The statute of limitations has long-since expired and Mom and Dad are no longer with us, sadly, so I might now share some of my teen-years' exploits.
I drove, a literal fact because I did not own a car when I was a teenager, a 1950 Ford which belonged to the parents. Drag racing from the stoplight was a popular sport in our bailiwick. One pulls up to a red light on a four-lane boulevard or avenue, a car pulls up on the left. That driver gives the evil eye, Elvis sneer and all and revs his engine. The light turns green and the race is on! These events lasted only a block or less, long enough to verify that one or the other was top dog and the drivers let off. They might repeat the performance at another light, or the whipped driver might accede to the other and drive sedately on, tail between his legs.
The Ford had a 239 flathead V-8, stock in all respects, and a three-on-the-tree overdrive transmission. At least as much depended on driver skill as on engine power. I won a lot of contests. Oddly, though, the ones that stand out in my memory were the ones in which I was the whipped dog.
Today's event
Fred and I were both seniors in high school. I first got acquainted with Fred in sixth grade. Fred seriously lacked academic skills, to put it in the kindest possible light. But now Fred owned his own auto which I didn't. He had a 1949 Chevy five-window coupe, gray in color and quite ordinary looking. No fancy bodywork or other sign that the car was "hot."
On this particular fine evening about an hour before sunset I pulled up to the stoplight along Colorado Avenue at 21st Street. Fred pulled up, not beside me, but behind me Heard his engine revving, Vroom, vroom! and glancing in the mirror I recognized Fred.
Of course the engine noise got my adrenaline flowing and when the light changed I floored it. As I slammed it into second gear, the grey beast sailed past me as though I were standing still. In fact, I thought I was and that something was terribly wrong with my car. I glanced at the speedo and saw it at 45 and climbing. Fred well ahead, I let up.
It was some time later that I learned that Fred had dropped a Jimmie 302 in-line six into the thing, a move quite popular with hot-rodders in the day. And it had not remained in stock condition, either!
Great memories!
Word of the day: three-on-the-tree
First in a series.
7 comments:
Definitely a guy thing! I do remember paying "ditchem" once with you and your friends. I was sworn to secrecy and the parents never knew.
Vee, I confess to one stupidity and you bring up yet another. Will my conscience ever be clear? ;-)
I learned to drive a car with my dad's '50 Ford. (I'd been driving tractors and pick-up trucks [off road] for a few years.
Where I work, I'm the old guy by a mile. I surely liked hearing this story today because I started to be aware of things just as three-on-the-tree trannies were on the way out!
ps. I love the '50 Ford! Such a clean design. Apparently, there's an Indiana connection to this car: the clay design models were made in Mishawaka, in northern Indiana.
Jim, the clean design of the 49-50 Ford is "automobile" all the way. Love it.
I have read the story, too, that a designer recently released from Studebaker along with his buddies designed the new post-war Ford and built a quarter-scale clay model on his kitchen table in Mishawaka.
Chuck, isn't it amazing that we can remember that far back?
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