Everyone has memories of their youth, but some are just more distinct than others. We all remember our first dog, but we especially remember our first car with all its pluses and minuses, our good times and bad times in the car. My brother taught me to drive. He was a big reader of Consumer Reports, and based on their research he told me to buy a used Dodge Dart or Plymouth Valiant from a Chrysler dealership, not a used car lot, because the dealership would know how to fix the car up like new. So once I graduated from college and needed a car I went to a dealership and looked over their cars. I chose a white Dodge Dart that was two years old. The previous owner had been drafted into the Vietnam War. Nothing was said to me about the car other than it was V-8, was two years old, and was in good condition. Once I agreed to buy the car, the salesman snatched my wallet and wrote his name on the inside of the open wallet. He said his signature was a souvenir of my first car purchase. I thought he was defacing my wallet, but said nothing about it to him, and I still remember his name, because I used the wallet for years.
I took the car to the local service station near where I lived after I had put 2500 miles on the car since my purchase. I got a call from Mike Kelley, the service station owner, saying that my truck was ready and to come pick it up. So I took a bus to the station, paid the bill, and asked Mike why he called my car a truck. Because it is, he said. I protested, saying it’s a Dodge Dart. Yeah, he said, but it has a double carburetor, double points, and double plugs, plus it’s a V-8, not just a V-6. What does that mean, I asked. It’s very powerful, he answered, very speedy. Is that why passing cars on the superhighway is so easy? I asked. He nodded and said yes.
Well, I had noticed that passing a car or truck on Route 95 took very little time, but I just thought all cars must be like that. After all, I had no experience in passing other cars, and just figured that barely touching the accelerator to pass another car was normal. Of course, I never abused the speed in that car. Just thought it was normal to be able to whip past a slow poke. Once I had to drive my husband somewhere because his car was getting fixed. We lived in Providence then. We were driving down Hope St., which is on the east side of Providence. It’s a nice big street that goes all the way from the cove to Pawtucket. It acts like the main street of that hill in Providence. Anyway the guy ahead of us was really poking. Naturally, the speed limit was 25 miles per hour, and since it was a city street, there was a solid double yellow line between me and opposing traffic. Don’t know why that guy was going about five miles per hour, but I passed him in about two seconds, bringing the car back down to 25 miles per hour in no time. My husband was clutching the car seat with both hands. That was before bucket seats so I don’t know how he did that. He said, in a shocked voice, don’t ever do that again on a city street. And I never did, while my husband was in the car.
Our son James’ first car was our oldest car. He got his license at age 16. Two months later he had an accident. He was driving on a back road in Hampton (thank goodness not a main city street) and reached over to change the station on the radio (this was before the electronics of today). When he reached for the dashboard radio dial he drove across what would have been opposing traffic, but there was none at the time, thank goodness, and veered directly into the woods. We got a call from him to our home. Boy does fear strike your heart when your teenage son says “mom” in a quavering voice. I asked if he was all right. Yes, I’m fine, but the car isn’t, he said in a scared voice. Well, you are okay, so that’s what matters, I replied, and we drove right over. We lived in Scotland then, so it didn’t take long. We called Perry Motors for a tow. When Russell Perry came with the tow truck, he heard how the accident happened and burst right out laughing.
“Let me tell you about my first accident,” he said. “Like James, I was driving to school. This was when the car seats went all the way across the car, no bucket seats, so my schoolbooks were on the seat beside me. They suddenly fell on the car floor, and I reached over to pick them off the floor while I was still driving. I went into the ditch, and my father had to come and get me out of the ditch.” Soon thereafter I read an article written by a psychologist who said that car accidents caused by teenagers are because the teenage brain is not finished growing and is not sophisticated enough to handle the depth perception and speed analysis needed to drive safely.
When we got home, my husband and I had a discussion about the proper punishment for James’ carelessly getting into a car accident. I wanted to suspend our son’s driving for six months. My husband didn’t want to suspend it at all. We settled on suspending it for three months. I soon figured out why my husband didn’t want any suspension. That was because he had to drive James to Pomfret School, if James didn’t.
James wanted the car all fixed up. He was embarrassed to drive it to school all dented and banged up. We bought a new side mirror, but the fenders and front bumper stayed dented. One day James drove in from school and announced to us that something happy had happened to him with his banged up car. Oh, oh, we thought, but we smilingly asked what. He said, “When I come to a four way stop, I obey the driving law about waiting in turn for people to start up again from the stop sign. But now with my banged up car, they all wait for me, no matter who has the right of way, and sign me with their hands to drive first.” We burst out laughing, but we quickly told him not to play chicken with stopped cars by trying to go first rather than giving others their right of way. So he will have his own precious memories of his first car.
Angela Hawkins Fichter