Life in the past-lane
Everyone has a favorite memory or two about cars throughout their lives. One of my mechanic's involves an uncle who used to pick him up for Astros games. "It didn't matter what year or model, he always bought a gold Cadillac," Roger said.
Mom and Dad once had a "Caddy." It was a mid-'70s forest green, two-door Eldorado with Landau top (hard top with vinyl covering or the rear section). Beautiful, fast, and it felt like driving on air. But the Caddy was an anomaly for our family in the '70s. My folks usually drove Oldmobiles in those days. Our first was Mom's 1970 midnight blue Olds 98 four-door. The thing was a land-yacht, and it was so long that Mom regularly crushed the garage cabinet doors when she pulled in. Either that or she left the tail hanging out and the garage door would hit the rear bumper.
Her 98 was paired up with Dad's, which he followed with a beige two-door 88 Coupe (a misnomer for something large enough on which to land an F-15). My brother, Jack, had a dark blue '72 Olds Cutlass while my brother, Tom, had a '76 in pristine white with a full vinyl top.
Discussing family cars leads to my brother, Rick. When it came to cars he was a serial killer. He, too, had a Cutlass, a '78 two-door model. It met its demise while parked Ñ run over by a semi. I remember the giant tire tracks on the roof. A booger-green Chevy Malibu preceded that. The actual cause of death escapes me, though I remember Dad saying, "Totaled, again!" Rick heard that often.
Prior to the Malibu, Rick had temporary ownership of a maroon Pontiac Le Mans, and before that was a Chevy Vega, which mysteriously came to rest in a muddy field.
While I was away at college, he drove my dung brown '78 Chevy with vinyl bench seats and rolled it down hill. When I say rolled, I mean rolled over. (How do you roll a car downhillÑin Houston, Texas? We might have a knoll, but no real hills!)
In fairness, however, he wasn't the only one to suffer vehicular tragedies. I'm fairly certain Tom wrecked the '67 Dodge Dart, and then there was my Grandmother's Lincoln Continental. It was a mid-'60s model, powder blue. We came back to her house from dinner at Cleburne Cafeteria. She pulled into the driveway and I hopped out so she could park in the garage. But I left the back right door open. Did I mention the suicide doors? These are doors that are hinged at the rear and open out. So when she eased into the garage, there was a horrifying sound of crunching metal on wood. Yep, the door folded backwards against the right rear fender.
Of course all this took place after 1968 or 1969. The '60s were a time of automobile branding turmoil for our family. Our green Ford Galaxy 500 has appeared several times in this column. And there was the darling of the line, Dad's "'64-1/2" powder blue Mustang, in which Jack and Tom reveled during our family trip to Wyoming. Chrysler products made two appearances in the Falloure driveway on Saxon. Our first was the light blue Plymouth Belvedere, circa '63 or '64, succeeded by the green Dart.
The most catastrophic moments for my wife and me are somebody throwing up in the back seat. I'm not sure which is worse--auto body damage or fermented upchuck in the floorboard carpet. Howeve,r the boys are young and there is great hope for the future. I'm horrified by an image of my youngest plowing through the back of the garage in a hovercraft because he reached down for a bag of Goldfish rather than concentrating on driving.
Copyright 2007 by David Falloure
