I only had a glimpse of it, and it brought back a ton of memories — memories of days long gone, but not forgotten, that’s for sure.
A few days ago I had just finished gassing up our boulevard cruiser,and had returned the hose to the proper spot,when what I saw took me back to my teen years. The object that jolted me,was a vision of what I could only dream of those many years ago.
It glided into the bay next to mine, and I savored what idled smoothly next door. A gentleman in his senior years was behind the wheel, and when I could utter a few words, I think I said, something like: “It’s a 1952, right?”
He confirmed my guess and we began a brief conversation.
The car was a 1952 Mercury convertible, a beautiful dove gray, and if it had been restored, it was a wonderful job. If it was still original, it would have been amazing.
I promptly forgot the driver’s name — at least his last name. His first name was Dick and we quickly got into a conversation about his car. He’d had it for about nine years.
Frankly, I know envy is sinful, but I envy Dick.
I loved Mercurys from the ’50s, ever since I saw the movie “Rebel Without A Cause,” starring James Dean and Natalie Wood.
The subject of the movie has vanished from my overworked brain, but the car James drove in the film hasn’t. It was a 1950 Mercury two-door sedan, jet black, with “wide whites” (white sidewall tires) and dual exhausts. I wanted one just like it.
Last week I ended my column with a paragraph detailing the deaths of Ted Foley and his father in a pair of accidents occurring on the same bridge over the Sacramento River, a few decades apart.
Ted Foley’s name appears on my birth certificate as my father — DNA testing has proven that he wasn’t. But, in the summer of 1955, almost a year after his passing, a check for me arrived from the Social Security Administration — with my name on it. I had to do a double take — the amount was over $600!
I was a rich man, but only for a couple of days, because when Mom asked what I wanted to do with it, it took only about 10 minutes to get the two of us loaded up in my car (not a Mercury) and head to a car dealer in a neighboring town to look over a 1953 Mercury two-door sedan they had advertised in the paper.
The car was a dark blue, wide whites, lots of extras, and even with my trade-in and the $600, I still needed Mom to cosign for the balance.
I was the king of the hill — until the day right after school started in the fall, when I wanted to show off a bit, and right in front of good old Payson High School, with half the student body outside, I planned on “laying a patch” (of tire rubber) to impress the onlookers.
I revved the engine in neutral gear, then while it was wound up, jammed the gearshift into drive.
Instead of the screech of tires, a cloud of smoke and a smug look from the pilot — there was a loud CLANK then a BANG! as the driveshaft broke loose, and hit the pavement — and a very embarrassed driver.
The next time the car moved was when myself and a couple of buddies pushed it to the side of the street to await the arrival of a wrecker.
Oh my, was my face red.
When I first began dating Sharon, I almost owned that dream car — it was a 1950 Mercury, but it had the addition of a pair of extra doors, not the slick two-door I wanted. It was just OK.
But the dream never left me, even after we married.
I still would think of my dream car, until one fall day, when we were living in Texas, our youngest son Kelly called from where he lived in south Texas and said he’d found my “dream car.”
I had been talking about finding a car and restoring it, and here it was.
I told Kelly that the next time he was in the area where the car was to take some pictures of it and I’d look them over.
Well, he did take some pictures; a whole 36-exposure roll, and when he brought the photos, he said the fellow who owned the car had another car he’d bought for a “parts car” and I could have them both for $1,500.
What a deal! I told Kelly to offer the owner a $500 dollar deposit to hold the cars until the next spring. (It was winter, and I didn’t want to get started on the restoration until the weather warmed up.)
I anxiously awaited Kelly’s next call.
When he called, he told me that the cars had been sold two days before he went back.
I’m still dreaming.
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What a Life: 1952 Mercury can still make a man’s temperature rise - Loveland Reporter-Herald
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