Rambling thoughts

I was on the phone discussing New Years Eve plans, when I heard this noise. I looked outside and the snow was still coming down. My neighbor was spinning wheels of his new “crossover vehicle. “ Crossover. We used to call it a station wagon. Just like the rowhouses I grew up in. They’re “townhouses” now and sell for about a twenty times their previous value.

Something pings in the back of my mind, but I can’t quite get a handle on it. Like a dream you can’t quite remember. New Years. Snow. Spinning tires. Can’t put my finger on it.

He’s not making it up the driveway. I eye the parka on my coat rack. I should go out and help him. Ping. What is that?

I hung up, sighed and shrugged on the coat. I take one step outside and he’s going down the road. Whatever. I have a speech to write, anyway.

I sit down at the keyboard. Ping. I see snow and a black and white crossover spinning around. My neighbor’s is silver. Odd, but….. Okay, I got it now.

Gil was the oldest of my cousins and the first of us to make it out of the endless rowhouses that line the inner city of Philadelphia. He joined the Navy, worked his way up to an officer, came out and went to college on the GI bill. And, went to some more college. By the late 50s, he was a professor of accounting at UCLA.

He hung out with an engineering professor who was doing groundbreaking research in polymers. He and Gil left the university to start a little company based on his innovations. It turned into a big company that was bought out by a huge corporation. Gil was swimming in it and bought a house in the hills of Laguna Beach overlooking the ocean. He lived the life of a southern California playboy.

I was in high school and got a call from Gil. “Hammer, you got a spring break or something coming up?”

“Yeah, in a couple weeks. Why, inviting me out to the coast?”

“Not there. I’m in Miami Beach.”

“I could hitchhike down.”

“I’ve got a better deal for you. I drove to my mother’s house in Philly. Then, I got a call from this chick I know in Florida and flew down here. Looks like I’ll stay a while and I was wondering if you’d drive my car down here. I’ll pay your airfare back.”

My mind reeled. The last I heard, his fleet included a gull wing Mercedes, Jaguar XKE and Pontiac 2+2 convertible. I tried not to sound overanxious. “Okay, I could do that. Uh, which car?”

“The Jag. Is that okay?”

Is that okay? Gimme a break. “Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Just two things.” Uh oh. “You make it down here in two days. No screwing around. And, you come alone. None of your delinquent buddies or bimbos.”

“Didn’t even cross my mind.” How did he know?

“Okay, just let my mom know what day you’ll pick it up.”

Time slowed down to a glacial pace. Would the day never come?

But, then I got thinking. Something novel in that era. What was I so excited about, with all the restrictions? Drive two days, get on a plane and come home? That’s a break? That’s a win-win?

It was a sunny afternoon with the promise of spring. Ernie Forchetti and I were shooting rats at the dump. Our version of big game hunting.

“We get off next week.” Like I didn’t know that. “Ya wanna hit the Wood (Wildwood, NJ)?”

“Nah.”

“C’mon, Hammer. I don’t have a car. If I don’t get out, I’ll be spending the damn week with all my whipped relatives. That rots. Let’s do it.”

“Nah.”

“You gotta better idea?”

I hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I believe I do.”

I had Ernie wait around the corner when I picked up the Jag. My aunt reluctantly turned over the keys. She’d been hearing horror stories from her sister (my mother) for the past few years.

I went around to the alley and there she sat. Yellow body, black top and leather interior. I jumped in and fired that mother up. Oh yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

Ernie’s eyes about popped out of his head. I burned rubber onto Route 1 and we were heading south.

First diversion was Virginia Beach. Bunch of college kids there. A writer for “Car and Driver” anointed the XKE the “greatest crumpet collector of all time.” That’s an understatement. We hooked up with a couple girls from the University of Delaware and yadda yadda yadda.

Two days later we were scorching asphalt again. As far as Myrtle Beach. There, the coeds were from UNC. Go Tarheels!

After a brief dalliance in Jacksonville with some high school girls, we finally made it to Miami Beach. Gil was not pleased. Not entirely surprised, either.

That being the case, I was surprised a few years later. I was away at college and my mother called me early one morning, to catch me before I went to class.

“You still have a car, don’t you?”

“Yes.” In a manner of speaking. When I graduated high school, I had to sell my hot rod for college money. I was working my way through as a store detective for a department store. I could ride busses for that, but then I got my co-op job assignment and needed a car. I came upon a wheezing four -cylinder Tempest that could barely climb the hills of Cincinnati, “It’s still the same jalopy. Why?”

“Your cousin Gil dropped off a car for you.”

“What?!”

“He was in town and came by to visit. He asked how you were doing and I said you were hanging in there, working a couple jobs. He asked if you could use a car and I said you probably could. So, the next day he dropped one off and said to surprise you with it the next time you came home. I said you’d probably have to be told or you might drive home and have two cars here.”

“What is it?” I’d lost touch with Gil and could only imagine what treasures his garage housed now.

“Well, he did want it to be a surprise.”

“Just tell me!”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother. You’re not too big for me to take a belt to.” And she would.

“Okay, sorry. What is it?”

“It’s Gil surprise. I’ll leave it up to him. You can call him.”

“Okay, see ya.”

“Don’t call him now. It’s four in the morning out there.”

“I can wait.”

I could wait a little over two hours. Gil was understandably groggy. “Who did you say this was?”

“Hammer. Your cousin.”

“Oh, yeah. How ya doing?”

“Great. Mom said you wanted to tell me something.”

“Tell you something?”

“About a car. A car you left at her house.”

“The car? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Trust me, it’s a surprise.”

“Did you need a car?”

“I need a car. Boy, do I need a car.” Visions of Jaguars danced in my head.

“You know my father died a few months ago.”

“Yes, I was in the middle of co-op training and couldn’t get way. Sorry to hear it.”

“Yes, I got your flowers. Poor guy busted his hump all his life.”

True enough. My uncle Al was a paper hanger. “That’s a fact.”

“Remember the Rambler?’

Al used an old Rambler station wagon in his trade. Over the years, the interior acquired a layer of wallpaper paste and scraps of paper. “Yes.”

“Well, it’s yours.” Surprise!

I thanked Gil. I could wait to get home and see it.

I wouldn’t get a chance to get home until Christmas break. Bill, my roommate made a proposal. He would drive if I’d take him up to Times Square for New Years Eve. He grew up in Cincinnati and had only seen it on television. Deal.

We got into Philly around Christmas. I took Bill on the rounds. Lots of parties in the old neighborhood. His anticipation built.

Then, it began to snow. And snow. And snow. Even though the plan was to grab a train up to New York, by the afternoon of the 31st, that was clearly out of the question.

So, New Years Eve, we were sitting around sipping overly sweet wine with my mother. Bill was enjoying her tales of my misspent youth, but I wasn’t. I suggested we go for a walk in the winter wonderland. We bundled up and went outside.

Up the street and down the alley. I caught site of the garage. I hadn’t even thought about the Rambler. With some effort, we were able to clear a drift and open the door. There she sat, in all her black and white glory. I got in. The keys were on the visor. She turned over with a shudder.

I fishtailed it out of the garage and down the alley. We went across the street to a school parking lot and did spinouts and doughnuts for hours. What did I have to lose with the Rambler? It was a blast. I suppose the wine helped.

I get up from the keyboard, pour a glass of wine and look out the window. The snow is still falling on the cul-de-sac. Maybe I should get the Jeep out.

Maybe not.