Arkie John
Active member
I wrote a story called "Fair Weather Friends" quite some time ago, that chronicled the issues of loaning one's car against your parent's wishes. In it, I lamented the facts of how I went against Daddy's wishes and loaned my '59 Chevy to a 'friend,' without Daddy's knowledge.
Of course, Murphy's law prevailed that fateful Friday night and my 'friend' wrecked my little impala. I DID get it back from the body shop, but it was never the same. Oh--it LOOKED the same, but it was forever affected by the total right-side sideswipe. So after a round of front-end tires and the ever-present shimmey, I was looking for another ride. Therein, lies the basis for this story...."The '63 and Me."
I was a blessed but brash young man of 18, gainfully employed as a part-time carpenter's helper. Daddy knew what I was going through, you can bet on that. So, he made deal with me. He said that if I could afford a car payment, he would co-sign for another car for me. He said that he would pay the insurance, but that I would be responsible for the payment. He also stated that the incident with the wrecking of the '59 was NOTHING compared to what it would be if I ever stuck him with a car payment.
I was just delighted. So, I went shopping--BIG TIME. First I dreamed of a new '66 GTO...or a new SS Chevelle 396. The payments on the GTO were to be $125.00 big ones per month. The Chevelle was not much different. It would have stretched my budget, but I COULD swing it. I went to Daddy with all these big ideas and he brought me back to reality. "Son, you're classifed as 1-A and it is possible, God forbid, that you will be fighting in a war sooner than either of us wishes. Besides, looking at the insurance, it is just out of my reach." I knew THAT was coming. Those muscle cars had sky-high insurance you know.
Well, I took what he said and formulated a plan. I couldn't do much about the 1-A classification,but maybe I could get better insurance and convince him to my way of thinking. I went to our insurance man, Mr. Raper. "Why is it that GIRLS get all the breaks, Mr Raper?" I asked. He got up from his desk and neared the front window facing the main drag. "C'mere son and watch with me for fifteen minutes." I knew I was sunk. So, I abandoned my efforts for the Gote and the Chevelle that day.
One day, not too much later I was driving around in Little Rock and just happened by Bale Chevrolet at 2nd and Broadway. Daddy had dealt with them for years. It was then that I saw her. How could I NOT see that car? It was the most beautiful car Detroit had ever created. I parked the heap and strolled over to lust. There she was, a 1963 Pontiac Bonneville convertible. It was a big car, probably 17 or 18 feet long. It was wide as well. It was nearly a new car, medium blue paint w/blue leather upholstry, padded dash, seat belts, genuine wood-grained dash, power top, stereo am/fm radio with a stock back seat speaker, white-walled tires and a hefty 300 and some odd horse 389 V8 topped off with a washtub-sized four-barrel carb. It sported an automatic transmission and cold, factory air (something my buddies in their Gotes and Chevelles didn't have. "She was long and lean, and every young man's dream. She turned every head in town," ole' George said. It perfectly described what I was covetin'.
It was immaculate--not a scratch, and a local one-owner vehicle. I don't remember what I was thinking about paying for the GOTE, I think it was about $4,000 or so (a fortune you know). So I was pleasantly surprised to find that THIS baby was only $1,600.00! I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. I gave the salesman some earnest money and now all I had to do was convince Momma and Daddy that I could handle such an investment.
Long story short--they agreed to my wishes and it was not long that Daddy followed through with his promise to co-sign for his creditless son. It seemed to take forever to get the loan approved-probably no more than a couple of days. During that time, after work, I'd go by and just gaze at her, still on the lot, almost pinching myself thinking it might be a dream. But it wasn't. I was all set.
Then the day finally came for me to take delivery of her. I went to work that day as I always had. The job was nearing completion, and I knew it, but I figured I had a couple more months anyway. You can imagine the look on my face when at the end of the day, the boss gave me the heart-stopping news that he had to lay me off. Oh. Here I was, ready to take this beautiful vehicle home with me. Loan approval in hand, all I had to do was just sign on the dotted line. I trembled, knowing that I would be TOTAL DEAD MEAT if I brought that car home as an unemployed member of the family.
