Art & Inspiration The Friday Nite Read, Two

THREE HUNDRED FORTY EIGHT INCHES OF BRUTE





I wore out my 1957 Chevy driving between Fremont (fiancée), Omaha (art school), work (Baker’s supermarkets) and home to Iowa…the six got to burning a lot of 20-cent quarts of oil. Dad insisted (more like ordered…“you WILL…”) “give that ‘57 to your younger brother,” said he was working on “a newer car” for me and was “pretty sure you’ll like it.” And, since I was going to school (something else he also insisted on), he’d foot the bill. Worst part was he couldn’t figure out how the six engine in my ’57 could be that bad already…never did tell him I raced it a lot…and won 90% of them for extra “beer money”, but I think he had his su****ions.

I started Commercial Art School in Omaha in late 1963. The art school was on the 19th floor of the old Woodmen of the World Building downtown (I understand the original WOW building is no longer there and the spot it stood is now a park). In order to pay rent and buy gas, I had to work, in a grocery store; Hinky Dinky, not too far from my apartment. The store was a pit, the manager and the checkers were…, well let’s just say that I hated the place. A friend going to the same school worked in another grocery store and put in a good word for me. I started working for Baker’s Supermarkets…72nd and Maple…the only opening they had for an “experienced” worker was at that store--evenings. That was OK, but since I lived downtown and walked to school, it meant I had to drive. I usually took the Radial Highway up to Maple and returned the same way. The street was four-lane in stretches and had quite a few curves. I recall there were residential areas and stretches of wooded areas. Of course, the speed limit varied and so did the traffic lites.

My “newer car,” the finned 1959 Bel Air was waiting for me, in the driveway, one March, 1964, weekend. It was decent, silver blue…blue vinyl interior, three-speed on the column and a huge 348”/4 barrel/dual exhausts. I was shocked, but it was a looker and only 5 years old. Dad usually didn’t go for big engines…but he’d found the car with lo-miles and wrecked, in some small town and bought it right. Fender and hood were crumpled, grille, headlight and bumper needed replacing, as well as the radiator…Dad put it together and painted the front clip to match the rest of the car. It wasn’t very unique, then, what with blue wheels, small Chevy dog-dish hubcaps and blackwall retreads, but in time I lowered it, bought some $10.00 each chrome reversed wheels and added the new-look narrow whitewalls. Didn’t have to do anything to the body other than add an antenna to the rear quarter and put in a new radio, besides, I didn’t have any extra money for customizing at that time anyway. It was a neat car for going between Omaha, work, Fremont and home to Iowa.

After I striped it in white, it looked real good. I used to walk out to the store parking lot to check on it a couple times a night, make sure no one messed with it cuz it carried Iowa plates. It was my experience that Iowans were disliked in Omaha for some reason.

One spring Friday nite I had to work…inventory the back room. I usually worked at the store Monday-Thursday 5:30-9:30, usually went to Fremont or home to Iowa on the weekends. This time I told Dad I’d be home Saturday afternoon sometime.
Got off at 10:00 that nite and several of us went out for a pizza. It had to be about 11:30 when I cruised for my apartment, singing along with the radio. Didn’t even think about it being Friday nite.
A lite green 1963 Ford hardtop pulled up alongside me at a traffic light. I noticed there were four in the car…windows down, yelling, laughing and generally having a good time. I didn’t pay much attention to the occupants until one of them tossed a beer bottle. It banged across the hood of my car. “Oh, sorry, farm-boy. Hey, that’s a nice looking car, is it your Dad’s? Looks like it. Don’t s’pose he’d let you race it…c’mon, let’s race that pile of ****, ****head.”

Who am I to say no to four good-sized guys with big mouths? I wasn’t stupid and the odds definitely weren’t in my favor. I wasn’t intimidated by the challenge, my 348” was a brute and I’d won more than a few stoplight contests since I’d gotten the car…I just didn’t want to get beat up by four guys out there in the “country.” I acknowledged by rapping up the engine and clutching it, the car lurched forward a bit. The big guy on the p***enger’s side grinned…two teeth missing. We both waited for the light to change.

