Most guys have that favorite car that they remember. For some, it may be a car they own now or have owned at some point through the years. For me, it will always be the 1956 Dodge Texan that my Dad had bought new when they came out. By that time I had been driving (without a license) a lot of different cars when I worked at the Amoco Gas station. If a customer wanted his car washed or other service performed, I rode with him to his house and drove the car back to the station, and serviced or washed it. Then I got to drive it back to his house and pick him up. I think I made about 25 cents an hour and some tips, but the truth is I might have worked for free to get to drive customers’ cars.
Even though the Dodge was a four-door and the colors were white and rose color, I have so many memories like my first date, first kiss, and just being able to drive it to school, and so many memories involve that car. My Dad saw how much I would do to take care of it while he was still driving it to work and I only got to drive it some on weekends, he went and bought me a car without telling me. It was a green 1953 Plymouth four-door, a 6-cylinder car that drove OK, but not what I would have selected. It was summer and I always had a job during summers and after school, so drove it where I needed to go or just have fun with friends. A few months later, my Dad bought a new car that would get better gas mileage and he traded in the 53 Plymouth and gave me the Dodge. I remember how excited I was about getting the Dodge as my car all the time. That Dodge had the big engine that was in the Highway Patrol cars and it was fast.
That was the car that I took that girl to the 9th Grade Prom and then later to the movie theater in 1958. I drove it everywhere. I washed it at least once a week and polished it about every month. I kept the motor clean and the car serviced often. There was not another one like it at school. I think it changed how I viewed my Dad, in a good way. I would drive that car through the rest of high school and to the University of Houston.
The girl I had taken to the 9th Grade Prom was Caroline Fowler and while we had dated a few times more while in high school, we had become good friends. We both were planning to go to the University of Houston, so we decided we could ride to the university together each day. We arranged our classes the best we could to be there the least amount of wait time. That was harder on her because I had a long engineering class on Fridays, but we made it work.
One morning on the way to school, we were involved in a four-car accident on the East-Tex Freeway and Caroline got hurt. Her head hit the windshield and her leg was broken. I had a few bruises but otherwise was Ok. They took Caroline to the hospital and I felt terrible. The car was towed away and the insurance company decided to total the car but they would only pay 75% of its value. So I told them then I was keeping the car as-is and my Dad was surprised that I won the argument and I drove it home. I worked on it and bought replacement parts and learn something about bodywork in the process. Sadly, that car got traded in for a new car and all I had was memories of it.
After the accident, Caroline’s parents were not mad at me and Caroline was so sweet about the whole incident. It hurt me to see her on crutches on campus and then wait for me in the library until I finished my class on Fridays. During the period of time when I had no car to drive, her parents let me drive her car to classes. They were special people that trusted me even after their daughter had been hurt with me behind the wheel. At the 50th Sam Houston Reunion, I remember Caroline coming over to the table where Eva and I were sitting. We talked about that time of the accident and she told us, that was when she learned how to study for school assignments. She was there so much especially on Fridays, that she began planning her research and spending quality time on her studies. After all, it was not like she could walk around campus.
That made me realize that we don’t always know the rest of the story.
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