I saw a beautiful black '50 Ford Tudor this morning, full continental kit, and running blue-dot tail lights.
A flood of any number of memories, since the first auto I owned was a '50 Ford. However, today's tale is about blue-dot tail lights.
It was Christmas time, 1952. David and I had just finished the first quarter of the college year in Seattle, and we had decided to go home to Colorado for the holidays. David had a 1948 Plymouth Club Coupe which was the vehicle that had gotten us to Washington in the first place.
We had made it all the way to our home state, and were coming down the east slope of the continental divide well after dark. We were now less than 100 miles from home and determined to make it there before stopping. The flashing red light strobed through the rear window. David and I looked at each other. "What'd we do?" We pulled over.
"Junior" (that was my father's designation for all state highway patrolmen) strode up to the driver's side window. "License and registration." Standard so far, you may know the drill. Papers presented. The officer said, "Where you headed?"
"Where'd you come from?"
Officer: "I knew you were a smart-aleck the minute I saw those blue-dot tail lights."
Whereupon Junior launched into a lecture about the finer points of the law, young smart-alecks being out on the road in the middle of the night, and other stuff I don't remember.
There are three characters in this little vignette. One of them is, indeed, a smart-aleck. Can you guess which one?