I had no idea what the Ford was running for an engine…or ******. With four guys in the Ford, I felt the advantage was mine tho. I was right. The lite changed and my ’59 leapt ahead of the Galaxie. I could hear him flogging his V8 for all it was worth to stay with me. I hit second, pulled a full fender ahead of him, screamed thru the city block and past the first lite, luckily it was green. Halfway into the next block I let off the gas and he shot by me. The stoplight ahead was red…I saw it…but he was too worried about me being ahead of him he didn’t see the lite until he was almost on top of it…he glommed onto the binders and slid the Galaxie sideways. I approached the Ford slowly…not knowing what to expect.

“That’s one, farm boy,” someone yelled from the darkness of the car. “Let’s go again.”

“No man. That’s it for me,” I said. “I’m pushing my luck.”

“Damn rite you are,” the driver yelled. “And if you don’t go again, I’m gonna push your face around.”

Uh-oh, time for me to disappear. Looking around, trying to figure out where I was and the quickest way out of this, I realized the easiest way was about three blocks ahead. After this traffic light there was one more, then the road curved to the right, going southeast at about 53rd…the next street was 52nd, I could hang a hard right, go south and catch Miami Street or run 52nd all the way down to Blondo or Dodge. Since I was in the rite lane, Ford-boy wouldn’t expect me to brake and turn…he’d go straight, lose me and I’d get out of this alive. I’d give Ford-boy a fake-out…pretend to race…let him get ahead so he couldn’t chase me down.

“Your P.O.S. ready?” he yelled.

I tapped the throttle, pulled it into low and slipped the clutch up to the top. Hold on, second thot: I had him from the last light…I’d bet he thinks that one was just my luck. Why not give him a good view of my taillights? Maybe he can get me in the long stretch, but I won’t be around for that. I looked up at the lite. The yellow blinked on. I honked my horn. Ford-boy turned his head to see why I honked. The instant the lite turned green I flipped him off…and dropped the clutch…took him by surprise…got at least half a car on him. Man, was he pissed! And he was coming for all his Ford was worth…I heard him shift as I slammed mine into second, barked the tires, got a little sideways action going. 53rd was coming up…I banged across the intersection. Ford-boy was hanging on near my rear quarter, I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to anyway, so I lifted off the accelerator just a bit and allowed the Galaxie to catch up. Just as a beer bottle came streaking out the Ford’s window, I slammed on the brakes. My’59 took a nose-dive. The beer bottle sailed over my car and I cranked the steering wheel hard rite and poured that Bel Air around the corner onto 52nd. Man, Ford-boy was surprised. I heard all four of his tires squalling as he tried to get that big Galaxie hauled down. I knew right then he not only wanted to beat me, he wanted to beat me up and then let his pals have a go at me!

When you’re scared as ****, you can do some amazing things…I literally flew around the corner. I don’t think I had more than two tires glued to the ground and the spare wasn’t getting worried, at least it didn’t sound like any more than two were protesting. I straightened out the car, killed the headlights, felt a ‘snap’ in the steering wheel and hammered thru an intersection, sparks flew. I was rolling about 60 cuz I didn’t need Ford-boy’s friends to see where I went. Something popped again, louder. The wheel jerked a bit in my hands…I didn’t know what the hell was happening but figured it was something up front. I lifted from the throttle. The driver’s side slammed to the ground, HARD! All sorts of screeching, grinding and sparks flew past my window…what the hell? The wheel wasn’t steering anymore, it was stuck and the car was aimed for the curb. Fortunately, there weren’t any cars parked along the curb. I banged into the curb, ground up over it and onto someone’s lawn, s****ed across a driveway, just missed an evergreen tree and slid partially into another driveway. I stopped four feet in front of the house porch. Shaking, I looked behind me to see if Ford-boy had made it back around. Not seeing any lites coming my way, I got out to survey what had broken. I stood there trying to figure out why my wheel and tire were at a strange angle when headlights played over the driveway, lawn and the car.

“Oh ****. They’ve found me.” I ducked behind the fender hoping not to be seen. Now what the **** am I gonna do?

