Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

heard that Oldsmobile was “experimenting” with that “new-fangled” Hydramatic Drive. The young man had learned that—on that first morning, at the “remarkable” Marcus restaurant. He’d supposed that there must be a few Olds, floating around. Ones that had been equipped—with the “high-tech”, shiftless, thing!

“But, they’d be damn few… and far between,” advised Eric. “Detroit is not turning out cars now, y’know. We’re making tanks and halftracks… and God knows what else.”

The sum total—of his roomer’s thinking—was that there could be no other option, for his new-to-come adventure, into driving an automobile! Other than what he’d learned—was a “straight stick”. “For the nonce, anyway.”

The instructee-to-be was positive—that he’d never be able to master the rhythm, necessary to coordinate running the gearshift through all of the necessary positions—by, coordinately, pressing the clutch pedal (the one on the left) up and down! Coordinated—he’d never been! (Reference: The last one—always—to be chosen, for any sports team!)

But, Eric had found an empty, flat, piece of land. One with a driveway. Directly off Grand River. Just outside Farmington. He’d, immediately, gotten out of the car—and hurried around the back of the Nash. Opening the passenger’s door, he’d indicated the younger man should slide over! Behind the wheel!

Jason was just this side—of terror-stricken! But, once in the driver’s seat, he had found that he’d paid sufficient attention! Enough, at least—to be able to give a decent accounting of himself, while shifting gears! He did not “grind a pound”! A shock—to be sure!

“There’s nothing you can do… out here… that’s going to do any damage, to the car, Jason! So… have at it!”

Ergo the, just-this-side-of-trembling, student “had at it”! There were a series of fairly-deep ruts, on the far side of the rather desolate field! Eric, apparently, hadn’t noticed! Jason’s “peasant cunning”, however, instructed him to stay way clear of them! Which he’d managed to do! (Rather adeptly, he’d thought.)

After a half-hour—of adventurous tooling “The Ol’ Nash”, around what he’d considered a “large meadow”—Our Hero found, that Eric had been so impressive (and thorough) with his “training mission”, that Jason was “commissioned” to drive the two of them home!

It was—at first—a stultifying mission. But, fortunately, traffic had been exceptionally light, on Grand River—heading back into town! By the time they’d gotten to the traffic light—at Evergreen Road—he’d become “an old veteran”! (But, not so “oldish”—or “veteranish”—to have taken either hand off the steering wheel! (Eric—seated next to him—did love that glorious Nash, don’t you see!)

They’d arrived home—well before it was time, for the always-satisfying. weekly, trek to Ted’s Bar-B-Q.

Once they’d gotten back—shortly before six o’clock, that evening—Eric gave glowing reports, to his wife—who, then, planted a soft, platonic, kiss on his student’s right cheek!

Jason was in the proverbial “Seventh Heaven”! For once in his life—once in his entire life—he’d accomplished something! Something big! Something important! Something major! Big time! (“Big time!” Another expression—he’d have to avoid using!)

More important than anything else—at least, in his glow-of-satisfaction (which had always been unexplored—sanctified—ground, for him)—was the fact that Susan was proud of him! Genuinely proud of him! He could tell!

SEVENTEEN

Jason had spent the rest of that Saturday evening—with Susan and Eric. Listening to their floor-model radio. Among the many wondrous shows that poured out of the speaker, was Your Hit Parade—which starred singers Barry Wood, and Joan Edwards, along with Mark Warnow’s orchestra. Mr. Wood would—in a few months—be replaced, by “some little-known singer”! One named Frank Sinatra!

That most-enjoyable program was followed by The Pet Milk Hour—starring Jessica Dragonette, Hollis Shaw, William Perry, and an orchestra led by Gus Henshen.

Grandpa Piepczyk, Jason knew, had always been so proud of having met Mr. Henshen—in the late-fifties. The show had been vastly changed, by then. It had become a vehicle—for an up and coming singer, named Vic Damone. Mr. Henshen had, by then, moved up—to become a “big-assed executive” (his term) with NBC! Grandpa had rented him a car! On two different occasions!

Sunday morning, the three residents, of the “enchanted” white house, on Sussex, arose early—and attended nine o’clock Mass—so that Susan’s obligatory “Sunday Breakfast Spectacular” could be completed (and properly consumed) in plenty of time, for Jason to wend his way, to Valerie’s house! (And, happily, to “pick her up)!

That’s right! She’d invited him to her actual residence! Presumably—to meet her parents!

Jason’s anticipation—vis-a-vis being introduced to the Mr. and Mrs. Krenwinkle—turned out to not be the anticipated, exhilarating, moment, that he’d envisioned! Nowhere near the inspiring moment

—to which he’d been so looking forward! Nothing even close!

For openers, both host and hostess—were grossly overweight! How could this paunchy, almost-bald, man (clad in his undershirt and a grubby pair of too-tight pants) be the father? His belly overhung (substantially) his belt buckle—assuming the fact, that there had actually been one, under there. How could he have sired this out and out beautiful young woman?

The same held true, when applied to the stringy-haired, obese, woman—clad in the $2.98, floral-print dress, from F.W Woolworth!

We all know that appearances are not everything. Despite the old bromide which states, “You never get a second chance… at a first impression”, Our Boy was quite prepared to put aside any early reservations, caused by their appearances (so called). But, each of these—both of these—people gave the newcomer the merest shrug! An absolutely-curt greeting! Then, each had resumed his/her “dazzling”, fanny-deep, involvement, in their pre-introduction projects:

Jason’s host had been listening—intently—to some far-flung panel discussion, on his Emerson, table-model, radio. His newly-introduced-to guest had not the faintest idea—as to the subject, of the “gripping” exchange.

Valerie’s mother went (immediately) back to being absolutely consumed, by her rather-complicated, castle-pictured, jigsaw puzzle. The many pieces had been scattered—upon a, kind-of-raggedy-looking, card table.

The young couple had then departed, for the movies—a few uncomfortable moments thereafter. Once outside, Our Boy noticed what looked to be a brand new, maroon, 1941 Ford, in the driveway. Quite a step-up—from a, kind-of-ratty-looking, faded-black, 1936 Studebaker!

It would be quite a walk—to the theater! Fairly lengthy—even for 1942.

Now, after having watched a,