This will be a very short essay, because automobiles have never been a big part of my life. Unlike many of my friends, I've never been one to have a romantic relationship with a vehicle.
My parents did not own an automobile and neither of them ever learned to drive. I was a most provincial city boy, happy with my bicycle and my subway token and wanting no more. I did not learn to drive a car until after I was married and left Brooklyn behind. Nevertheless, over the course of a lifetime I've owned a number of cars. The first one was identical to the Nash Rambler depicted in this stock photo:
The Nash was the car I drove to California and back in the summer of 1963 (the first time I was west of New York). I've since owned an Oldsmobile '88, a Renault Dauphine (a dog), an underpowered Dodge station wagon, an uncomfortable but sturdy Corolla, a Saab, a Camry, and a Volvo that lasted for twenty-one years and which I only surrendered because it was hard on my aching back. I've driven perhaps a hundred other automobiles and an occasional truck, mostly rented, but I've never felt anything like affection for a single one of them-- they take you from one place to another and I'm grateful for the mobility. I'm a cautious driver, but I've made some bad mistakes behind the wheel and I am lucky to have gone through life without being mangled or killed, so far.
I confess that at various times in my life I've experienced the glamor of the open road. I'm a happy fellow when I'm driving a two-lane at dawn or twilight in southern Missouri or rural South Dakota. I have a soft spot for Iowa's Jesse James Cafe and for the Crete Diner in Oneonta, New York. A stop at Grandma's Cafe in some faded downtown is to me a peak experience, however weak the coffee or gluey the cherry pie. I treasure those glorious small-town attractions: among many others, the corn cob palace, Carhenge, the Donna Reed Museum in Denison, Iowa, the Jell-o Museum, the Purple Martin Tower in Griggsville, Illinois, the world's largest ball of twine in Cawker, City, Kansas.
I don't drive long distances any more. In fact, in the last twenty years I've probably spent more time on the John Deere "Lawn Tractor" than in any other vehicle. Maximum of five miles per hour, my kind of speed. It may not be glamorous but it gets the job done. I've "buried" the machine a couple of times, but it's still in one piece and still working.
I don't think I have ever taught a student whose family did not own a car; when I tell them that mine, like yours, never owned one, they seem incredulous.
But I relied on the subway, the trolley, and then the bus. They were safe in the 50s. And they did get me where I wanted to go.
My early experiences with a car were hair raising; one time I spun around on the Schuylkill, lost control, and ended up on a shoulder facing traffic. Turning around was very dangerous.
In a parallel universe, I died young that night.
A car is not something to fall in love with. It is something to use only because you have to.
Posted by: Don Z. Block | January 25, 2023 at 01:17 PM