“I heard it
again on the way home, dear,” my dad would say as he closed the door.
“What’s
that, darling?” my mother would ask knowing the answer.
“That ping I
told you about the other day,” he would answer.
“Isn’t it
something you can fix?” came the routine question.
“Well, I can’t
quite place the sound with an engine part,” would be the rejoinder.
Every other October
with the ads for the new model cars showing up in magazines and on radio my dad
would get what we called “The Fever.”
“See the USA
in your Chevrolet!” Diana Shore would sing on a Sunday evening during her
show. Pictures of the new models would
appear with families riding down the highway smiles beaming from windswept
faces.
“Those
Chevies just don’t have the style of the new Fords,” my dad would say just loud
enough to be heard.
“Yeah!” I’d
shout enthusiastically. “The new Fords
look really great!”
Dad would
look at me and smile.
“Maybe we
should take a ride this weekend to see the new models,” Dad would offer.
“You mean
it?”
‘Yes, I mean
it. Would that be alright with you,
dear?” my dad would ask mom.
“You know
you don’t have to ask.” She’d smile
because she knew.
The Ford in
the driveway was two years old. It
hardly had a nick in the paint nor rattle in the engine because my dad was one
of the best backyard mechanics around.
He’d bought an old Buick when he needed transportation to find a
job. It cost him $200. The engine was in need of some work and the
price was high at the time but he handed over the money. It was black and had seen a lot of
miles. The paint was scratched all over
except those places that were red with rust.
When he drove up into the yard I was there running to meet him. At the end of the drive I jumped onto the
running board as he coasted toward the porch.
“You should
be more careful, son. The car was still
moving.”
“Yes
sir. I will next time.”
He opened
the door and the first place he went was to the front of the car to lift the hood,
or bonnet as he called it. He bent over
the fender and began wiggling wires and tightening screws. The engine wasn’t so big. Climbing up on the fender I looked in and saw
the ground beneath surrounding it. It
was attached to a fan in front and a long pole stretched beneath all the way to
the axle. The top was flat and thin with
wires poking out and joining at a black cap which dad was manhandling. He popped the clips off the sides and lifted
the wired cap up to show a shining part beneath.
“I’ll have
to do some work on this before it will be good enough to rely on.” His face was drawn up into a frown which
meant he was concentrating. He replaced
the distributor cap. He walked around
the door, reached in and turned the key.
He placed his foot on the starter and mashed it. The motor coughed into action and vibrated on
its mounts. The fan whooshed air into my
face and I fell backward.
“Are you
alright, son?” my dad asked looking around the door frame.
“Yes sir,” I
said and climbed back onto the fender.
“Come around
here, son. I want you to step on the gas
feed while I look at the engine run.” He
motioned me into the seat. I sat on the
edge and stretched my right leg toward the accelerator. Holding onto the steering wheel I slid down
off the seat and made contact with the foot feed. Mashing it I was thrilled to hear the engine
roar.
“Not so
hard, son,” he shouted above the engine.
I took my
weight off my foot. The engine popped
and crackled to a lower decibel.
Dad touched
this and that not noticing that my mom had come out and was standing beside
him.
“How does it
look?” she asked.
Bang! Dad’s head met the bonnet abruptly. He moved out from under rubbing the spot on
his noggin.
“Wish you
wouldn’t do that, dear” he said. “It’s
going to need some work but I think it will answer.” He continued to rub his head but a smile
creased his face and his eyes lit up with the challenge ahead.
He spent
several days under that hood. My
contribution was holding the flashlight to provide illumination around the work
area in the dark spaces under the hood.
It became my job through the many years he fixed the engines we needed
to travel. When he was finished there
was no clang, crackle or pop. That
engine purred. The ride was smooth, or
as smooth a ride as the shock absorbers of the day could provide. Dad kept that car in tiptop condition until
the first fever hit. The weekly
tinkering had grown tiring I reckon, plus his job had given him enough money to
consider buying a newer model. When he
took this one in the man who test drove it to suggest a trade in amount was
surprised at how well this old model was running.
“Who did you
get to work on this old jalopy?” He
asked my dad.
“I work on
it. Why do you ask?”
“Well, Mr.
Croucher, I’d be willing to offer you a job.
I’ve never driven an old car like this with such a smooth engine in my
life. If you can do this well with this
old rattle trap I’d love to get you into my bay to work on our newer models.’
“I already
have a job, thank you,” was dad’s answer.
“Are you
sure you won’t consider it?”
