Howza Folks, As I grind through the work week, my mind keep going to places and dreams of steel. Of adventures of old cars and those who drove them. Though I am not as gifted mechanically or am a God with a welder as some of my fellow HAMB'ers are, I can observe and spin a tale. With that, I am going to post a short story every Sunday evening inspired by a fellow HAMB'ers car or truck or by a picture, photo new or old that urges me to write a quick and short read. Up for the first night is Time To Pay Rent. A story inspired by our buddy Mr. Model T's perfect example of a pre-war Gow Job. Enjoy! Time To Pay Rent September 19th, 1934 Pa had suc***bed to the bottle and had p***ed four years ago, leaving Ma to care for me and my younger kin. At 11, I knew what I had to do. As the oldest, I would badger for odd jobs and always at 4:30 P.M. would be on the corner peddling the evening news to p***ers by. As a paper boy, I had nailed down his territory years ago on this prime corner and sold The Picayune to p***ers by to earn his keep. As the month drew to a close, Me, Emery knew that many in the city would be scrambling to make rent. A busy intersection would attract many types. Grifters, Hobos, and scofflaws. But recently, a****st them was a young man in a Ford Model T. But it was unlike any that I had ever seen. Gone were the fenders and splash guards. The top was real low, like a giant had stood upon it a spell. The wheels were tall and spindly, and by gosh, it was noisy! It had a clattering and banging that sounded like it was ready to explode! He attracted the attention really. Y***ir. He would just roll up to the curb and park right near me. He always bought a paper and would tell me about his T. Why it was so loud and all. But what I loved was why he was there. We had this depression on, you know? I was not educated about that word, but I knew that living was hard and this stranger in his old car made my end of month routine so much more enjoyable. Let's see, right, okay. So Clem was his name and he was a mechanic of sorts. He rented a space and did tune ups and lube jobs as his job. From Thursday night til the early light of Sunday he was a race car driver. Midgets and sprints mostly he told me. But his real money came when he would race the Jack. As the evening was nigh and my pile of papers was down to a few, here he would come, and boy, I tell you, that flivver would g owl! He'd pull up, toss me a coin and smile and say, "What do ya think, kid, V8? Lincoln? Buick tonight?" And I would watch. High collared men would show up in their cars. Gosh, I tell you! Lincolns, Cadillacs, One time a real Duesie! I would watch. A handshake. Then the exhaust plumes as they would drive out of sight. Clem always came back with a grin. Rent money was his and he would disappear into the city then reappear at the end of the month. In these times, well, life is hard. But it sure feels great having a busted knuckled hero in a Model T as a hero. -->written by Mark "Spooky" Karol-Chik Sept 19, 2017 inspired by Mr. Model T's Gow Job
I hope you intend to write many more, this was a fun read! Will you be adding your stories on this thread in the future? I certainly hope so, then I won't miss any of them as I'm subscribed.
Cool man! I'll just post the new stories under Sunday Night Shorties. I am glad you folks like what I have started. Sent from my Moto G Play using The H.A.M.B. mobile app
Mark, you are an excellent writer. It amazes me to read a fiction that you'd swear was an actual memory repeated. Great creativity. Yes we all love a good bedtime story. Thanks!!!
That is really cool count me a**** the subscribers! Who knows maybe someday I will be reading about me. Hobo Jim
The Jalopy Journal
