Some high school friends called me last night, laughing uproariously about my old, high school jalopy, the only car that our coterie had: the one and only "Apollo 12." It was a white, two-door, very-well- used sedan that I had purchased from saved-up busboy earnings in the summer 1967.
I had paid $175 for that 1961 Chevy Impala, whose trunk would not shut; which consumed no oil, but drank transmission fluid like a fiend; and which had gaping a hole in the rusted floor board in the back seat, beneath the mat, through which the street was visible. Yet, it never failed to start.
It sure "weren't purty" but it rolled! It was all we had. A friend named "Party" Moore had named that car, after we skidded on some ice one night and bounced off a curb . No one was injured. No damage was done. But them brothers laughed and laughed at the christening of my car.
Mobility is a liberating thing. My first date in that car I ran out of gas. No kidding. My date--whom I married years later--took it all in stride. Literally, she walked with me to a gas station a few blocks away for a gallon of gas!
Anyway, a gaggle of my friends called me, fondly recalling vehicular escapades in which we found ourselves in the years, 1967-1968 that I dare not repeat here! Or anywhere else as far as that goes! Whatever may have happened in the Apollo 12, stays in the Apollo 12!
Anyway, here's to good friends and remembered, old cars and teenaged adventures in our St. Louis adolescence! Love you guys!
Sunday, January 19, 2014
MY "APPOLLO 12"
Some high school friends called me last night, laughing uproariously about my old, high school jalopy, the only car that our coterie had: the one and only "Apollo 12." It was a white, two-door, very-well- used sedan that I had purchased from saved-up busboy earnings in the summer 1967.
I had paid $175 for that 1961 Chevy Impala, whose trunk would not shut; which consumed no oil, but drank transmission fluid like a fiend; and which had gaping a hole in the rusted floor board in the back seat, beneath the mat, through which the street was visible. Yet, it never failed to start.
It sure "weren't purty" but it rolled! It was all we had. A friend named "Party" Moore had named that car, after we skidded on some ice one night and bounced off a curb . No one was injured. No damage was done. But them brothers laughed and laughed at the christening of my car.
Mobility is a liberating thing. My first date in that car I ran out of gas. No kidding. My date--whom I married years later--took it all in stride. Literally, she walked with me to a gas station a few blocks away for a gallon of gas!
Anyway, a gaggle of my friends called me, fondly recalling vehicular escapades in which we found ourselves in the years, 1967-1968 that I dare not repeat here! Or anywhere else as far as that goes! Whatever may have happened in the Apollo 12, stays in the Apollo 12!
Anyway, here's to good friends and remembered, old cars and teenaged adventures in our St. Louis adolescence! Love you guys!
