Chapter 1: Introduction - Drivers Ed.

Car 54 was a stock car. Actually in those days, it was called a dirt-track stock car and it was owned by three young guys: Tom, George, and me (Chris). The name ‘Car 54’ started out as a joke. When we first went to the track with the car we weren’t even sure we’d even finish the first race and as a group we had a slightly warped sense of humour. We reasoned that if we dropped out of a race we could at least wave signs and banners saying ‘Car 54, where are you?’ like the punch line from the old TV program, thinking that perhaps we’d give the spectators a chuckle if nothing else. We carried those darn signs to the track every week and had them in the pits all ready to wave each night all season long. However, it wasn’t until much later in our racing venture that they even got unfurled ... but I’m getting ahead of myself.

For a start I suppose I should introduce the three of us, but we’ve been buddies for so long that all of us seem to assume everyone we meet knows who we are, so I wasn’t meaning to be rude. We were raised on farms within a mile or two of each other, then we’d gone to the same grade school and the same high school. By the time I graduated from high school it seemed to me that we’d been buddies forever.

Tom was sort of my cousin, but I guess I’d better explain that, even if it involves dragging a skeleton out of the family closet. You see my father and Tom’s father were the best of buddies, just like Tom and I grew to be. My dad married Tom’s dad’s sister, Kate. Kate got pregnant and was carrying my older brother, Wil, but she had problems with the pregnancy and was bed ridden for months. Dad hired a housekeeper, cum nursemaid to make life easier for everyone and she happened to be Kate’s second cousin, Liz. When Wil was born, Kate developed problems and she only lived for a little more than year and a half after his birth. Liz is my mother and I was born almost nine months to the day after Kate’s funeral. You can do the math for yourself, and no, I am not a bastard! My Dad and Mom had been married for several months by the time I was born.

Anyway back to Tom, since he was my pal from the time we were in diapers. We played together, we learned together and we fought with each other, but we shared almost everything. Lord help the person who wronged one of us; he had two fighting fiends on his hands. We were like brothers, but since we lived on different farms and a mile apart we didn’t feel any sibling rivalry. As we grew up Tom began to show a mechanical ability that used to astound me; he could take anything apart and put it back together again – well almost anything, there was one time he goofed.

When I was twelve I got a radio for my birthday and I made the mistake of lending it to him one weekend when my family went to the lake for an overnight camping trip. When we came back Tom didn’t come hurrying over to see me, which surprised me a little. I was busy helping to unload the car anyway, but when we were almost done I saw my Aunt Alice coming down our drive carrying a box and calling my name. I was surprised Tom wasn’t with her and I wondered what she had in the box. You guessed it. The box held all the bits and pieces of my brand-new radio. Aunt Alice was MAD! She wasn’t angry with me, but she was ready to skin her son alive. He’d taken apart my brand-new radio to see how it worked, then hadn’t been able to get it back together and make it work again.

Right about then I wasn’t too happy with Tom either. You see about that time we had been trying to scratch a living out of our farm while going through a drought that had lasted for three years. I knew that Mom and Dad had scrimped and saved in order to buy me that radio because that was what I particularly wanted for my birthday. Even my older brother, Wil and my little sister, Beth had helped to earn the money to buy that radio. It had been a gift of love from my whole family, just like my brother’s new bicycle and my sister’s new hair brush and mirror set, which was what they had gotten for their birthday’s. I knew the radio couldn’t be taken back and I knew that we didn’t have the money to get it fixed, but neither did Tom or his folks. I don’t remember it, but I imagine I was fighting back tears as I carried that box of bits and pieces inside and set it on my dresser.

I was simply furious at Tom right then. I think it was the angriest that I had ever been. I moped around the house and barns the rest of the day, doing my chores mechanically, but not really having the heart to put any enthusiasm into anything. After supper I was outside trying to get the hang of riding the old bicycle that I’d inherited from my older brother when he had gotten his new one. I happened to see Tom come out of his house and start to come my way, but I really didn’t want to talk to him right then. Since I seemed to be getting the hang of riding that old bike I turned it the other direction and rode off down the road, peddling as hard as I was able to manage.