Daddy had reared me right. I knew what I should do. I thought it out logically. As bad as I wanted that car, I knew I would be taking my life into my own hands if I signed for that loan, knowing that I didn't have a job. So, I did what any other well-balanced, responsible teenager would do.
I went to Bale Chevrolet and promptly signed my life away!!! Well LOOK. It wasn't MY fault. I mean, the salesman was SO convincing and the Bonneville beckoned me with every glance. I did it. I signed, knowing I could have it for a little while at least. I reasoned that there was a 30-day grace period with a new loan... There was no guarantee that I would be employed anytime soon, since winter was coming on, but I didn't want to go there. SO, I grabbed the brass ring, signed the note while hearing another salesman say to another one, "That convertible is one beautiful son-of-a-gun, id'n it."
Immediately I was out the door with a new set of keys. I hastily cleaned my '59 out and placed my stuff in the spacious trunk of MY NEW CAR. I swung open the driver's side door and took the wheel in my hand. It was MINE, at last. Son, if there ever was a chic magnet, this was IT!! She roared to life and I was off the lot. It drove like a dream--effortless power steering and unforgiving, sensitive power brakes. The top was down, wind in my hair, the air was on and Johnboy was in hog heaven! Surely every girl in Saline County would look at me now. Oh YEAH!
But, my FIRST trip was to the labor hall. You see, grim reality was setting in on me. "What had I DONE?" I thought. "You Dumbass, you'd better do SOMETHING to protect your well-being." So I found myself hesitantly pulling up at the Union Hall. I went to the business agent. It was not a pretty sight. There were no less than seven or eight men--all older and probably more experienced than me-- sitting around, waiting for a call to be sent out to a job. "Oh, man, I'm sunk," I thought. So, I went up there and said, "Mr. Presley, I need a job, really BAD." He look unconcerned. He had no idea that I was about to DIE and that folks would read about me in the paper. He said, "There ain't no work, boy,'cept on the river, and nobody wants the river." That was my break. "I do--I REALLY do." He was surprised to see how I jumped at the chance for the cold, muddy, hard work. He made out the paperwork. I walked out and nodded to the gentlemens awaiting the softer jobs. Heck, I had a CAR to pay for. I didn't have time to be picky. Besides I liked living and I didn't want to incur the wrath of my Daddy unnecessarily. Buddy, I had a spring in my step and a song in my heart. This was MY day.
I reported to the river immediately. "Be here at 7:00 am, son," the big man said. I was IN!
I went to Benton that afternoon with a (nearly) new car that I still (really) dream about today, a new job and a lead foot. I try to forget about THAT job--even today. It wound up being the hardest job I ever had to do. It was a Corps of Engineers project and I vowed one day I would get me a good job--one that was out of the mud and inside. Now I work for the Corps, praise the Lord, and have for a number of years. I achieved that goal. I have another one. I STILL want another '63 Bonneville convertible.
You see, I got married and after joining the Navy, we drove that car to California. In 1969 I traded it off for a brand new VW Beetle. The old gal was no longer dependable, burning oil (because the "professional mechanic" back home put detergent oil in her before I left) and doin' all she could to get us around San Diego. I was goin' to where the action was at the time and my wife was having to drive back to Arkansas alone. So, we gave up the Pontiac that day, out of necessity...but not before it made a lasting life-long impression on this young man.
Speaking of that second goal: I found one for ten grand this week. I had that same feeling like I had when I was fantasizin' over the GTO. Who knows? It might happen one day...at the right time, with the right car. Right now, I'M the DADDY. I still have kids depending on me to put them through college. In my old age, I have learned something about priorities...something I didn't know much about the day I bought the Bonneville.
The '63 and Me...its the stuff that makes a young man's world go 'round. The old Bonneville still fasinates me to this day. She remains truly beautiful, with her stacked headlights, wide track and classic lines. Maybe one day....
