I wanted a car; even a driver
license would have been nice. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about
my dad as he was a wonderful and Godly man, but (there’s always a but) he did not believe teenagers should drive
and he was determined that I be 20 before getting on the road. That hurt.
All my friends were driving. Some
even had their own cars. It was during my junior year when my dad bought a car.
It was the first one I ever recalled we had.
I plotted several ways to get my
drivers license. Dad worked at the Union Pacific repair yard, a short walking
distance from Central High School (about
13th Street). I also knew where the extra car key was kept. It
was hanging on a hook on the back porch. I reasoned I could take the key on a given
day, leave school early for work, get Dad’s car, drive to the examination
office, write the exam, take the driving test and be back, work a bit and still
be home before dad so I could return the key. I couldn’t let mom see what I was
doing.
A great many things would have to
align properly to pull this off. I got the drivers manual and studied it
thoroughly. Since I had never driven a car, I was a little concerned about
that, but figured if I could get to the exam location without an accident, I
had a chance.
It all worked like a charm. I passed
the written test and took the driving exam and then at the end he asked me to
parallel-park. Oh no! I had no idea how to do that, but I tried and screwed it
up. Not bad, but enough to fail. Of course, then I had to get out of the lot
without the examiner seeing me driving away.
I would have to try again a week
later, which I did. This time I practiced parking several times before
arriving. This time I passed got my license and legally drove away. Next, get a
car. I had a job and some money, but did not know how I would put this off and
had no ideas.
Early in the fall we went to
southern Nebraska to visit my brother David (my
favorite brother) and his family. During the visit David asked me if I had
my drivers license yet. I explained the whole story. When he got done laughing
he asks, “Are you going to get a car?” “I want to but don’t know how I’ll pull
that off.” “Come with me.” We went to an old garage in which he had stored at
1949 Pontiac Coupe Deville. “I’ll sell it to you for $50. After gasping and
sputtering and spewing out gratitude, I told him I had no idea how I would ever
be able to convince Dad to let me have it especially since he doesn’t even know
I have a license.
David, being the aggressive, bold
and confident guy that he is, went over to dad sitting in his swing. “Dad, I’ve
got an old Pontiac sittin’ in the garage that I will sell to Clyde. It runs
great. Doesn’t need anything done and is going to rust out if it don’t get
used.” “Well, I don’t know” dad said. “I’ll let him drive it back to Omaha and
he can send a check when he gets home. It will be easy since he already has a
license.”
I thought I would die right on the
spot. I gasp and waited for my dad to throw a temper tantrum. All he said was,
“He’s got a license, huh? I guess that would be OK.”
I was excited but waited for the
other shoe to drop. It never did. I had my very own car and for only $50. The
first gas I brought was 19¢ a gallon and remember paying only 11¢ during a
gasoline war. Now those were the days.
Of course I felt guilty for all my
deception, but I had a car and could drive. That was a tough joy to squelch.
1949 Pontiac Coupe, black (repainted metallic blue - another story) with sun visor.
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