Austin A55 - Mine was Blue

I was eighteen. The year was 1966. It was spring and I was out mowing neighbor’s lawns trying to earn some pocket money. About half a block down from where I lived was a home occupied by a widow whose lawn I had been cutting for years. On this particular day I was merrily cutting away with my dad’s lawnmower and the spinning blade came to an abrupt stop when it hit a steel water shut-off valve poking its head above ground but well hidden in the tall grass. I pulled and pulled and the machine would restart but it was badly out of balance as I had bent the blade. This was my Dad’s new mower, I was in trouble.

The widow, I wish I could remember her name, came to her door and said, “There are a lot of tools in the garage if you’d like to use them.” I certainly did not want my dad to see the broken mower so off I went to her garage with the hope of finding some tools to help me straighten the blade. In the garage sitting on two or three very flat tires was a 1958 Austin A55 Cambridge. Except for a little dust, it looked brand new. The widow popped into the garage to see how I was doing. She saw me ogling the old Austin. She looked at me and said, “Chris, if you want that old car, please take it.” I looked at her incredulously, as she explained that it was her husband’s car and he had died shortly after he bought it and she did not drive. I had my driver’s license at the time but I did not have my own car. I was in heaven! I looked around the car, when I opened the door the smell of new leather caught my breath. Here was an eight year old car, looked like new and only had 7500 miles on it, and it was mine!

I graciously thanked her, managed to fix the lawnmower and off I went to get help from my dad. Dad walked down with me to see the car and with a boost for the battery, some air from dad’s compressor for the tires, a spray of starter fluid in the carburetor, it started up right away.

Dad then gave me the bad news. He said that I could not accept this as a gift and insisted that I pay her $300.00 for the car. This was about all the spare cash that I had. Dad and I visited the widow and I offered her the $300.00. She said that she would not accept it, but my father convinced her that “it was good for me” and she should take the cash.

We managed to drive the car home; we drained all the fluids and replaced them. The tires were badly perished and Dad, the wise man that he was, insisted that I needed to buy new tires before I could drive it on the street.

The replacement oils, anti-freeze, battery and four tires drained my poor bank account. I washed and waxed the car and drove it down to its original home to show it off. The widow came out and commented on the clean car and how happy she was to see it out of the garage and in good hands. I told her what I had done to make it ready for the road. She asked me how much I’d spent on tires, battery, etc. I replied “about one hundred and fifty dollars.” She opened her purse and forced $150.00 into my hands saying, “Don’t you dare tell your dad!”.

To the day he died, Dad never knew of the secret between the widow and me.

My First Car is a post from: Chris Cane's Blog

I’m sure that many of you reading this will remember borrowing your Dad’s car. I know one person, Roger Pelletier, who should remember it better than most. The year is 1964 or 1965. Roger and I had our driver’s licenses but we did not have our own cars. Usually we were able to borrow one from one of our Dads.

One evening, Roger and I jumped in his Dad’s car, a 1957 green Ford Fairlane. Off we went to a local shopping center restaurant where there were always some friends hanging out. I have no idea how long we stayed, an hour or two perhaps, because we had to be home by probably nine or ten on a school night.

We headed out into the parking lot, jumped into his dad’s Fairlane and went back to Rogers and turned on the TV. Roger’s Dad came out of the kitchen walked past us as we were lounging on the furniture. He looked out the front window of the living room and said, “Whose car is that in the driveway?” Roger said, “Yours, Dad!” His Dad replied, “Nope, mine’s green!” Immediately we were off the furniture and standing by his Dad. We were looking at a blue 1957 Ford. It had to be a bad dream. Seconds later, we’re out in the driveway and Roger’s Dad gets in the blue car and started it with his key. There were at least two Ford Fairlane’s made in 1957 which were keyed alike and I had the good fortune to sit in two of them.

The three of us, Roger, his Dad and I, headed back to the shopping center. On arrival, there was his Dad’s green Fairlane, parked near the restaurant. We parked the blue one next to it, quietly exited the blue one, jumped in the green and after checking the glove box to make sure it was registered to Mr. Pelletier, off we went.

To this day, I assume that the owner of the blue one is none the wiser.

We were a little more careful in future.

PS) I reached Roger the other day for the first time in twenty years or so using www.classmates.com. He had forgotten this event. I believe his sub-conscious simply suppressed the memory.

Borrowing Dads Car is a post from: Chris Cane's Blog