It's been a while since I've been on any sort of road trip, but now that summer is rapidly coming to a close, I have a few trips on the way that should be fun. In early October, I'm off to Scottsdale AZ for a CPO Instructor School and the World Aquatic Health Conference. In early December, it'll be Kansas City for another CPO Instructor School. Both of those are going to be actual 'road' trips, as I'll be driving to each of them.
But up first, starting tomorrow, will be a trip to the entertainment capital of the desert, beautiful (?) Las Vegas. Unfortunately, due to time restrictions, I am flying to this one. And yes, for those who know me, I'm already annoyed at that fact, and dreading the entire air travel experience.
Okay, 'Fabulous' Las Vegas, as the iconic sign says. It's time for the annual National Recreation and Park Association Congress for Parks. Since it's the 50th anniversary of the foundation of NRPA, I guess they decided to really glitz it up for us. Of course, for many Park and Recreation Professionals, telling their bosses that the annual conference is in Las Vegas made for a quick 'no way you're going there!' attitude.
And, you know, I get it. Vegas certainly has the reputation for being a place where you go to goof off, not to get serious education and information about your profession. On top of that, an awful lot of administrators look at our various Recreation Conferences with a skeptical attitude. After all, what is so hard about operating a Park? What is it that you need to learn? What kind of crap sessions could they possibly be presenting?
On and on it goes, year after year, as we try to persuade our superiors that there is real value to be had from attending these conferences. And to their credit, NRPA does a great job of identifying the benefits that attendees get from the various seminars and sessions which are presented each year. If one looks at the published schedule of seminars for this year, they will find subjects that range from the simple to the very complex, with presenters who are experts in their areas. Of course, there is the occasional oddball session, such as the one I am presenting, called "How To Survive In A Toxic Workplace". I presented this one at the last LILSA/Saint Joseph's Conference, and it was very well received, so I figured I'd inflict it on a large group of people that I don't know. Should be fun!
So many of us are looking forward to this conference as a way to increase our operating knowledge, expand our network of contacts, and yes, celebrate the 50th anniversary of NRPA.
Many of us from New York will be staying at this place, the Excalibur. Lisa Morahan, Executive Director of the state's Recreation and Park Society, got us an amazing deal at this spot. I know the Excalibur from a visit many years ago when we were on a family vacation to the Grand Canyon and Los Angeles, and we stopped over in Vegas for a couple of days. It's right on the strip, and just a couple of tram stops away from the Mandalay Bay Convention Center, where the NRPA show is going to be. I'm sure that for the three days of the Conference, I'll find a few good spots to report back on, as I will have to find places for lunch and dinner. All of us from NY are getting together on Tuesday night for a welcome social at, of course, New York, NY. I'll try to get a few photos at that gathering and post them later this week.
On Friday, Karen is flying out to meet me, and we'll have the weekend to poke around and relax a bit. We aren't staying at the Excalibur, we will be at a lovely place that's sort of off the strip called the Alexis Park Resort.
We've stayed here before, when we were in Vegas for a CPO Instructor School, and it's a lovely place. It's right across the street from the Hard Rock Casino and Hotel, so we'll be able to wander around there and take advantage of what they offer. And I'm sure we'll be doing some sightseeing, perhaps taking a ride over to the "World Famous Gold & Silver Pawn Shop", which is seen on the tv show "Pawn Stars". Might get over to 'old' Vegas and see Freemont Street and the rest of the remaining heritage casinos and restaurants. Might even stop in to Binion's, one of the oldest and still best food value spots in Vegas.
So keep your eyes peeled for new posts here in the coming weeks. Should be a few fun trips, and hopefully some good, fun road trip news!
Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird; it's a plane; No, it's a piece of junk!
Well, the little 850 showed up here last Friday, after completing the long trip from Oregon riding on the top rack of the car carrier. Had to laugh as the driver rolled the car off the ramp, the silly thing is so narrow that it barely spanned the space between the two sides of the ramp on the truck; one mis-steer and it would have been *splat*!
Once off the truck, the driver said 'you can start it and move it'. Uhhhh, okay, well, let's see, I haven't driven one of these things in well over 40 years, and with my recently balky back, getting into the thing seemed to be problematic.
Open the door, sit down on the seat (my God this thing is low to the ground!), and drag my legs in. Jeez, forgot how small the pedals on this car are; the brake and clutch pedals are about the size of a Fig Newton; the gas pedal is the size of a Milky Way bar. Pull out the choke, crank it up, it fires and dies; repeat, it fires and dies again. Crank it 3 or 4 more times, finally get it to run! Found reverse on the first shot, unusual on this car, back it up, put it in first, gas it, and up the driveway it goes. Pull up to the fence, set the brake, shut it down, it's home.