Thanks for comin' along--with "Me and the '63." <><
Arkie John
Of course, Murphy's law prevailed that fateful Friday night and my 'friend' wrecked my little impala. I DID get it back from the body shop, but it was never the same. Oh--it LOOKED the same, but it was forever affected by the total right-side sideswipe. So after a round of front-end tires and the ever-present shimmey, I was looking for another ride. Therein, lies the basis for this story...."The '63 and Me."
I was a blessed but brash young man of 18, gainfully employed as a part-time carpenter's helper. Daddy knew what I was going through, you can bet on that. So, he made deal with me. He said that if I could afford a car payment, he would co-sign for another car for me. He said that he would pay the insurance, but that I would be responsible for the payment. He also stated that the incident with the wrecking of the '59 was NOTHING compared to what it would be if I ever stuck him with a car payment.
I was just delighted. So, I went shopping--BIG TIME. First I dreamed of a new '66 GTO...or a new SS Chevelle 396. The payments on the GTO were to be $125.00 big ones per month. The Chevelle was not much different. It would have stretched my budget, but I COULD swing it. I went to Daddy with all these big ideas and he brought me back to reality. "Son, you're classifed as 1-A and it is possible, God forbid, that you will be fighting in a war sooner than either of us wishes. Besides, looking at the insurance, it is just out of my reach." I knew THAT was coming. Those muscle cars had sky-high insurance you know.
Well, I took what he said and formulated a plan. I couldn't do much about the 1-A classification,but maybe I could get better insurance and convince him to my way of thinking. I went to our insurance man, Mr. Raper. "Why is it that GIRLS get all the breaks, Mr Raper?" I asked. He got up from his desk and neared the front window facing the main drag. "C'mere son and watch with me for fifteen minutes." I knew I was sunk. So, I abandoned my efforts for the Gote and the Chevelle that day.
One day, not too much later I was driving around in Little Rock and just happened by Bale Chevrolet at 2nd and Broadway. Daddy had dealt with them for years. It was then that I saw her. How could I NOT see that car? It was the most beautiful car Detroit had ever created. I parked the heap and strolled over to lust. There she was, a 1963 Pontiac Bonneville convertible. It was a big car, probably 17 or 18 feet long. It was wide as well. It was nearly a new car, medium blue paint w/blue leather upholstry, padded dash, seat belts, genuine wood-grained dash, power top, stereo am/fm radio with a stock back seat speaker, white-walled tires and a hefty 300 and some odd horse 389 V8 topped off with a washtub-sized four-barrel carb. It sported an automatic transmission and cold, factory air (something my buddies in their Gotes and Chevelles didn't have. "She was long and lean, and every young man's dream. She turned every head in town," ole' George said. It perfectly described what I was covetin'.
It was immaculate--not a scratch, and a local one-owner vehicle. I don't remember what I was thinking about paying for the GOTE, I think it was about $4,000 or so (a fortune you know). So I was pleasantly surprised to find that THIS baby was only $1,600.00! I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. I gave the salesman some earnest money and now all I had to do was convince Momma and Daddy that I could handle such an investment.
Long story short--they agreed to my wishes and it was not long that Daddy followed through with his promise to co-sign for his creditless son. It seemed to take forever to get the loan approved-probably no more than a couple of days. During that time, after work, I'd go by and just gaze at her, still on the lot, almost pinching myself thinking it might be a dream. But it wasn't. I was all set.
Then the day finally came for me to take delivery of her. I went to work that day as I always had. The job was nearing completion, and I knew it, but I figured I had a couple more months anyway. You can imagine the look on my face when at the end of the day, the boss gave me the heart-stopping news that he had to lay me off. Oh. Here I was, ready to take this beautiful vehicle home with me. Loan approval in hand, all I had to do was just sign on the dotted line. I trembled, knowing that I would be TOTAL DEAD MEAT if I brought that car home as an unemployed member of the family.
