A SET OF WHEELS

This is going to be pretty boring (more personal history BS for my kiddos) so you might want to get comfortable before reading any further?

I grew up out in the real deal "country" (We are talking downright rural, also known as Wright City). When we went to "town", that was Henderson (about 12 miles away. When we went to the "city", it was Tyler (but not often as it had traffic lights, one way streets, and more people than you would see in a decade in Wright City).

We seldom had more than one vehicle in the family and it doubled as Dad's oil field work vehicle. That meant that we were "on foot" for the most part and put one foot in front of the other to ease around the neighborhood.

***My First Wheels***

When I was about 12, my Dad found a bicycle in a scrap pile somewhere that had the frame cracked and about to break. Dad drilled a hole in the top rail and bottom of the bike, put bolts in the ends of a piece of chain, and tightened nuts on the ends of the bolts until it pulled the frame together (I rode that sucker 900,000 miles and the frame never cratered) It came with slick tires and I left it with the same set of slick tires, but with the inner tube almost completely made of the patches to fix the "flats". The mechanical parts in the rear axle were so worn that the pedals would turn endlessly before they would "catch" and I could pedal effectively. BUT, IT WAS A SET OF WHEELS AND I RODE THAT PUPPY FROM DAWN TO DUSK FOR MANY YEARS (I also painted it new color every time I found a can of house paint with a little left in it)

When I discovered "girls", my parents wouldn't let me ride my bike on the highway, and they threatened me with all manner of things if I "hitchhiked", but for some reason they didn't care if I walked. So::: when I had a girl friend that lived about 10 miles away, I would walk to her house, stay til night, and then walk home. All good except there was a creek bottom along the way and to this day I remember the spooky sounds in the night as I rather briskly walked that "bottom" (while wishing I had a set of wheels to effect a hasty escape).

One more "walking" story (OK kids, you can groan). I was the point guard on our basketball team. We were playing in a tournament in Carlisle. I didn't have a ride to my school, but the bus would go thru Turnertown to get to Carlisle. So for the morning game I walked from Wright City to Turnertown, caught the bus and we won the first game. We didn't play again til the afternoon so the bus came back, stopped in Turnertown, and I walked to Wright City. That afternoon I walked back to Wright City, caught the school bus and helped to win the second game to get us in the championship game that night, BUT, the bus went back thru Turnertown, my butt walked home (and then back that night to catch the bus for the third time). We got beat like a drum in the championship game, in part because ole frankie was playing in his third game of the day and had walked about halfway to the moon and back in between. (The point being, I learned to appreciate "wheels" intensely at an early age)

***My First Access to a Motor Vehicle***

I got my driver license when I was 14 (I now find it hard to believe that Texas law allowed children to drive at 14?). In my youthful innocence I thought the world was about to open up and provide all its glory due to my new found freedom. (dang, I forgot the part about being a one vehicle family and Dad needing that vehicle for his job)(PLUS: when I was 14, Mom and Dad were 31 and they enjoyed going to Kilgore to "honky-tonk", drink some cerveza and dance). To their credit and my undying gratitude, when I started dating, they decided to let me have the family vehicle every other Saturday night while they used it on the off Saturday night. So imagine the romanticism of the following for each "lucky" teen girl: My "limo" was a 1953 Chevy pickup with more rust than paint. On my Saturday I would sweep out the inch of red sand in the floorboard and then get some diesel and with an old rag wipe the oil and grease off the seats, dash, steering wheel, etc (Dad filled the truck with oil field roughnecks every day) I would love to know what those girls thought about my fragrant chariot???