You really need to see this thing up close and personal to realize exactly what a tiny little car it is. The top is just 4' high; side to side is less than five feet (59.5 inches), and front bumper to back bumper is just 12 feet. The side view gives you an idea of the size, and also how low the car is to the ground.
I was surprised that the hard top which came with the car is actually a genuine 'Fiat' branded top. It was manufactured by an aftermarket company, but has the Fiat emblem on it; in the world of Fiat 850's, that's a really rare thing.
For those of you who don't remember these little beasts, it is a rear engine car, similar to the old VW Bug, but with a water cooled engine that's only about half the size of the VW. It makes a huge 52 horsepower, a low amount even for back in 1969 (my '65 Barracuda makes 150+). Here's a shot of the power plant:
And, of course, nothing says 'old car' like the interior of a '69 850! Lap belts only, no shoulder belt, and they don't retract; when you unbuckle them, they just lie there on the floor. No radio in this car, it was an extra cost option in '69. No a/c, of course, no cruise control, no power steering or power brakes. No electric windows (and, of course, as noted in my last post, the cheap cable in the passenger door is busted), no 'frills' of any kind. But, it does have a good clutch and gearshift combination, a very tight turning radius, and due to the small wheelbase and light weight, it is very nimble on the road.
You can just see the tiny clutch pedal underneath the steering wheel in this photo. The floors are covered not with carpet, but with rubber mats - better in case you got caught in the rain with the top down. The steering wheel and dashboard are real wood, not wood look plastic.
So there it sits, the 'Itsy Bitsy' spider. I cleaned it up a bit over the weekend, and found all sorts of little issues with it - no big surprise - that are going to take some work. The electrical system, I fear, has serious issues; none of the lights on the driver side of the car work, and the instrument panel fuse keeps blowing. As noted, the passenger side window needs a new cable, the seats are shot, and the engine needs a major tune up at the very least.
That's the downside to picking up a car like this. The upside? Well, much of the work is stuff that I can do, and have done on my past 850's. I've ordered all the parts to tune it up, and Tommy is coming over on Saturday to help with that. I'll poke around the wiring a bit and see if I can't find what's wrong. If I can't, there are a couple of good electrical shops that can track that down for me. And overall, the body is solid, the chassis is pretty much rust free, and it shouldn't take too much to put it into decent 'weekend shape', which is all I really want to do at this point.
I've already sourced a good parts company, and Rock Auto carries a lot of typical wear and tear parts like brake pads, shocks, etc. And I've joined the Fiat Club of America. What the hell, if you're going to dive into a crappy old car, you may as well go in up to your neck!
This post is pretty much all about cars; one car model in particular, so if you're looking for a food post, or a music post, you'll have to wait a bit for the next one in those areas.
Today, it's a look back at my first car, and a look ahead, to 'part two' of the story.
Many of you know of my strange addiction to Fiat cars. Over the years, I've had four of the little beasts, two 850 spiders, and two 124 spiders. Of those cars, I actually drove three of them; the fourth was one I had planned to 'restore' and use as a weekend cruiser. That plan came to an end after the engine went on fire one evening when I was trying to fit it with a new carburetor.
So the cars I owned, all three of the daily drivers, were somewhat less than reliable. Probably due partly to my having bought them used, for not a lot of money, and partly because, well, back in the day, they just weren't particularly well made cars. The 124 spiders were definitely a better design than the 850 was. The 124 had a strong four cylinder dual overhead cam engine, and a nice slick five speed gearbox. Great balance and handling, plenty of power, and four wheel disc brakes made the car a blast on the road.
The first 124 I owned was green with a tan interior, and had great power; I could 'chirp' the tires right up to third gear. Unfortunately, after owning it for about six months, the engine went all off kilter, a small part failed, and the pistons hit the valves, causing much damage, and resulting in a major repair. The mechanic I was using at the time fixed everything, EXCEPT the small part which had caused the problem. The result? Same damn thing happened about three weeks later, requiring that the major repair be done for a second time (and of course, I was charged a second time). That sort of put me off Fiats for a while, but, like any good addict, I came back for more, a second 124 spider that I bought just as we were moving into our first house, out in Selden. Bought the car from a guy who had it in a shop in Lindenhurst, where he'd had it painted. Bright red, it looked great. Picked it up on a Friday night, drove it home and buzzed around in it over the weekend, it ran well, and all was fine.
