Your First Was Probably Your Worst (Car)

Snap, crackle, pop is a good sound to hear from your bowl of cereal but it’s not so good when your car says it.

I was turning our 1969 Dodge Dart through the intersection when I heard the snap. I continued forward as this crackling or tearing sound came from under the hood. That was quickly followed by a loud pop. The front wheel had snapped off. Technically the rocker arm had rusted and detached from the frame but the end result was the same.

The fire engine red Dart had come to our family through marriage. I brought a beat up 1957 Chevy to the altar and my wife Ann contributed the Dart. Both were our first cars and had nostalgic value despite their mechanical flaws – and there were many mechanical flaws. Neither one, however, would be considered the worst car we ever owned.

That honor belongs to the 1972 Volkswagen 411 that is parked behind the crippled Dart in the photo. The car had several cool features but the gasoline heater was not one of them. Located under the back seat, the heater would burn gasoline and then convert it to heat. Unfortunately it caught fire on a regular basis which required the panicked driver to pull over, flip the rear seat and put out the fire. It gave new meaning to the term hot seat.

The Foundation for Allen Schools recently held a classic car show at the Village of Allen. The event mostly involves people standing around and staring at each other’s cars and talking about car stuff. I took advantage of the captive audience and asked folks to describe the worst car they ever owned. I then posted the same question on Facebook to some friends. Their nominations sound like a who’s who of bad engineering and taste.

“My worst was a 1975 Pinto Wagon. It was mostly Bondo and had 156,000+ miles on it. It ran for 10 minutes after you turned the key off.” – Rich Hardt, Riverton, WY.

“The worst car was my first car. It was a 1952 Dodge Wayfarer that I bought in 1975 for $75. I knew nothing about this at the time, but in 1952 Dodge had what it called a "gyromatic transmission." It had a clutch, but you didn't have to use it. Whenever I would stop, then step on the gas, it would lunge forward in a jerky motion. It was shaped like a football so at least it looked cool.” – Mark Sceurman – Bloomfield,

“My worst car was also my first. It was a 1960 VW bug. It had no A/C, no heat, no radio, no gas gauge, and only 3 of the 4 cylinders worked reliably. It cost me $200 and I was thrilled to have it.” – Barry Lanier, Allen, TX.

“I had a 63 Dodge Dart that ran on quarts (of oil) per mile. It was my first car and I was happy just to have one.” – Dave Barnes, Allen, TX.

“My 1978 Toyota Corolla had an 1,100 cc engine. It was so weak that I had to turn off the AC to climb hills – in Texas!” – Robert Weaver, Allen, TX.

“My worst was my first, and I loved it - a used Renault R8 ($450 in 1975) with a rear engine and front trunk that opened from the windshield end. The manual gearbox was set up for a driver seated on the right hand side of the car, the carburetor frequently got stuck and had to be adjusted by hand and I can't think of how many times I started the car by pushing and popping the clutch.” - Patrice Keegan, Boston, MA.

“The worst for me was an 83 Chevy Citation. It was impossible to drive, had almost no clutch and no power.” – Rod Griffin, Allen, TX.

“I thought my 1981 Renault Fuego looked cool but it was a bad car – a really bad car.” – Keith Taylor, Allen, TX.

Mark Wynn of Princeton said it best when he admitted that “The best thing that ever happened to me was that someone stole my 1973 Chevy Vega. The worst thing that ever happened was that the police found my 73 Vega.”

Squeezing Forty Years Into One Paragraph

It all started on Facebook with a message from someone I hadn’t spoken with in 40 years.

Pat Sharpe-Dunn, a grammar school classmate, sent an electronic “hello” from New Jersey which is more like a “hey” than a “howdy.”

We spent close to an hour that night recalling whatever knowledge we had of classmates from the St. Thomas the Apostle eighth grade Class of 1970.

The class was unique because we were together for six straight years. Even though there were three full classes of kids, the nuns kept us separated for the most part. The result was three groups of about 35 kids traveling through grades 3-8 on parallel tracks.

I was close friends with a handful of kids and had information about another half dozen. Pat had been in touch with an equal number and we swapped information like cold war spies. We discussed important topics like who married whom and where folks lived. The subject then turned to juicier topics such as who liked whom in sixth grade and which nuns were the meanest.

The online conversation motivated us to scan Facebook for other 1970 classmates which then spread out like a big family tree to even more classmates. People I had not thought about in a very long time were now posting messages and sharing photos on my “wall.”

I found that summarizing 40 years of your life into one paragraph for an old acquaintance is like writing your own obituary.

