If you were to look at last year's blog from today, you'd read all the things Dad could do, and did do. One thing Dad knew about was cars. I don't mean he admired them or collected them, or even cared. But he knew how they worked, and what mattered to him was getting the car to work for him. He was not partial to a car for any reason other than its ability to run and do what he needed it to. He didn't name his cars, and the second he couldn't be bothered to fix it any more and could scrape together enough money to get something that ran better, he would. At least that's how I remember it.
Before his 38 years at General Electric, Dad was many things, but mostly he was a car mechanic, like his father had been before his untimely death at 49. A few years ago I was visiting my Aunt Pearl in Vermont in a little-known but much revered place called Lyford Pond near Cabot. Pearl is my uncle Warren's widow (Dad's older brother) and at 84 years old she can tell you just about anything, despite a multitude of health issues and being blind now. There on her wall was a photo I had never seen - a youthful but adult Dad, leaning against a car, on something that looked like a beach.
And so I learned the story of Bruce Young and his car. In the Fall of 1946, at 22 years old, Dad got hired to drive a local man to Florida for the winter. It seems Bruce Young's parents had been relatively well-off (as opposed to my dad's own family who had suffered greatly during the Depression) and had left him their car when he died. He had some health problems and engaged Dad to take him to Florida to escape the unforgiving Vermont winter. Pearl's own mother, who was Mr. Young's housekeeper, also went along to keep house for him down there. We know nothing more, except that Dad worked for a Pontiac dealer while he was down there, and that he somehow convinced Mr. Young to trade in his car for a newer one before the drive back to Vermont in the spring. Those of us who knew him are not surprised at all by this part of the story.
The photo above is interesting because it has a note on it in Dad's handwriting saying "Wayne in Orlando, FLA, Dec 1946". This was the winter of 46-47, a good 12 years or so before the Daytona 500 was established. Were there already other car races going on down there at the time? Was the area already known for car racing? Was Dad making a joke of posing with the car on the beach, knowing his interest in cars and engines? We'll never know.
This photo is of Dad and his 5 siblings during the War, c. 1943, thus about 3 years earlier than the previous photo. Warren in full uniform who spent time overseas. Eleanor, also in uniform, who was in the WAVES. Elaine next to Dad and Becky on the far right who you might remember from a recent post on the porch of her 1834 historic stage-coach inn home. And young Dick, so much younger than the rest.
At the time of the photo their father was alive, probably it was he that took the photo - and it is hard not to look at all 6 of them and think about how little they knew of what lay ahead of them, good and bad. They may have thought that the war Warren and Eleanor were fighting would be the last, given its scope. Korea and Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan were at best a name in geography class. They had no idea that their own father would soon and shockingly be taken away from them. They probably thought the world lay in front of them, that all was possible, that there would be a cure for cancer by May 15, 2001, almost 60 years after this day in front of their home in Barton. But happily they didn't know, and so their smiles are genuine, and young, proud and full of hope.
As we all are.