I weaved and I wobbled, but I was determined, so I rode for quite a while before my legs started to hurt from the unaccustomed exercise. When I finally gave up I was about a mile from home, all the way down at the bridge over the creek that ran along the west side of our farm. The farm on the other side of the creek had been owned by an old couple, but the old man had just died recently. We’d heard that his son was going to come live on the farm, only I hadn’t met our new neighbours yet. When I stopped on the bridge I was thinking I should turn around and go home. Just then I saw a guy about my age grinning up at me from the bank of the creek below the bridge.

“Hi, I’m George Grant,” he called up to me, “Are you Tom or Chris?”

“Unh, I’m Chris, but how did you know my name?”

“Granny told me,” he grinned. “We live here now and she said I might be able to chum around with you guys sometimes. I usta live in town, but when Grand-Dad passed away Mom ‘n’ Dad ‘n’ I moved out here.”

“I’m sorry about your Grand-Dad,” I said, trying to be polite. Actually I’d always thought he was an old grouch and I had stayed away from this part of the creek because he lived so close by.

“Yeah, he was okay, but for the last while he was awful grumpy. I guess if you hurt all the time though, you get that way.”

“I guess,” I was quickly deciding I liked this kid. I looked down at the water, feeling thirsty, but knew better than to drink the water from there. George’s family had cattle and the barn runoff ran right into the creek. “I’m thirsty, but I guess I shouldn’t drink the water from the creek, huh?”

“Naw, it’s probably got cow dung in it and might make you sick, but Mom will give you something to drink if we go up to the house,” he grinned. “Granny would like to see you anyway, but I bet Mom and Dad would too.”

“Do you have a big family?” I asked, looking at their house and thinking it wasn’t all that big.

“Naw, just Mom and Dad and me, along with Granny. Lucky too or I wouldn’t have a bedroom to myself,” he grinned. “I’m supposed to be a spoiled kid, ‘cause I’m an ‘only child’, but Dad would tan my hide if I acted spoiled.”

I had to laugh and realised that I was pretty well over my mad by then, besides I already knew I was making a new friend. When we got to the house, I leaned my bike against the porch steps while George pulled off his muddy shoes, then we traipsed inside. George’s Mom and his Granny were washing up the supper dishes, but both of them were happy to see me. George’s Mom happily poured both George and me a glass of milk.

“Where’s Dad? I want him to meet Chris too,” George asked, as he wiped the milk moustache from his upper lip and set the glass on the counter by the sink.

“Oh, he’s out in his little shop fixing something,” his mom smiled. “You go right ahead and take Chris out to meet him. He and Chris’s dad used to be good friends.”

“Well, aren’t they still friends?” George asked, quite guilelessly.

“I imagine they are,” his Granny laughed softly, “even if they haven’t seen much of each other in several years.”

“Oh! I get it,” George grinned. “Come on Chris, Dad does neat stuff in his workshop. He fixes all sorts o’ stuff for people.”

His dad’s little shop was small, but it really was packed full of neat stuff. There were clocks, and radios, and toasters and all sorts of other things stacked all over the counters and shelves, even piled on the floor. The only relatively clear spot seemed to be on the bench right in front of the tall, thin guy bending over and working on something.

“Dad?” George said quietly.

“Just a second son, I’m soldering a very fussy bit right now.”

“Okay Dad,” George turned to me and held his finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture. I noticed the gesture, but wasn’t really paying much attention.

I had just realised that his dad was working on what looked like my radio. At least the empty case looked identical to mine. When I looked around for it, sure enough, there was the empty cardboard box that Tom’s mother had put it in sitting beside him on the floor. I couldn’t help myself; I had to see what he was doing. I moved forward so I could see past him as he soldered first one tiny piece in place and then another. He set the little soldering iron to one side on a special holder and sat back.

“There, that should ... Well, hello. You’re not George,” he chuckled, finally looking at me.