The headlights stopped, glared. The car idled…didn’t sound like Ford-boy’s. I peeked over the fender to see a man standing in the glow of his headlights.. He turned, opened his car door again and grabbed a flashlight. I then realized it wasn’t Ford-boy and his cronies. I stood up. He shined his light on me and asked “what the hell you doing?”

“I think I just busted a ball joint…or an A-arm.” He shined his flashlight behind the ’59, onto the lawn and the trail I’d left from the street. “Think you’re damned lucky,” he said. “Just missed my house…and that tree. Do any damage to the car?”

I said I didn’t know cuz I couldn’t see anything. He walked around to the driver’s side and shined his lite around the front of the car. I expected the worse. I didn’t see any damage to the fender but the pan below the bumper was history. He asked where I was going, told him “home, from work, on 72nd. I’m going to art school downtown.”

“Need to make a phone call?” he asked.

I acknowledged I did but that it would be long-distance. I explained I had to call my Dad in Iowa to come get me and the car.

He asked if I had an apartment “down here.” I acknowledged.

“Well, looks like the car isn’t going anywhere for a while. I’ll give you a ride to your apartment. You can phone your Dad when you get there. He can pick you up tomorrow and then you can come up and get the car.”

I agreed. Back in those days, strangers weren’t. An offer like that was of genuine concern for your welfare. He gave me a ride downtown. I got into my apartment about 1:00 AM. I didn’t call Dad that nite, figured both the car and I were safe. Ford-boy wouldn’t find me, nor the car behind the tree. I waited until morning to call. Dad showed up early afternoon with parts and tools. We jacked up the car right there in George’s driveway, pulled the upper A-arm and went to the Chevy garage. Late that afternoon, we washed up in George’s kitchen. Dad offered to pay for George’s help and to get the lawn taken care of, but neither he nor his neighbor would accept any money… after all “it was just an accident. No one got hurt.” He didn’t know how right he was!

I didn’t bother to tell Dad how the ball joint came to break…he wouldn’t have believed I made a square corner in that huge ol’ ‘59 at 90 mph anyway.



Copyright 12-13-02 Aden Rush/R. A. Jetter Posted on The Jalopy Journal 12-13-02


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More stories like this are in my book “Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads,” available from my website - www.RAJetter.com at a bigger discount than Amazon. com or Barnes-Noble.com ...and I’ll even personally autograph it for you…the bookstores can’t get that done for you!


Called by many “The best hot rod stories of the sixties…” and Ryan Cochran (our beloved administrator) said it’s “best bathroom book available, the stories are just the right length!”

208 pages of Hi-Speed Chaos -- 26 Episodes of automobile lunacy, with running commentary about the innocence of the sixties and the naivete of growing up in the Midwest!

R-

 

Roger,
another great read.
thanks,
and I'll see you at gray beards show Sat. afternoon.

Roach

 

Awesome read.

Jonney

 

man,if i wrote the stories of my past i would either be arrested,banned or nobody would believe me.

 

Thanks for a nice Saturday morning read Roger. Good stuff. Larry

 

BTTT...for Saturday nite!

 

Thanks so much, i always read these Friday nights before i go out and they always make me smile.

 

Ahhh brandokust...many thanx. It's appreciated.

BTTT for the Sunday crew...

R-

 

Great story! Thanks for sharing!

 

Many thanx to all.

BTTT for the Sunday nite crew!

R-

 

A few lines into it, I realize I have read this before, ..... when I read your book the FIRST time. And I STILL couldn't hit the back ****on. Just as good the second time around! Thanks Roger!

 

now, what's the rest of the story?

 

Hey Bill,

How ya doin'?

Did you happen to read last week's story...that was a new one I wrote...was awarded five stars on it and it had over 340 reads...it's a goodun!

Do a search on "Friday Nite Read" and it should come up if you didn't get a chance to read it.

Things OK in Fremont? Been working on the Caddy like crazy...about to paint the frame and set the body back on it...so far it's looking real good...

Getting anything done on that '53 (?)...or was it a '54?

Layta,
R-

 

Thanks for bringin this back up to the top Roger. I've been busy as hell this week and this story made up for all the family ****.