Monday morning rolls around, and I hop in the car and head off to work in Garden City (a 40 mile ride). Got about halfway there, and don't you know, the damn car stalls out in heavy traffic on the Northern State Parkway. The first day I needed the thing to get me to work! NOT a good sign. As I stood by the car off to the side of the road with the hood up, my brother in law Bob pulled up - he was also on his way to work - and between us, we got the thing running, although it was a real rough idle. Got to work, dropped the car off at my 'regular' mechanic, who said the thing needed new points, and while he'd be happy to fix it, this model used two duplicate sets of points, and he 'wasn't sure' just how to get them set correctly. He got it running though, and eventually I figured out the trick to setting the points. But that first day pretty much describes the experience of owning that thing.
But the Fiat that started it all was my little 1968 850 Spider. Those of you who are old enough to remember back to the late 60's know that they sold a ton of these things, they were sporty looking, fun to drive, and cheap as hell; I think they sold for under $2,300 brand new!
Cute car, right? And a real oddball too, in lots of ways. It was rear engined, with the trunk in the front of the car, and the engine well behind the seats in the back. Very few options were available, there was only one engine, and one transmission, a four speed manual. The convertible top folded down and was hidden by a flip up body panel, so when the top was down, the car really looked slick.
At 45 horsepower, the car was no speed demon; but the short wheelbase, rack and pinion steering, and good brakes made the car fun to drive, especially on curvy roads. Since I bought the car in 1972, I owned it during the first gas crisis - when the price of gas went from around .29c per gallon to over .50c, and people were freaking out. Many cars of the time got lousy mileage, due to the first really strict emission controls they had, and because the cars were big and heavy. But this little thing, weighing only 1,600 lbs, got GREAT mileage - about 36 mpg - which was outstanding for those days. With it's six gallon tank, I could fill the car for under $3.00, and drive it almost 200 miles. All good features, things you'd want in a car, even today.
But, of course, there was the down side. As noted by the title of this post, Fiat pretty much stood for 'Fix It Again Tony', or 'Fix It All'a Time'. The damn car always seemed to have something wrong with it. And really odd stuff would go bad on it, not the usual engine problems. In fact, as I thought back on this car over the past few days, I couldn't remember a single time that I got 'stranded' or had to be towed when I owned this car. No, the problems were all really dumb.
For example, in the two years or so that I owned the car, I think I had to replace the starter motor 4 times. You'd turn the key, and the damn thing wouldn't make a sound; dead silence, and the engine wouldn't turn over. So you'd get out, give the car a shove, hop in, pop the clutch, causing the engine to start, and off you'd go.
Every once in a while, I'd get in the car, start driving, and suddenly the gear shift lever would be about three inches to the left of where it should have been. Broke yet another engine mount, which caused the whole drive train,engine and transmission, to get out of line. That happened at least three or four times, as the 'engine mount' was just a cheap bolt that ran through a fat rubber washer. The bolt would break, and that was that.
Start the car up, put it in gear, punch the gas, and suddenly it sounded like a mack truck - part of the muffler had blown off. That happened three times; yes, that's right, three muffler replacements in about two years. I finally bought a set of headers and a one piece muffler from J.C. Whitney, and that cured that problem.
Cranking up the window, and you'd hear 'boing!' like a piece of wire cable snapping. Which is just what happened; the windows went up and down on a cheap piece of cable that ran around four pulleys in the door. About once every 3 or 4 months, the cable would snap, and the window wouldn't go up, or down. Must have changed 4 or 5 of those things, and that was a nasty, knuckle scraping job.
Want to drive the car in the cold weather? Well, the car did have the best heater I ever saw, it would roast you if you ran it full out. But getting the car started? Good luck. Under about 35 degrees, the engine just did not want to crank. Can't recall how many times I ran the battery down trying to get the cold engine to turn over fast enough to start. Finally solved that problem by getting a heated dipstick. Had to back the car up to the garage, and plug this thing in to the wall. It kept the engine oil warm (and thus thin) overnight, so that the car would actually start in the morning.
What a nightmare. But, it was my first car. And my first taste of independence. If I wanted to go somewhere, I could. It was MY choice. If I wanted to drive out to Montauk one summer day, I could (and did). If I wanted to run down to Virginia to pick up fireworks for the 4th of July I could (and did). I had plenty of really fun times in that little car, from going to LI Ducks hockey games out in Commack just about every week in the winter, to running back and forth to multiple softball games each week in the summer, to just cruising around with my buddies. That little Fiat was a great, if unreliable car, which I'm sure I remember with much too much fondness. I only have this one photo of it just now, sorry it's so small; it was taken with an old Kodak brownie star-mite camera.