Daddy had reared me right. I knew what I should do. I thought it out logically. As bad as I wanted that car, I knew I would be taking my life into my own hands if I signed for that loan, knowing that I didn't have a job. So, I did what any other well-balanced, responsible teenager would do.
I went to Bale Chevrolet and promptly signed my life away!!! Well LOOK. It wasn't MY fault. I mean, the salesman was SO convincing and the Bonneville beckoned me with every glance. I did it. I signed, knowing I could have it for a little while at least. I reasoned that there was a 30-day grace period with a new loan... There was no guarantee that I would be employed anytime soon, since winter was coming on, but I didn't want to go there. SO, I grabbed the brass ring, signed the note while hearing another salesman say to another one, "That convertible is one beautiful son-of-a-gun, id'n it."
Immediately I was out the door with a new set of keys. I hastily cleaned my '59 out and placed my stuff in the spacious trunk of MY NEW CAR. I swung open the driver's side door and took the wheel in my hand. It was MINE, at last. Son, if there ever was a chic magnet, this was IT!! She roared to life and I was off the lot. It drove like a dream--effortless power steering and unforgiving, sensitive power brakes. The top was down, wind in my hair, the air was on and Johnboy was in hog heaven! Surely every girl in Saline County would look at me now. Oh YEAH!
But, my FIRST trip was to the labor hall. You see, grim reality was setting in on me. "What had I DONE?" I thought. "You Dumbass, you'd better do SOMETHING to protect your well-being." So I found myself hesitantly pulling up at the Union Hall. I went to the business agent. It was not a pretty sight. There were no less than seven or eight men--all older and probably more experienced than me-- sitting around, waiting for a call to be sent out to a job. "Oh, man, I'm sunk," I thought. So, I went up there and said, "Mr. Presley, I need a job, really BAD." He look unconcerned. He had no idea that I was about to DIE and that folks would read about me in the paper. He said, "There ain't no work, boy,'cept on the river, and nobody wants the river." That was my break. "I do--I REALLY do." He was surprised to see how I jumped at the chance for the cold, muddy, hard work. He made out the paperwork. I walked out and nodded to the gentlemens awaiting the softer jobs. Heck, I had a CAR to pay for. I didn't have time to be picky. Besides I liked living and I didn't want to incur the wrath of my Daddy unnecessarily. Buddy, I had a spring in my step and a song in my heart. This was MY day.
I reported to the river immediately. "Be here at 7:00 am, son," the big man said. I was IN!
I went to Benton that afternoon with a (nearly) new car that I still (really) dream about today, a new job and a lead foot. I try to forget about THAT job--even today. It wound up being the hardest job I ever had to do. It was a Corps of Engineers project and I vowed one day I would get me a good job--one that was out of the mud and inside. Now I work for the Corps, praise the Lord, and have for a number of years. I achieved that goal. I have another one. I STILL want another '63 Bonneville convertible.
You see, I got married and after joining the Navy, we drove that car to California. In 1969 I traded it off for a brand new VW Beetle. The old gal was no longer dependable, burning oil (because the "professional mechanic" back home put detergent oil in her before I left) and doin' all she could to get us around San Diego. I was goin' to where the action was at the time and my wife was having to drive back to Arkansas alone. So, we gave up the Pontiac that day, out of necessity...but not before it made a lasting life-long impression on this young man.
Speaking of that second goal: I found one for ten grand this week. I had that same feeling like I had when I was fantasizin' over the GTO. Who knows? It might happen one day...at the right time, with the right car. Right now, I'M the DADDY. I still have kids depending on me to put them through college. In my old age, I have learned something about priorities...something I didn't know much about the day I bought the Bonneville.
The '63 and Me...its the stuff that makes a young man's world go 'round. The old Bonneville still fasinates me to this day. She remains truly beautiful, with her stacked headlights, wide track and classic lines. Maybe one day....
Thanks for comin' along--with "Me and the '63." <><
Arkie John