“Nope, this is Chris,” George snickered from behind me.

“And that’s my radio, I think,” I blurted out.

“It just might be,” Mr. Grant laughed softly. “But I bet if we were to put it back in its case and plugged it in, it will work now. Would you like to see?”

“Would you? Please?” I asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well ... it’s your radio. Why don’t you put it back in the case? I’ll show you how it fits, but only if you have trouble.”

So with Mr. Grant’s help I slipped it back into the case and we plugged it in. It worked, but there was a buzz that hadn’t been there before and he said that had to be fixed. Then he asked me if my folks knew where I was. When I told them that they probably didn’t, he asked George to go inside and ask his mother to phone mine to tell them where I was. He told him to tell them that he’d give me a ride home a bit later. Then he showed me what to do and guided me while I fixed my own radio. I even got to solder a new part in place and Mr. Grant said I did a good job of it. Oh man, did it ever feel good when we plugged it and turned it on, then it played perfectly!

Later, Mr. Grant helped me put my bike in the back of his pickup truck, then he, his wife and his mother hopped in the cab while George and I rode in the back with the bike and the radio. To be honest I was holding that radio in my hands so it wouldn’t bounce around too much. When we got back home my family was sitting in the kitchen, but Tom and his family were there too. After a few minutes as everyone was introduced to the new family, I hung back to be polite, but it wasn’t long before I was standing with Tom and George off to one side and away from everyone else.

“Look. I’m real sorry I busted your radio,” Tom said sheepishly. “It may take a while, but I’ll give you my allowance until you have enough that you can get it fixed or get a new one.”

“That’s okay. I fixed it, but you owe Mr. Grant for the parts,” I snorted, lording it over him because I had finally helped fix something he couldn’t repair.

“You fixed it? Does it really work again?” he looked at me with a very surprised look on his face as if there was no way I could fix something that he couldn’t.

“Of course it does,” George butted in, “probably better than when it was new. My Dad wouldn’t have let him take it out of the shop otherwise.”

“He’s right,” I said quickly when I saw Tom start to bristle as if George should keep his nose out of ‘our’ business. “He had it mostly fixed when I got there, but it didn’t work quite the way he wanted it to. So he had me take it apart and add a brand-new ... I think he called it a ... a capacitor?”

“That’s what it was. I dunno what it does, but I know that’s what it’s called. I don’t really care much either, just so your radio works again,” George laughed, then I saw him get a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Although if Tom owes Dad ... maybe I can talk Dad into letting him work off his debt by helping me with some of my chores.”

Tom and I grinned at each other, we could understand someone who would think of that sort of thing.

So that was the night the ‘treble trouble trio’, as my younger sister Beth called us, first got together. Tom was the guy who could fix almost anything mechanical, and was up to his elbows in grease and oil all the time. George was the salesman or politician of the group. He was one of those guys who said the right words to make people feel better, and I suppose he was sort of a jack of all trades. He could do lots of things decently, but he couldn’t do anything outstandingly well. Me? I was the bookworm of the bunch, but from the day George’s father had me help to repair that little radio I was fascinated with electronics. If I had free time I was either reading a book, or trying to fix an old radio I’d managed to scrounge from somewhere.

The three of us went everywhere we could as a group. Well, at school it was a bit different, I mean we rode the school bus together, but to start with I was a few months older than either of them. Since I’d known my alphabet and could read simple books and stuff at five - going on six, my folks decided to pull some strings. I had started school a year earlier than Tom and George had, which put them one grade back of me to start with. Then early on, I think in grade two or three, I had skipped ahead another year. It wasn’t really surprising, I was going to a very small school and they often had two grades being taught in one classroom. The teacher soon caught on to the fact that I was not only doing my grade’s work, but keeping up with the other class as well. When she talked to my parents, they thought I should advance if I could keep up. I wish they hadn’t though, I think that probably was one of the reasons that I’m shy with women I don’t know well, even now.