So why post this today? Well, I guess I've prattled on about this car a little too often, especially around the boys. Tommy has been looking at Fiats on various web sites for some time now, and good instigator that he is, he sends over photos and listings from places like Craigslist, and eBay. I pretty much ignored them, as I really figured my Fiat days were done. But then, last week, in a moment of weakness, I put a bid in on a car on eBay. Not a 124 or 850, but the replacement for the 850, a car I always wanted, but never owned, a Fiat X-19. Mid-engined, great balance, and actually a well built and somewhat reliable car.
I didn't win that car, as the price went over and above what I would have been comfortable with. Then, last Wednesday, I weakened and gave in to what can only be described as a sentimental nostalgic whim; I bid on a 1969 850 spider. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but, as I'm a typical male, I did it anyway. It was a very low ball bid, way under what the car should have sold for given the condition it was in. And for the next two days, I watched the auction, figuring that there was no way I was going to win it, as I was about $500 - $800 below the value of the car.
I won it. A bright red 850 spider, happily living in Lake Oswego Oregon, in really good running condition, being used as a daily driver by the guy selling it (who sold it because he has, by my count, at least 7 or 8 cars). And here it is:
Much to my shock and dismay, the car sold for well under what it should have; in fact, it sold for less than my top bid was!
So down the road I go, adding another silly car to the stable. I've gotten past the disbelief I felt when I won the car, and am actually looking forward to getting the damn thing here. Tommy and Billy are both excited about the car, and I'm feeling good that they'll be able to share in a little bit of my past, with what was a pretty special car to me. Tommy has already been poking around the internet, looking for places that sell parts and accessories, as the car does need a few things. I've arranged to have the car shipped here (I'm not quite crazy enough to push a tiny 46 year old car 2,900 miles over the Interstates), and am looking forward to cleaning it up a bit, and bringing it to one of the many cruise nights we go to. There aren't many 850's left, especially here in the east. They either rusted out, or were discarded and crushed, as they weren't considered to be collectible cars. They were cheap when they were new, and were cheap when they got old. The only person who'd put value on them would be someone with an attachment to them. Someone who maybe wished that he hadn't gotten rid of it. Someone who's always had an affection and attachment to cars they've owned. Someone, I guess, like me.
And so, some 41 years after I sold my little 850 to a friend of a friend (who ran it into a telephone pole less than a month after he bought it), I'm getting a second one. And I know the boys and I will have plenty of fun times with it, and maybe they'll get a glimpse of what it was like to be young and carefree as I was when I had my original 850. I know that our little Barracuda has been a real blast for all of us, and I'm sure that this will be as well.
Now, if only I can remember how those damn window cables get installed!
Well gang, here we are at the second weekend in July, and for all the MOPAR nuts on the eastern side of the Mississippi that can only mean one thing - Chryslers At Carlisle! Time for us to polish up our rides and head down to that sleepy little town in Pennsylvania for a couple of days of drooling over some of the coolest cars ever made, shaking our heads at some of the silliest, and fondly remembering some of our own prior cars. Here's what it looked like last year:
I think they had approximately 2,800 cars on display; down a little from the last few years, when it reached over 3,000, but still a LOT of cars. And as a very inclusive show, Carlisle allows a lot of Chrysler related brands, some of which haven't been made for many years (DeSoto, Plymouth), others that were at one time owned by Chrysler (American Motors), and now, of course, FIAT, which is actually the majority owner of Chrysler. So there's plenty of cars to see, kind of 'something for everyone'. Like this little Dodge Rampage, an odd little half truck based on the old Omni/Horizon. Billy was looking at one of these a few years ago.
Of course, for us 'older' guys, nothing brings back the memories like the cars we lusted after when we were kids. Like this 'Cuda.
Yeah, that's the ticket! And you can see where the 'strobe stripes' that I have on my car got started. Chrysler always had the coolest graphic packages back in the day!
One of the fun parts of going to the show is taking the old cars. There are some guys who put them up on a trailer, and pull 'em along behind a Ram truck, while others have them shipped in via an enclosed car carrier. Those are the nicest, most expensive cars you'll see there, and I suppose if I had a 'Cuda worth a quarter of a million dollars, I might be tempted to trailer it. Then again, maybe I wouldn't! Because to me, these cars were made to be driven. And the only way we truly preserve their special nature is by driving them. If you don't drive them, then they aren't cars any more, they're museum pieces. So, on Friday morning, Tommy will hop in my 'Bluecuda' and I'll crank up the 'Yellow Fish', and off we'll go.
