Lady in Red

Dad loved to tinker.   With cars.  With his hands.  And always with his mind.

Over the years he had a handful of restored beauties: a lime green 1969 Chevy Camero convertible with white tuck and roll upholstery, a black 1936 Hudson sedan, and a candy apple red 1946 Nash coupe.  There may have been others, but these are the ones I remember.  He was driving the Camero the day we were reunited in June 1981.  It was a warm spring morning the day Dad called me at work and asked to see me.  The top was down when he picked me up and I loved the feel of the wind blowing through my hair as he drove and we caught up on our lives.  I lovingly referred to the Hudson as the 'gangster' car--I kept expecting to see some guy in a pin stripe suit and fedora packing a tommy gun saunter out of the back seat and pose on the rail.  That's what I saw when I looked at that car (yes, I have a very active imagination).  Until the day Dad showed me a picture of my newlywed cousin and her husband sitting in the back seat drinking champagne as Dad drove them to their reception in the Hudson.  So much for the gangster image...between Gina's white wedding dress and the white wedding bell decorations inside...that just killed the pin stripe suit and tommy gun.  Probably for the better.  (Note: in an earlier journal entry, I confused the Hudson with a Plymouth--oops...sorry, Dad).  It was the Hudson he was driving the day he took me to the airport.

Then there is the Lady in Red.  The 1946 Nash coupe Dad restored, with inspiration provided by his wife, Rita, and the song written and sung by Chris DeBurgh.  It was playing the night they met and Rita wore red on the day they married.  It became her song.

I'll never forget the day I visited Dad at his car lot and he was filled with enthusiasm about something he had to show me.  I followed him outside, back behind the office, listening to him ramble on about how he found it.  We stopped walking, he pointed to it and said, "There she is and I'm going to restore her."

At that point I wondered if Dad had taken complete leave of his senses.  "Into what?" I asked.  "A sardine can?"

1946 Nash coupe -- Before

  

He made a pouty face and launched into a detailed explaination of his grand plan for the car.  I thought he was crazy.   But during the next couple of years, oh boy, did he ever prove me wrong.

1946 Nash coupe -- After

 

She is a real beauty, a true work of art.  A rarity, as very few Nash's are around today.  Dad drove her to work in the spring and summer months, and loved to show her off at the annual Hot August Nights event here in Lewiston.  On those weekends he and Rita cruised the drag in the Nash, recapturing that unforgettable magic of their youth.  That car was like a magnet.  She had a 401 AMC big block V-8--that unmistakable sound.  When you fired her up you knew there was no wimpy engine under that massive hood.  This car meant business.  One turn of the key in the ignition brought the men and boys to her side, standing in awe and wonder of her beauty, their eyes alight with the glow of enchantment, captivated by the energy and vibration of her song.

Several years later I got my first ride in her.  Dad was in the hospital, slowly slipping away, losing his battle with cancer.  It was November 1997.  We knew it was only a matter of days before lucidity escaped him...when he would no longer recognize us or even know we were there, by his side.  Before he faded away, we all wanted Dad to see his 'Lady in Red' just one more time, from his hospital bed.  So my brother Mick and I volunteered to go to the house and bring her to Dad.

Once there, we opened those long, heavy doors, Mick on the driver's side, and I the passenger.  We got inside and Mick put the key in the ignition and turned on the choke (for you younger people, all cars had a choke before the 1960s).  Mick turned the key, but she wouldn't fire.  Then I remembered Dad telling me the engine would only turn over if you pushed the gas pedal quickly down to the floor board three times.  It had to be three times, not two, not four.  Three.  I told Mick.  He did so and she fired right up.  I loved that sound, and we both turned to each other and smiled.  That's when we noticed the dome light, shining brightly.  Thinking we hadn't shut those heavy doors properly, each of us reopened our door, and shut it.  Light still on.  Try again, first Mick, then me.  Still shining.  Now these are heavy doors, so we both tried slamming them shut.  The light is still on.  This went on for another 30 seconds or so.  I'm sure the neighbors were wondering just what we were doing.  Could we not decide to get in or get out?  The light stayed on.  Thinking it might be a short, I tapped the light a couple of times.  Mick tried the light switch.  Nothing happened.  

Having exhausted all of our problem solving skills, to no avail, we decided to drive to the hospital and deal with the stubborn dome light later.  Mick shut the choke off, I turned to say something to him, and noticed the dome light, now off.  At that moment it dawned on me.  "Dad!" I laughed.  "Oh, I should have known.  Of course!  I can just see him coming up with that idea."  Mick stopped the car and looked at me.  "What?"  I pointed to the light, he glanced up and furrowed his brow.  He didn't understand.  Still laughing, I explained.  "Dad wired the dome light to the choke to remind him to shut off the choke."   Mick didn't believe me; I don'tblame him.  Who would do something like that?  So, just to verify that I hadn't lost my marbles, Mick turned the choke on.  Let there be light.  I watched as his face totally changed from bewilderment to fascination.  He turned the choke off and on several times, while I sat grinning at him, thinking about Dad.  "Why would he do that?" Mick asked.  He knew nothing about our father.  Like me, Mick grew up not knowing Dad.  Like me, he was raised by another man.  But unlike me, he never had any contact with Dad, until Rita called him a few weeks ago, just before Dad went in the hospital.

And so there we sat in the driveway, my brother staring in disbelief at a silly dome light, slowing flicking it off and on by way of the choke switch, and me, laughing my ass off at him...and Dad.

Guess you had to be there.

Finally I reached over and touched Mick's arm to bring him back.  "It's okay," I told him.  "You know all those times when you've had a thought that you knew was out there, like from left field."  I saw the look of recognition on his face.  He nodded.  "Well," I smiled, "we inherited it.  From our father.  And now, you know."  He started to say, "But--"  I put my hand up.  "Don't try to understand it.  Best thing you can do now is just accept it.  It's in your blood," I laughed.

Mick sat back, shook his head and let out a small laugh.  He shifted the gear into first, and slowly steered the Nash onto the street as we made our way back to the hospital.  Mick let me out in the parking lot so I could be in the room with Dad when Mick drove her by the window.  Dad's eyes lit up with complete and total delight when he saw her.  I remember the far away look in his eyes, as some not so distant memory came back to him.  Remember those days, Dad.  Remember them well.  Before the illness, before the pills, before the chemo, before the pain.  When you were free.

Remember those days.  Remember them well.

Dad (left) and a friend begin the restoration process.  I think this jobs going to require more than a couple of hammers and a can of WD-40...like maybe a wrecking ball. (Photo taken 1991)

 

~~May today be filled with memories that warm your heart and carry you always.~~