Here it is, the old, battered '67 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme I had in college.
I was in the house while Dad was trying to get it working again. He shouted for me to call 911. While trying to get the car to start, the engine backfired and it caught on fire. While the fire department was on their way, Dad had the garden hose and was trying to fight the fire as best as we could until then. Smoke was pouring out from under the hood, and some flames were falling underneath the engine. Having seen one too many action movies, I was scared that the gas tank would explode. Fortunately, that did not happen, but sometimes we did hear a loud BAM! and it made me jump.
Watching that car in its death throes was scary, exciting, and funny. At times the engine tried to start, and the headlights flickered. Even the horn, which had already stopped working, honked a few times. My graduation tassle, which I had attached to the rearview mirror, was ruined. So was the Anpanman doll that Mayu's sister Yukari had given me in Japan the previous year, and my audio cassette collection I had recorded and kept in the car was lost.
That big car used to be gold-colored, but the paint faded into a dingy brown over time. The rear driver's side door is where a speeding Mitsubishi Eclipse smashed accordion-style into it. That was when my sister drove it, before I had a license. The Eclipse was totalled, but our car's door was just dented and was permanently unable to be opened.
My dad had helped me install a tape deck with speakers that could handle the low power. Holes were drilled into the back shelf under the window where speakers went. It was nice, except no air conditioning. If I drove across town, once I stopped the car, it would have to cool off after an hour or so before I could drive it again. It could fit me and four passengers, which was nice. I had a lot of fun times in that car, despite how beat up and old it was. To me, for my first year in college that old clunker symbolized freedom. I was grateful just to have transportation.
Towards the end, that car was just becoming more and more unsafe. It was only reliable for short distances. We were fortunate that it caught fire while it was in the driveway like that instead of on the road somewhere, blocking traffic. And thank God nobody got hurt. That car was a blessing to me and it got me through college. It lasted only just over a week after my graduation ceremony when it died. I drove friends in it and I drove girls in it. Silly neighborhood teenage goth girls draped themselves over it at night, unbeknownst to me. It was my freedom.
Hey, I just used the word "unbeknownst" in a sentence. It's not often that this happens. Neat.
I wrote this poem about the car on October 6th, 1994:
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"'67 Oldsmobile" Old, ancient Used, worn down Ugly, dirty, rugged Broken down Yet at the same time, It is beautiful to me For it symbolizes freedom. |
On the night of Monday, January 10th, 2000, my old burned out car was finally towed away.As it turned the corner, I stood to watch it for the last time. Although it had no air conditioner and it gave me troubles at times, I liked that car. It certainly gave me fond memories.
Regarding my daughter's poisoning incident in 2020
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mail: greg -atsign- stevethefish -dot- net