It does take a certain amount of blind faith to make a journey like this in an old car. You never really can tell what might go wrong along the way. Especially with the crazy column shifter in this car. It has a nasty habit of getting jammed in first gear at the worst possible times, forcing you to pull over, pop the hood, and fiddle around with the linkage until you free the shifter. Loads of fun on the side of I-78 with traffic flying past at 75+ mph! But we had a lot of work done on the car this past winter, and it's running really well just now. So we'll say a few words to the god of acceleration, buckle the old lap belts, and hope that it isn't too terribly hot on the road.
I'll post up some photos of the place after we get back, and hopefully have some good tales about places we ate, cars we saw, and people we met.
This one is definitely a case of 'taking one for the team'! Over the July 4th weekend, Karen and I went to North Carolina to visit her son and his family. As with any road trip we take, we try hard to avoid restaurants that we have here in NY. So, no MacDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, even Arby's is on that list now that they've opened a place in Wantagh and at Broadway Mall. So bearing that in mind, and with the knowledge that even though we don't have places like Chick-Fil-A, Captain D's Seafood, and Hardees in our area, we occasionally see a commercial for them on a national network or cable channel (like TBS).
On Saturday, we took a ride to the farmer's market in Elizabeth City. Picked up some amazing blueberries which had been picked less than 24 hours earlier at a local farm. Huge, sweet, wonderful. Got a couple of deep red, ripe heirloom tomatoes (I sense a BLT happening soon!), a pound of farm cured bacon, and a ring of bratwurst for the cookout we had on July 4th evening. Donated to the local VFW, and got a bag of fresh roasted peanuts as a thank you. All in all, a small, but very nice market.
Off to lunch we went. Dennis and Maggie have 4 kids, and as those of you who are parents know, if the kids aren't happy, pretty much nobody's happy. We know that all of the kids like Chick-Fil-A, so we went there. As usual, great food and very nice, friendly service. I've written up their food previously, so if you're really curious, page back through these posts and you'll find it.
Sunday we decided to leave for home right after breakfast, which we had at a local place called Southland. They do a breakfast buffet that is really good, all the usual breakfast items, plus a great fresh fruit bar. We had a good meal, and got on the road.
Around 1 pm, we decided we would stop and get lunch, rather than try to get home and have dinner. As we drove up route 113 through Maryland and into Delaware, we had a lot of options to choose from; but, I'd been joking about this ridiculous burger that Hardee's has been advertising, called the "Most American Thickburger". Now, Hardees is unashamedly politically incorrect, both in their advertising, and their food, which, of course, places it high on my list of places to stop. Hardees pays tribute to their rather humble beginnings with nice art throughout the restaurant, such as this one.
Their burgers aren't skinny little things on a flat, floppy bun, topped with a piece of orange wax masquerading as a tomato; no, they're big, thick, patties, topped with fresh red tomatoes, crisp deep green lettuce, and all sorts of silly things, like six or eight slices of bacon. Or the bbq burger, with sauteed onions, onion rings, bbq sauce and cheddar cheese. They're just big, juicy, tasty burgers that are overloaded with toppings. The patties come in 1/4, 1/3, and 1/2 pound sizes, and you can get up to three patties on your burger.
The "Most American" thickburger, however, is a major step forward in culinary craziness. It's your choice of beef patty, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion; topped with potato chips, and a hot dog! Yes, you read that right, the whole burger is topped with a hot dog! And some ketchup and mustard to dress it up. Here's the burger as it arrived at our table.
Looks innocent enough, right? If you look closely at the bun by the fries, you can just see the tip of the hot dog poking out from under the bun. And here, in all it's uncovered glory, is the entire mess.
The patty is a 1/4 lb burger, but not like you'd get at MacDonald's in their 'quarter pounder', it's thick (hence, 'Thickburger'); the dog, not a small one, but a full size dog, split and grilled to a nice crust. Smoky, spicy, not the usual bologna dog like you'd get at a typical fast food place, but one with real character. And, not surprisingly, the dog actually overwhelms the burger. The potato chips are underneath the burger, nestled in below the pickles, lettuce and tomato. Unfortunately, the fresh tomato juice rendered most of the chips soggy, but the ones that remained dry added a nice crunch to the whole mess.
Now, truth be told, I didn't eat the entire thing; Karen took a bite. But I DID eat all that was left after she had her taste, and I'm almost ashamed to say the damn thing was really good! I don't think I'd order it again, as it's just too ridiculous, even for me. But, after seeing the commercials multiple times, and saying to myself 'they must be kidding', I'm glad I had the chance to try it. It's a limited time offering, so who knows if it'll ever show up again. And if it doesn't, at least I can say that I had one. And, most surprisingly, no nasty after effects from it! I guess once in a while, taking one for the team isn't a bad thing!