***My School Wheels***

We lived on the end of the bus route for New London Schools. We were the first kids picked up in the morning and the last to get off each night (yeah it was dark a lot as we rode that big yellow sucker from can til can't). Wasn't no big deal as everyone did the same (til they got driver licenses and cars) Not ole frankie. This fat boy rode that big yeller suckah thru the 11th grade. I looked like some of those little kids' Daddy since everyone else was so much younger than me. Finally my senior year in high school a buddy who lived close got a car and took me to school each morn and got me off that bus (and no doubt saved my eternal dignity)

***Heaven at Last***

After graduation from high school, I worked in the oil field long enough to finally get my own personal set of wheels and it was grand!! In 1968 I paid $175 for a red 1959 Chevy Bel Air. I was stylin'!! Only thing was every time I drove it I lifted the hood and put in a quart of oil. Didn't even check the dipstick, just poured that oil (oh yeah, it had a V8 engine, but it was so wore out it wouldn't run over 70 MPH, BUT IT WAS MINE!!!!)

***Upgrade Time***

About 1969 that first Chevy pretty near cratered so Dad took me to Tyler to a used car lot and we found a 1962 Chevy Bel Air that looked in mint condition. Dad co-signed a note for (hold onto your hats: $700) with Mills Parker at the Arp State Bank and I was now formally in debt for the first time in my life. I drove that little Chevy until 1972 and dang near drove the wheels off it.

***New Car***

In 1972 I had been a Trooper for a couple of years and decided to assume some serious debt and bought my first new car, a 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. I was stylin' in high cotton (while choking on the payments).

***My Favorite Wheels***

I have owned a 1964 Corvette Sting Ray, a Mitsubishi 3000 GT and a host of other testosterone ridiculous cars, but my all time favorite that I wish I owned to this day was my first pickup.

I think it was about 1973 that my Dad told me that my Uncle Jerry was willing to sell his truck for $600 (I think that was the amount?). I didn't know the vehicle, but Dad promised me I would not be disappointed and should buy it. Wasn't no way I had access to $600, but I managed to borrow it and sight unseen made the purchase. When Dad took me to White Oak to pick up the truck, I started a love affair with that sweet little truck that continues until this day.

It was a 1964 Chevy step side with a short bed, and all kinds of extra chrome not normally found on trucks of that era. It had "west coast" chrome outside rearview mirrors, a 230 cid six cylinder engine and as much class as anything I have ever rode in. When I would stop at traffic lights in a town, people were always offering to buy it.

In 1981 I was sent to Chicago for a year to attend a management school at Northwestern University. I took my beloved truck to Dad in Wright City and asked if he would keep the truck til I got back, crank it every week or so and maybe once per month drive it to keep it in shape. I left Texas and within a week Dad had sold his truck and moved into mine.

When I got back a year later, I didn't have the heart to take the truck away from Dad (he loved it as much as me). For many years he would let me know when "my" truck needed to be inspected, registered, or needed new tires. Finally at some point I offered to put the truck in his name on the title with the understanding that I would get the truck back one day.

Dad drove the truck until the rust was about to cause the fenders to to fall off, rust a hole in the roof, etc, and the engine was worn to a complete frazzle. Each time the odometer passed 99,999 miles day would pull the cardboard sunvisor down and with a pencil note the event. I think it lasted more than 300,000 miles! Dad parked it in a comfortable resting place at the side of his house and patiently listened to many men over the years stop at his house and try to buy the truck. Finally one day Dad called (he needed some money) and suggested that we sell the truck to Bubba Ward and let him use the parts to build another similar truck. I wanted to help Dad, I liked Bubba, and I felt it was a way to preserve the dignity of my beloved "first pickup" so I agreed (with a degree of sadness).

I'LL NEVER FORGET THAT 1964 CHEVY OR THE KINDNESS SHOWN BY JERRY IN SELLING IT TO ME FOR SUCH A MODEST PRICE AT A TIME WHEN I COULD LITTLE AFFORD SUCH A LUXORY.

***My Parent's Gift***

I have had too many vehicles in my life to even count, but with each one, I have kept the perspective provided by growing up in the country with limited transportation and thus knowing how lucky I have been in the transportation department. I have also never forgotten my parents' love in sharing the family vehicle at a very important time in my youth.