all, you and I are good traveling buddies,” I emphasized. “Oh, heavens to Betsy,” Mama said, “we're gonna look like hicks come out of the woods in that big city.”

“Not in my Karman Ghia, we won't,” I laughed. “Remember, I promised you, that if the opportunity ever arrived, I would take you to see Washington, D.C. Besides, you have done a lot of work for Daddy calling representatives for him and making decisions that were national matters, not state. You won't look like a hick, you know those people.”

She smiled, “Then the time has arrived,” she said. Mama had never been to Kentucky or to Washington, D.C for that matter, well, she had been to D.C., but not really. You see, back toward the end of World War II, she had been to Washington, but it was too brief to see anything. It was during the end of World War II. I was just a tiny baby. My George grandparents were keeping me while she rode the train from Alexandria, Louisiana, to Washington D.C., so she could see my daddy one more time before he shipped off to China. He was to spend the end of the war spraying for mosquitoes to help prevent malaria, since he had a degree in Entomology. I became sick after she left. Sick enough that I was about to die. They had to fly me and grandma to Shreveport where I received several blood transfusions. I never have learned exactly what illness I had, no one ever talked about it. I guess that's a mystery I'll never solve. Daddy was holding the telegram, when she arrived at the train station, saying how deathly ill I was. They had an hour and a half together before she caught the first train back home. She never left the train station. Poor mama. I heard this story several times about her missed trip, how Daddy had a week off and they were going to see everything they could in D.C. I don't think she said it out of guilt or to make me feel bad, it was just a story about me about to die, and how thankful she was I survived because of those blood transfusions. So I had always promised her that one day she and I would travel to Washington D.C., so she could see the city. I never asked why Daddy didn't take her himself after the war...but then, Daddy did say that he never wanted to travel anywhere again, and he really meant it. I often thought, as a young teenager, that it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do and a romantic trip after the war, but then, again, I was just a kid and didn't really understand the logistics of having four children and the need to support a family. Besides, he had his own business to run and politics and such. Understandable, now.

NEXT :  WE WILL FINISH THIS TRIP THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS...STAY TUNED.

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