Yesterday was Father's Day, and as it does each year, it got me to thinking about my Dad, and some of the things we have in common. Or more precisely, perhaps, common interests; and how some of them are being passed along to my sons.
Dad, for those of you who don't know, had what could be called a rough life, right from the start. He was born quite prematurely, weighing something like 3.5 lbs at birth. Back in those days, babies that small didn't survive too often. But he did, struggling and fighting until he was healthy enough to go home. Not that going home was much better, as Dad was part of a large family, with an overwhelmed Mother and a rather abusive, alcoholic Father. His Mother died shortly thereafter as a result of an 'accident' (falling down the stairs) and his Father didn't live much longer, leaving Dad and his siblings as orphans. Into a Catholic orphanage they went, staying there longer than one would hope, until a wonderful couple, Thomas and Margaret Flood took Dad and his brother Ken home with them. Dad always considered the Floods his 'real' parents, and he was extremely close with his adoptive Dad. I remember as a little kid, sitting in the Flood house, and hearing Dad and 'Pop Pop' talking about their life together, and how 'Pop Pop' and 'Grandma' Flood had tried to give Dad and Ken whatever they could to make their lives a bit happier. I think that's when I first heard Dad say what I remember to this day, 'put a smile on the face of a child and you've done something important'. Or words to that effect. I always carried it as 'nothing's more important than putting a smile on the face of a child'. Whichever way it was said, it's something I've tried to keep in the front of my mind through the years. Being employed in the Recreation field, those were certainly words that rang true in all the years of working at the local parks, and especially when I became the Superintendent of Recreation.]
Here's Mom & Dad on their wedding day:
Last night, Karen and I went to Ice Works in Syosset, to watch Tom play hockey. And as we sat there, and I shot a few pictures, I got to thinking about how similar both Bill and Tom are to how I was when I was their age; and how much I modeled myself after my Dad.
When I was a kid, Dad and Mom never had a lot of extra money in the household, so lots of things that would normally be done by 'professionals' were done by them. I remember Dad, on at least two occasions, spending most of his three week vacation painting our house. And of course, he wouldn't just 'paint the house' standing on an extension ladder. No, Dad bought a set of painters scaffold jacks, and used them to do the job. He'd be out on that silly thing all day long, walking back and forth, cranking it up and down. He wouldn't even come in to eat; Mom passed him sandwiches and drinks out of the windows! I never saw a plumber in our house, nor an electrician or carpenter. If Dad couldn't fix it (which was really unusual), one of Mom's brothers, or a neighbor, would help out.
I especially remember Dad working on his cars from time to time. Back then, although we remember the cars with much fondness, they weren't as reliable, nor as maintenance free as they are today. Dad was always fooling around with the car, 'tuning it up', changing the oil, or replacing a battery, generator, regulator, carburetor - whatever. And who would be sitting right next to him while all this was going on? Yeah, me of course. Handing him tools while he was laying underneath the car, or cleaning off a piece of hardware, getting him a beer, whatever he needed. Most of Dad's cars were used cars; in his entire life, he owned one brand new car. The '54 Plymouth he bought used; the '52 Dodge had been 'Pop Pop' Floods'; the '60 Vailiant came used from a local gas station. And despite the fact that they were all used, Dad treated them like they were gold. To him, they weren't just a means of getting from point a to point b. They were, like the many professional tools he owned, a means to earn his living, as he drove to work all over the metro area, and also an escape mechanism that he used to get those short breaks from his work life. He cherished those cars, and was grateful to have them, and he gave me an appreciation for not just the cars, but for the people who created them, the strong men and women who welded and bolted them together. It was Dad who sparked my lifelong interest in cars. Hell, I used to sit in his old Valiant and read the owners manual from cover to cover - and to this day, I have read each and every owners manual I've ever had, from cover to cover. As he might say, you never know when you'll need to know something that's in that book.
Tom, playing hockey:
And as I sat in the ice rink last night, I thought about how both Bill and Tom are also very much into cars. At the moment, Tom a little more so than Bill, but Bill has a lot on his plate, being back in college, and having just gotten married. But the both have an interest in cars, and each of them has been to multiple car shows with me, and they both know how to, and have driven, the Yellow Fish, 'our' '65 Barracuda. We've gone to the Chrysler show in Carlisle together; the NY Auto Show was a tradition for many years; and it's not unusual for either of them to text me with a comment about something they've seen on an automotive web site, a question about their own cars, or a general comment about a car or a car company. And I know that when it comes to the old cars, they appreciate the fact that they were made by human beings, not robots nor machines. As Dad would have said, and as I say, those old cars have souls; the engine on our Barracuda was assembled by hand 50 years ago, and it was only just opened up for the first time since it left the factory earlier this spring. The work those men and women did, while not always perfect, has more meaning to me, and is 'better' than the best robot built car of today. But that's just me.
