When I was a kid we never had a car at home. I figured my Dad could drive, but we just didn’t have one, and I never asked him or myself why. When I finished high school and enrolled at Morris Harvey College, I rode the local transit company’s buses for four years. But even then, I didn’t wonder about why we had no car in the family. We just didn’t.
So I finished college without even thinking about having to own a car. Then reality struck. I was offered a teaching job (music) where I’d have to teach kids in ten elementary schools, plus my “real job,” directing two junior high bands. With only a couple of weeks to do the car deal, I was recommended by a musician friend to the local Ford dealer. We came to an agreement on a 1953 Ford Fairlane for $2,100. That’s when the fun began.
I went to see my grandfather (Granddad Henry Hale), who was a retired coal miner. His miner’s pension was $50.00 a month. I told him about the teaching deal and the Ford, and asked him if he could loan me the down payment: $500! We were sitting on his little front porch, where he always sat while chewing Favorite Chewing Tobacco. He spat and said he’d be right back.
He went into the house, leaving me wondering what was up. He returned, sat down and showed me his money belt — which no one knew about. It was like a cartridge belt — snap-close leather pouches all the way around. He fished into a couple of pouches, and produced five hundred dollars, which he handed to me.
Then he said to wait a minute. He pulled a pencil and a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket, and wrote on it: IOU Henry Hale $500, signed: Alan Farley. I signed the note — smiling to myself — and promised I’d pay him back as soon as possible. With a teaching salary of $280 per month for ten months, that was a heavy debt.
I then went to the Ford dealership with my $500. We signed papers for three year financing, and then the salesman gave the keys and said “the car is yours.” He pointed to the Ford Fairlane which sat on the showroom floor. It was only then that I knew that I had to drive that car home, and that I did not, had not, had no license to drive. Had never driven.
Without making much of it, I took the keys as though I were an old hand, got in the car while they opened the wide glass drive-in entrance through which display cars were moved. Gulp. I knew I’d have to fake it and drive home, but I hadn’t counted on taking that car out of the showroom.
Somehow, I made it out of the showroom on onto the street.
That’s about it. I drove without a license for a few days, avoiding main-traveled roads. Then I went to the State Police barracks where they conducted behind-the-wheel tests for issuing drivers’ licenses. (There was no written test at that time.) The sergeant got in the car with me, gave me the test, which I passed. Then he asked, “How did you get here to take this test?” “Well, I drove this car.” “You drove this car to the State Police barracks without a driver’s license?” I turned red. “Just kiddin’,” he said.
A little more than a year later, I went to my grandparents’ home and told granddad that I had the final payment on the $500 loan. He said, OK. I gave him the money and he reached in his pocket and produced the original IOU.
Then he said, “You’re thirty dollars short. Six percent interest is thirty dollars.”
I wrote him a check for the additional thirty dollars, knowing that he was just teaching me a lesson about money. He chewed, spat, and laughed. And I laughed with him.
My Second Car
I literally drove the wheels off that Ford. My teaching duties required a lot of travel, and, being the proud owner of a CAR, I drove it everywhere. Kenny and I hung out in the evenings at the local drive-in (Parkette, later to become Shoney’s), and so on. We would sit in the car, order a grilled cheese and coffee — about thirty-five cents, and he with his uke, I with my Martin, would pick and sing, drink coffee, wave at regulars, and just have a big old time. So my Ford gathered a lot of miles in less than three years — about 95,000. And it was time to trade. You have to understand that cars in those days were built to last for only three years — planned obsolescence, they say, and my Ford was about worn out.
Kenny was in school at the time at the University of Cincinnati, studying mechanical engineering. He was on a work-study program where he’d go to school for seven weeks and come home to his job with the State Road Department for the next seven weeks. So although he was in school, we saw each other often, and car talk was part of the deal. Kenny got going about British sports cars, and I latched on. I wound up at the local foreign car dealership and traded the worn-out Ford for a 1956 MGA Roadster.
Amazing!! It was the first year for that model, and it was a truly wow-level car. A short time later, Kenny bought a used Austin Healey — red — and we had many two-car rallies up and down the mountain roads around Charleston. What a time.
At that time I was still playing bari sax in a local big dance band. Of course, the sax wouldn’t fit in the MG boot, so it rode up front in the passenger seat. Kinda cramped my style, actually. . . I couldn’t take anyone with me to a dance job, or “gig,” as we called it.
The MG cost $2,800 new. That was a lot back then. As my second car, it was a truly neat driving experience. We were a sporty pair, and had great fun wheeling around West Virginia, which is a wonderful driving range for imported sport roadsters. We even wore the classic British caps — hot stuff.
I — we — drove the MG until after Carol and I were married, and traded it for spiffy Alfa Romeo Spyder. Then Carol got pregnant, so we went for a used ’55 Chevy just before Patrick was born. Obviously there would be no room for Carol and me and Patrick in that Alpha. No regrets; as much fun as the roadsters were, Patrick became the center of our universe until we had Leslie three years later, and Amy a few years later. Our universe simply expanded.
| Carol driving the Alpha Romeo in a SAHS Homecoming Parade |
The Ford was special, as my first car. The MG moved the bar. Fifteen or so cars later, they bring a good feeling. But I do go on.
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