If on your 16th birthday, you were handed the keys to an Edsel, it would be very important to have good parents. The story of the failure of the Edsel in the marketplace is a legendary cliche. The story of this "bomb" in the hands of a 16 yr. old me is the story of how much difference it makes how parents handle a bomb exploding in a young girl's hands.
The first day I got my license, Mom asked me to take the Edsel and go get something at the store. Ice cream, I think. Nan of course went with me. We didn't "mind her" and come directly home as she said, but decided a quick buzz of Court St. was barely out of the way. The Edsel was wide. Real wide. The brick streets of Athens are narrow, even to my grown-up eyes today. Trying to stay to the right of center as I pulled out of the parking space, well, an old car parked in front of me became the victim of my attempt to keep from driving the Edsel into the oncoming car. Scrunch!!! =0 Attached like Siamese twins to this old junker!
Hmm. I didn't remember Mr. Bowen, our driver's training teacher, covering this particular
situation. We discussed it and decided that I needed to back up to disengage the Edsel from the victim car. We also took a look around. A SAE was standing in front of his fraternity house. Surely SAE's don't call the cops on young ladies so off we went, a criminal on wheels the first day I had my license.
Dad was sitting on the front porch when I pulled in at the curb. Oh, I was ready to puke. Did he yell? No. Did he shake his head, sorely disappointed to see the front door caved in? You bet! Did he ground me or whip me? Nope. My shame was punishment. But 5 days later, with Mom as my passenger, I rounded the corner at May and Morris and drove directly into the rear bumper of an old black "perfect" collector's car owned and driven by the richest man in town. Mom asked him to permit her to pay for the damage and not report me to the police. Who could refuse Mother? Saved again. I was carrying on and said I would not drive again, but she told me, "Oh, yes you will! You get right back in the car or years from now you'll still not be driving!"
The next week Dad traded the Edsel for a brand-new Rambler American, and I never had another accident. Dad and I were both a little embarrassed to own an American Motors car, but it was a cute little red and white number with red interior and bucket seats, and the year that I drove it I learned to be a good driver.
4 comments:
Oh, you told this story just as I remembered it, except I didn't know about Mom interceding on your behalf in the second accident. I sort of blamed you that I had to learn to drive in that red and white cracker-box Rambler, but I bet I would have had trouble taming that beast of an Edsel myself, with its huge horsepower engine. And I do remember expecting that SAE to report us and say we had scratched the junker, but it was such a bomb that I don't think there was any serious damage done to it. We were on the lam, like Bonnie and Clyde! I did learn respect for the automobile, though, when our joy ride went bad.
Your lead foot and that Edsel would have been LETHAL!! I saved your life!! :)
Look at you now! You own the road.
Man, I sure could use that Edsel on those interstates! Going 80 mph on East State St. wasn't cool, but I could wind it up to 120 mph on I-10 with no effort at all! ;)
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