Sitting in the stands, watching Tom skate reminded me of how Dad supported both Ginny and I when we were playing sports.Both Dad and his brother Ken were terrific baseball players, and both of them played semi pro ball in Queens NY. Dad loved playing ball, and it was also a way for he and Ken to make a few extra dollars each week. Ken was a little taller and bigger than Dad, but Dad was a better ballplayer. He could run like the wind, had a great arm, and was a darn good hitter. Ken may have had more natural talent, but Dad worked hard and got the most out of his abilities. When I wanted to join Little League, Dad was thrilled, as he and 'Pop Pop' Flood were both great Yankee fans, and loved the game of baseball. Despite his crazy work schedule (one year he worked 1,000 hours of overtime, in addition to his 'regular' hours!), Dad volunteered to help coach my team. He taught me the basics, how to judge a fly ball (when you can see over the top of the ball, you're in position to catch it), how to hit, and how to set yourself to make good, strong throws. Through the years, whenever I'd get in a slump, or went a couple of games without making good contact, Dad would take me to the park, and throw pitch after pitch to me, tinkering with my stance and swing until I was again hitting the ball well. He probably missed his true calling, that of a batting coach. He could fix anyone's swing in just a short time.
After I turned 18, the game changed from 'hardball' to 'softball', and I started playing on a bunch of different teams. It became a passion, one I probably took too seriously, and I played pretty regularly until my mid 40's.
Billy, getting into one:
And now, don't you know, Billy has been playing ever since he got back from the Marines, and Tom played last year. I think Tom would have kept playing, but he was on a pretty bad team, and most of them gave it up after having a very poor season.
Tom, giving one a ride:
Billy's team, on the other hand, has won two league championships already. They have a very balanced team, and Billy is a really good player. I watch him, and I can't help but remember how Dad watched me, not just in Little League, but in softball as well. In fact, one of my favorite memories is the time when I was maybe 19 or 20, and Dad and I played with his VFW buddies in a couple of games against other local VFW Posts. By then of course, the cigarettes had taken their toll, and Dad couldn't play the way I knew he'd been able to when I was younger. But it was still a blast, and I think going back to the pub after the game and sharing a couple of cold ones with him and his friends was as much fun as the game!
All of these things went through my mind as Karen and I were leaving the rink after watching Tom's game (they won, in a rout, 9-2). And what I kept thinking about was how blessed I'd been to have picked up some of Dad's interests and passions, and have kept them alive by passing them on to Billy and Tom. I think, and I certainly hope, that they've picked up and will keep alive only the good things I've done in my life, and some of the not so good things, will be forgotten and left behind.
Because as humans, that's what we do over time. The memories get kind of cloudy, and we bury the bad stuff way way down in the dark little corners of our minds where we don't go very often. To me, that's the way we cope with things that weren't so pleasant, by more often re-running the good things over and over in the front, or well lighted part of our brain. And so on Father's Day, the dark corners will stay dark, and I'll enjoy poking around in the bright spots of my mind, where all the very deep, very loving memories of my Dad live each and every day. I hope that when the time comes for Billy and Tom to open up their memories, that they'll have learned the same thing!
Like most of us Baby Boomers, when Ginny and I were kids, we looked forward to the end of the school year with great anticipation. Not just because it meant the end of nine months of drudgery and nonsense, but because we knew that we most likely would be going on a trip during Dad's vacation. We looked forward to these trips for lots of reasons, but I suspect that one was just the chance to get away from everything and everyone that we ran across in our daily lives. It was the opportunity for us to be a small, simple family, just Mom, Dad, Ginny and I out on the road for a couple of weeks.
Of course, we always traveled by car, since back then in the early to mid 1960's was considered 'fancy', and was in fact pretty darn expensive. With gasoline costing somewhere around .15c per gallon (you read that right), it was much cheaper to take the old station wagon and run it all over the country.
Dad had been working for Con Edison, the power company in NYC for many years, and so even in the early 60's he got a pretty generous 3 weeks of vacation time. And to this day, I remember the weeks he took; 'last two in August, first in September'. He liked those weeks because earlier in the summer he could usually count on some good overtime hours, which helped pay for the trips. And since he took the first week in September, every couple of years he'd get an 'extra' day, since Labor Day, a paid holiday, would be the Monday of the second week in September. And to Dad, an extra day away from the incredibly hard physical work he did was worth a lot.