“I’ll think
on it but, as I said, I already have a job.”
“Well, you
think about my offer. As to this trade
in, I’ll give you $300 towards your new car.”
The deal was
concluded and we drove home in a new car.
Dad decided to stay with the job he had.
I guess he enjoyed fixing the engines but to make it his job would take
that enjoyment away. I don’t really
know.
Anyway, back
to the nearer present. Dad came in from
work shaking his head.
“What’s
wrong, darling?” my mother said.
“It’s that
car. There’s a racket in the engine I
can’t identify. The universal joint is
going too, I’ll wager. I think maybe we
better trade it in before it breaks down and I can’t fix it.”
Mom would
smile. “If you think it’s best.’
“Yes, I don’t
want to start throwing money down the drain.
How about we go this weekend?”
This visit would
be the one. We’d be driving home in a
brand new Ford. We all knew it.
As he
planned on Saturday afternoon we drove downtown to Paul Motor Company the local
Ford dealer at the time.
We pulled up
front and I jumped out to race inside.
The new models were always inside the building behind glass windows that
reached to the sidewalk. For me there
were the new plastic models that sat beneath glass at the counter in
front. I would always go to admire the
scale model replicas provided for child collectors like me.
“Hello, Al!”
shouted the salesman. “You know that mechanic’s
job offer is still open for you.” His
smile was broad and friendly.
“I’m still
thinking about it,” dad would say. It
was a good five or six years now that he had been thinking about it. “Right now I’d like to look at the new
models.”
“OK,
Al. We have the newest models right over
here. They just came in this week. And look at those lines. They are lower and longer than they have ever
been. And look at the color
choices. Yes sir, Al, these are the best
models we have ever stocked. We’re proud
of what we have this year. The man who
drives this brand new futuristic Ford is a proud man. I drive that black and white two door parked
right over there and a smoother ride I haven’t had since driving that old Buick
you brought in back in ’51.”
“Can I sit
in it?” dad was opening the door and
sliding in.
“You most
certainly can. Feel that seat and grip
that wheel. Speedometer reads 100, not
that you will ever need to drive that fast but it’s nice to know the power is
there. Two-hundred and fifty horses
under that hood. You will love this
car. I do.”
“How about a
test drive?” Dad asked.
“Why
certainly. Would you care to give me your
keys and let my man drive yours to give a trade-in value?”
“I think
that would be fair.” Dad handed him the
keys which he took to a mechanic in back.
He came out with a new set of keys in hand.
“Come with
me, Al. I’ve got a beauty out back we
can take for a spin. You are going to
love this car. I’m telling you it is the
best Ford ever.”
Dad went
with the salesman out the back. Mom and
I stayed in the showroom and waited while they took the new car for a
spin. I ran back over to the model cars
trying to figure which one I wanted this year.
I’d know when dad came back.
About twenty
minutes later they walked back through the door. Dad’s smile was a dead giveaway. We were going home in a brand new Ford.
Dad smiled at me and nodded at mom as he and
the salesman went into the small room to haggle over the price. Wrangling over price was another part of the
whole deal that brought some pleasure to dad. Their voices went from high to low to higher
while the price sparring went on. The
fellow driving our car returned writing on a pad. He stopped at the office door. It became quiet. The driver tossed the keys into the little
office and walked away. The spin for the
best price began again.
In about
thirty minutes dad walked out with a long contract and the new set of keys in
his hand and a broad grin across his face.
“Honey, you
had better go check the glove box to see if there is anything we should take
back home with us. Rickey, come over
here. Joe here has something for you.”
Mom went to
the car at the curb to retrieve our personal items while I walked over to the
display case.
“Well, son,”
said the salesman, “which one would you like to have?”
“Do you have
one like dad bought?”
“As a matter
of fact we do,” he said reaching into the display case. He pulled out a brand new model Ford that
replicated the one we would be driving home in.
“Here you go,” he said.
I took it in
my hands. Inside the seats and dash were
perfect. The finish was bright shiny and
without blemish. The undercarriage was
molded to look just like the underside of the real thing. It was a perfect model to be added to the
others I had received each year the fever took hold of dad.
They shook
hands. He reminded dad that that job was
open for him anytime he decided to start.
Dad once more politely refused the offer.
“I’m
serious, Al. These cars you bring in to
trade are usually as good as the ones you drive out brand new. I know you are the only mechanic who touches
them. You are wasting your time at any
other job. You were born to be an ace
mechanic. We really want you.”