“So what have you been up to?” someone asked me.

“Well,” I responded, “I went to college, got married, moved to Indiana, had kids that are now 17 and 18, moved near Dallas, Texas (it sounds so much better than the suburbs) and now spend a lot of time reading about people on Facebook. That just about sums it up. How about you?”
The online frenzy ultimately led us to plan last weekend’s 40th reunion in our hometown of Bloomfield, NJ. A majority of those who attended were locals although several folks planned trips “home” to match up with the reunion.

As each new person walked in, others in the room quickly attempted to guess who they were. Animated conversations quickly drowned out the music and only the pizzas (pies in the local vernacular) were able to quiet thing down. The talk naturally turned to the people and the pranks that everyone remembered.

I would like to think that Sister Adrian, our principal for those 6 years, would be shocked by the conversation but probably not. Every class claims with pride that they were the worst or the rowdiest even though teachers know better. Can you imagine kids bragging that their class had the highest grades and best behavior? Neither can I.

I don’t think I’m insulting anyone when I say most of us weren’t good friends at the time. We were just classmates who shared a great many childhood experiences and inhaled a large amount of chalk dust.

After last Saturday’s reunion I would revise that statement. I think we were more like siblings who spend years ignoring each other only to realize how much they know and how much they care about each other.

Facebook is buzzing these days with St. Thomas reunion photos. To an outsider, the pictures show a bunch of 50 somethings standing around talking. To those who sat in class and church (and detention) at St. Thomas the Apostle School, it was a memorable trip back in time.

There's More Than Corn In Indiana

Everyone has an opinion about people from New Jersey. Like ‘em or hate ‘em, people from Jersey are hard to ignore.

The same can’t be said for people from Indiana. They seem nice enough and unless you have a grudge with Bobby Knight or the University of Notre Dame, your opinion about the Hoosier State is probably flexible.

Several days after our wedding in 1979, we packed up and moved from the urban northeast to a city surrounded by corn…Muncie, Indiana. I had accepted a job at Ball State University and a change of scenery suited us just fine.

The move left more than a few folks back home confused though. Why would someone move away from the New York City area to Indiana? It sounded more like witness protection than a career opportunity but we had the last laugh. We paid about half price for housing compared to New Jersey and were able to travel for years while they paid their hefty mortgages.

We moved from Muncie to Munster, an Indiana suburb of Chicago for a few years and then settled in Mishawaka, a neighbor to South Bend. Our honeymoon drive to Indiana had lasted for 15 years until Allen ISD came calling.

Our friend Donna from Indiana or Michigan was visiting this past weekend. It’s an either or because she lives in Michigan but works in Indiana. Locals just call it Michiana - seriously. Anyway, the subject of Indiana came up at our graduation party and I challenged folks to tell me what they knew about Indiana.

The list of facts was rather short. We determined that they have a big car race, they used to have Bobby Knight, you drive through it to get somewhere else and no one actually knows what a Hoosier is. All four statements were accurate.

It’s easy to imagine Indiana as a big field of corn bisected with interstate highways and believe me; there is no shortage or corn or highways. Still, during my 15 years as a Hoosier, I came across some interesting facts. For example:

At the height of Michael Jackson’s fame, the state legislature moved to put the Gary, Indiana native’s image on the state license plates. The proposal never passed.

The song Indiana Wants Me was written by R. Dean Taylor, a Toronto, Ontario native. The song Back Home Again In Indiana was written by a Hoosier though – it was James Hanley of Rensselaer. Sung by Jim Nabors, the song kicks off the Indianapolis 500 race each year.
Speaking of “The 500,” did you know that the first long distance car race ever was held in 1911at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. You probably didn’t know that David Letterman was born in Indianapolis. You probably did know that he graduated from Ball State University which is affectionately called “fruit jar tech” because of its roots to the Ball family and Ball jars.
James Dean grew up a few exits north in Marion and John Mellencamp really came from a small town (Seymour).

Basketball is very big in Indiana. The largest high school gym is located in New Castle with a seating capacity of 9,325. Down the road, the Anderson “WigWam” only seats 8,995 fans.
According to www.50states.com, Indiana means, "Land of the Indians" but there are fewer than 8,000 Native Americans living in the state today.

My favorite fact is that the state seal shows a bison leaping in front of a rising sun. A former governor was once asked what the seal represented. “It means you have to get up pretty early in the morning to see any bison in Indiana,” he said.

So the next time you are passing through “The Crossroads of America,” take time to look around and enjoy the scenery. The corn is pretty good too.