Around July 4th, Mom and Dad would start dropping ideas for where we'd be going that year. A couple of years we went 'upstate', which to those of you who live on Long Island know means "someplace over the bridge". One year we stayed near West Point, spending a week, I think, at a little place called "Motel On The Lake". Which was, as the name implies, a small motel situated right on the shore of a small lake. We took day trips to West Point, ate at a couple of local restaurants, and spent long hours playing in and around the lake. Dad always liked the 'upstate' area, and one of the kicks he'd get would be to take a route that had him drive up the Storm King Highway, a three mile stretch of road that runs around the edge of, to nobody's surprise, Storm King Mountain! He like driving that road because during it's construction from 1916 to 1922, his adoptive Dad, Pop Pop Flood, had been part of the crew that built the road. And he'd mention it every time we drove up or down it, he was so proud that his Dad had a hand in what was pretty amazing engineering and construction. I've never forgotten that, and have myself ridden up and down that road a couple of times, always thinking to myself that Pop Pop worked on it.
Our 'biggest' trip was of course, the time we drove to Dallas to visit our Aunt Clarence, Aunt Ann, and cousins Richard and Robert, who had moved there a year or so prior to our trip. That trip was so long, and involved so many sites and events, that it deserves it's own post, which I'll work on in the coming weeks. I'm pretty sure that was the trip that instilled the wanderlust in me that is still so strong to this day!
Another time, I think it was the year between 7th and 8th grade, Dad found out that 8th grade social studies was going to be "American History", and he decided that I should see some of the places where a lot of our History was made. So, we packed up the car and headed south, for a tour of the Civil War battlefields and encampments. Now, as altruistic as this sounds, and I'm sure Dad was trying to be helpful to me, the truth is he had always had a fondness for the southern part of the country, and was just as happy to visit there as anyplace else. In fact, he and Mom had honeymooned in Virginia and the Carolinas, and vacationed there again a year or two after their honeymoon. Dad, in fact, was offered a chance to relocate to North Carolina by the owner of a motel he and Mom were staying at. Dad must have struck up a friendship with the guy, apparently Dad helped him with a repair or two while he was there, and the owner asked Dad to come to work for him, with the intention of having Dad take over the place when he retired. Dad was very intrigued, but eventually decided against it when he and Mom got a lot of pressure from family members that 'your family is in NY', and it wouldn't be right to 'walk away' from family. I know Dad spoke wistfully years later of how he should have taken the job (mostly when things were tough, as they were often), and I think he might have been very happy there. Mom? Not so sure, but my suspicion is that if Dad were happy, Mom would have been happy. In any event, it didn't happen, and I didn't grow up saying 'Y'all, so that's probably a good thing.
We did the VA, NC trip a couple of times, and as Ginny and I got older, and had things to do in our neighborhood, the family road trips faded away. Of course, Dad's 1960 Valiant wagon wasn't getting any younger, and it was getting pretty chancy to take it on a long trip. Quick aside, he bought the car in 1963, I think, and kept it until the late early fall of 1971. I'm sure when it finally got parked wherever it ended up (he had an accident with it somewhere in the Bronx, a bad pothole blew out the front end), it probably sprang apart like the Blues Brothers car did at the end of the big chase in that move!
There were a couple of trips with Mom, Dad, and Ginny, I think they went to Disney World in 1972, in Dad's new car, the '71 Duster, but I didn't go, because I was working for the Recreation Department at the time, and summer was 'full time' 40+ hours a week, you couldn't take three weeks off in the busiest time of the year! After that, Dad and Mom went on a few trips to VFW Conventions, and they'd always visit Dad's sister Audrey and her family down in PA. Audrey and George owned a campground, "Fantasy Island Campground", a combination RV and tent place, and they always had a spare RV for guests, so Mom and Dad would stay there for a week or so each year.
And I guess it was those vacation trips that got me so interested in being on the road. I loved looking out at the different places we passed through, seeing the different businesses and towns, many of which were so unlike where we lived. I couldn't imagine what might be better than a couple of weeks on the road several times a year.
I took my first 'on my own' road trip in the spring of 1975. Took my brand new Mustang 2 (we'll discuss that in a future post - maybe) down to Florida, hung around there a while, and decided I definitely liked driving all over the place. So to this day, it's what I do.
I don't have any trips planned for this summer - yet. Got some things going on here that are preventing that sort of planning, but I know that something will pop up before we get to the cold weather, even if it's after the traditional summer travel season. And I'm sure that I'll find some silly little attraction, or a sleepy little restaurant that will catch my imagination and remind me of some of the trips we took way back when. And now, thanks to the internet and these great blog sites, you all can share these trips with me. So buckle up those seat belts, get out your 'auto bingo' cards, pack a bag of snacks, and get ready to roll!
