'57 Corvette

 Of Cars, Corvettes, and Kids

When I married Mike, I entered the world of Cars. Not the animated movie. The world of going to car shows and learning to appreciate the wonder of metal and motors. The world of fiberglass and chrome. 

I already had an appreciation for cars. To a degree. I knew what I liked and didn’t like. I hold dear the memories of my first car, a ’66 Mustang.

A “first car” is a memorable experience. So much so, that when Mike retired from his work at the electric company, he treated himself to a car identical to the first car he owned. The one he drove in high school. A ’69 Chevelle Super Sport. 

I don’t want or need my old Mustang back, but the memory of driving to high school, taking friends to the beach at a place called Lake Ellen, and to Frisch’s restaurant and such…those memories are strong. Good. And sufficient.

I remember the day I wrecked it, too. 

This past week, I was able to be a part of a different car experience. One that touched my writer’s soul.

Interesting Car Show...
More Than I Ever Expected

Mike and I drove to a Corvette show in a place called Howey-in-the-Hills, Florida. The town may be small, but it boasts a beautiful golf course, country club, and resort. The show was sponsored by the National Corvette Restorers Society (NCRS). Mike’s friend, Jay, took his 1957 Corvette to show. He didn’t want it judged. He has not restored it nor will he ever restore it.

The 1957 Corvette

The vehicle was originally purchased in La Jolla, California, shipped to Germany for a short period of time, then back to the United States. To Florida. Jay purchased it from the original owner in 1974. He had it for forty-one years, before bringing it out of storage. It had a history. Moreover…it has a story.

Shortly after Mike and I arrived at the show, a man walked over, looked at the car, and introduced himself as William. He handed a small keychain to Jay. “I thought I might have to mail this to you,” he said. The keychain belonged to his father and bore the image of the original license plate of the car.

William was the son of the original owner of the car. “You know how that scratch on the front fender got there?” he asked.

“I’ve heard a story,” Jay answered. “But you tell me what you know.”

“I did it,” William confessed. “I peddled into it with my toy John Deere tractor.”

Jay smiled and nodded. “That’s the story I heard.” 

William pointing to the scratch he inflicted
 on the fender of the car with his peddled tractor.

Soon after, William’s sister, Elizabeth, arrived. “How about that,” she marveled. “And the faculty parking sticker from the college where Daddy taught is still there on the bumper.”

The parking sticker for 
Lake Sumter Community College
Note the plywood cover
for the spare tire in the trunk.

Elizabeth told me how her dad loaded four of the kids in the small car, the two older boys sitting on the passenger seat holding two younger ones on their laps to take the “littles” to the babysitter and drop the older ones off at school. Car seats weren’t required back in the day.

Shortly after that, another brother, Byrnes, arrived on the scene. He, too, had stories to share with Jay. The three siblings walked around the vehicle, talking, remembering, laughing, and leaning into the memories of their father. 

The Corvette with the siblings and Jay
A good day to remember.

It was a hot, sunny, November day in Florida. A day to enjoy. A day made richer because three adults returned to their childhood memories and, in a way, have their father with them again. 

And they were willing to share their stories with me.