Think about it. It’s not that surprising or hard to understand. Just look at the fall of the year I was mentioning. I was ... twelve right? So if I’d been in the normal class for a kid my age, I’d have been in what ... grade six? Instead I think I was in grade eight that year. At any rate, almost the whole time I was going to school the girls in my class were two or three years older than I was, so to them I was a little kid. Tom and George made friends with girls in their classes, but I never really got a chance to even talk to girls my age, well except when we rode on the school bus or were out in the playground. Since I started out shy to begin with, and soon learned that girls who were two years older didn’t want some ‘little kid’ trying to get their attention, I became something of a loner in my class and eventually at school. I suppose if a psychologist had talked to me then he might have said I had a slight inferiority complex, but there weren’t any of those guys around, so everyone just thought I was a bit shy with girls.

Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t hate school. School work was easy for me. I read a lot and I seemed to learn things easily, so I got good grades. Since my folks thought my grades were great, I put up with the jibs and the nicknames like ‘the little professor’ or ‘the bookworm’ and even ‘teacher’s pet.’ As far as I was concerned being called nicknames just wasn’t worth fighting over. In fact, I usually took the supposed insults as a compliment, because they implied I was smarter than the guys who were trying to tease me.

Actually because of the teasing I became even more of a bookworm. Books were safe; they never made you feel like a little kid, or teased you for being younger and smaller than everyone else. The only time I didn’t have my nose in a book was when I was working around the farm, fiddling with bits and pieces of old radios, or chumming with Tom, or George, or both of them. When it was warm and if we didn’t have any work to do on one the farms we’d go skinny dipping in the creek, or riding our bikes, or playing catch, or just plain goofing off. We didn’t know that since we didn’t have a TV at home we were supposed to be bored and have ‘nothin’ to do.’ Since we’d never known any different, we made our own fun.

Now just because I read a lot doesn’t mean I wasn’t a tough little sucker. Shucks, you can’t grow up on a farm and help out with farm work without developing a few muscles. You try heaving around bales of hay or using a pitchfork to clean out the barn and see if you don’t grow some muscle. In addition, what with the rough and tumble of an older brother and two rambunctious buddies, I learned how to fight. And we fought dirty when we fought, because we fought to win. Several times through school I’d had to stand my ground with some town kid who thought he would impress his buddies by pushing the little farm kid in the class around. After two or three times of getting whupped, most of the bullies got the message that when I fought with them, they got hurt. After that they’d get ridiculed by my older brother Wil, who was only one year ahead of me by then. That probably hurt them worse than the sore nose, or black eye, or whatever other physical injury I might have caused them during the fight.

Besides schoolwork and being a tough little sucker when I got into a fight, there was one other thing I was skilled at – that was riding horses. I’m not sure why, but it seemed that I could second guess which way any bronk would move if it bucked, so I could stay on its back and ride darn near any horse to a standstill. I preferred to train a horse to work calmly, but if one did act up, I was prepared. As a result I became the person Dad counted on to look after the remuda we kept to work the cattle we had. So since we needed a new stud horse the year I turned thirteen, I was given a Quarter Horse stallion for my birthday. That raised a few eyebrows because most thirteen year olds couldn’t control a stud and on top of that I was small for my age. Mom and Dad had faith in me though, so I just accepted that horse as a wonderful gift because I loved horses.

By the time I was fifteen I’d put on a growth spurt, so I was no longer the littlest guy in the classes I was taking at school and horses took a lesser place in my life for a while. I’d reached the point where puberty had kicked in, and it was driving me nuts. There I was, yearning to do something with girls, but so shy that I was too uncomfortable to even talk to them. Just being around Tom’s sister or sometimes even my own sister made me uncomfortable, so I spent very little time around the house, other than when I was in my room. Instead I worked and I exercised, or I tried to dream up some way to make enough money to get a car. Having a car when I turned sixteen became the main objective in my life that year.

Actually as a result of that burning desire, I made a deal with Dad that summer that changed my life far more than I could ever have foreseen. There were a couple of old Model A Ford’s rusting away behind some of our old farm sheds and I was sure they could be repaired. Somehow I got Dad to agree that if I did the chores and milked both cows morning and night for two months, I could have those old cars and the use of one of the old sheds as a place to work on them. Since I was doing the essential chores around the farm, Dad and Wil were able to work eight hours each day for the county, clearing back the underbrush that grew along some of the less travelled country roads. We’d pulled through those years of drought I’d mentioned, but the farm wasn’t really back on a sound financial footing yet, so the money they earned really helped Wil’s education fund for agricultural school. I didn’t tell Tom and George about my deal right away, but what I did do was get them to help me clean up that old shed whenever we had some free time. Then the day after my two months were up and Dad made it official that the old cars were mine, I told my buddies that I had not one, but two old cars. You should have seen their faces.

For the next few months they were over in my shed every chance they could get, helping me build up one running car out of those two old wrecks. We tore both cars pretty well to pieces and rebuilt one of them. Of course there were parts that were worn out and parts that were missing, so we did have a variety of problems. However that year we learned how to scrounge things and how to modify something we could get our hands on, then use it to replace the original part that was broken. I learned that Tom really was an excellent mechanic and I also learned that George could sweet talk the crotchetiest old grump out of a prized keepsake that we needed to fix my car, and he’d get it for a pittance. My two friends helped so much that my main expense to get that car running was for tires and before the snow fell we were driving that old clunker around the farm trails. That’s when I found out I could make a car do things the other guys wouldn’t even dream was possible.

We fiddled with that old car the rest of the fall and most of the winter, but in the spring of my final year in school I turned sixteen and got my license. After that I drove to school almost every day with Tom or George taking turns riding shotgun while the other guy rode in the back seat. Of course the kids at school laughed and hooted about my old clunker, calling it a hunk of junk and trying to give me a rough time about it.

Well, they did tease me for a while – at least until the day that the Ford dealer in town saw that old car and followed us to school. There in front of the usual crowd of jeering teenagers, Mr. Dolens took the wind out of their sails by offering a straight trade right then and there for the car he was driving – a twelve-year-old Ford sedan that looked as if it was brand-new. I darn near took him up on it right then, but George caught my eye and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Somehow I managed to hold my tongue while I thought about what to say.

“Sorry, but I’d have to ask Dad first,” was all I could think of saying right at the moment.

Tom nodded solemnly, “Yep, I think that’s a good idea,” he added firmly. “Dad was just saying the other day that you should advertise it in the city. That way you might be able to sell it as an antique.”

“You get your dad to call me about that Chris,” Mr. Dolens said, loud enough that almost all the kids heard him. “I’ll match just about any offer for that car. I’m sure it’s one of the very first cars my father sold when he first got the Ford dealership and I’d like to own it.”

I think at that moment I was suddenly having the best morning of my life, at least up to that point, so it was with our heads held darn high that Tom, George and I walked into school that day. The rest of the day I didn’t mind hearing the whispers in the halls as I passed and even the girls in my class seemed to look at me somewhat differently. It was as if a switch had been thrown and I’d become ‘someone’ rather than just the ‘kid’ of the class.

Almost any time anything interesting happened locally, rumours went through our school like wildfire, but that day I think the rumour about what Mr. Dolens had said to me had wings and walked through walls. The kids that had heard what Mr. Dolens had said repeated it, but like most rumour mongers they must have made it sound ‘just a little bit better’ when they told the next person. Of course the next gossip did the same thing. When I got home from school that day I realised that the rumours had travelled a lot further though. Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee and waiting for me when I walked through the door.

“Well, it sounded like the old Model A when you drove up, but what wild scheme have you managed to cook up now?” Dad looked at me with a grin.

“Yeah, it was the Model A,” I managed to say, unable to hold back my own grin

“Aww, and I was looking forward to going to town in a new Lincoln,” Mom chuckled.

“WHAT?” I broke into laughter.

I was still laughing a moment or two later when my little sister Beth, came running in through the front door. “Chris? Where’s your new car?” she was shouting at the top of her lungs. “I heard all about it at school and on the bus today and ... well, what’s so funny?”