A dog named Sam

 Air Pilot Sam that’s what the crate said. A yapping English Pointer puppy was clawing the side of the crate. Dad just brought him home from the Tampa airport where he had been flown from Illinois. 

A previous puppy had died from distemper so dad made the arrangements and bought Sam. The registration papers said he was a pure bred English Pointer and his dad had won prestigious awards. Sam was named after him.

I lifted him from the crate and he ran down the driveway around the pecan tree into the backyard. He rolled on his back then jumped on his feet giving a puppy bark. I tried to pet him but he turned quickly bounding after a yellow butterfly. He was so full of life. 

A chicken wire enclosure with a wooden dog house was where he slept and ate but most of the time he was playing with me in the yard. He would chase me, sometimes nipping at my ankles, or I would throw a ball for him to retrieve. Sometimes he wouldn’t let go and I almost had to pull him off the ground to get the ball. 

Sam grew fast that first year becoming long and lean with perfect markings. His ears were solid brown and on top of his head was a perfectly placed roundish brown dot. The rest of him was white with scattered brown flecks. Dad said he was the perfect picture of an English Pointer.

As he filled out his second year it became obvious he was a remarkable dog. Perfectly proportioned with a deep chest he would eventually weigh sixty five, large for his breed. A picture of sleekness and power he could really run. He would bolt from the station wagon and be half a mile in the woods before dad and I even started walking.

Sam would be flushing quail a mile away while we trudged through the woods trying to keep up. After about an hour and a half we would go back to the station wagon and Sam about thirty five minutes later. Hunting with other people, Sam rarely stopped while their dogs would come in for water several times. He just had incredible stamina.

One time dad was so frustrated we took off in the station wagon with me on the tailgate. Sam caught up with us as we were going forty five and stayed at that speed for several minutes until dad stopped and he jumped in the back and gulped down some water.

When he was around three Sam began staying closer so we were able to find coveys and bag some quail. However he would suddenly spring off in a different direction leaving behind single birds. It wasn’t until he was six and had slowed down some that he would take the time to hunt out single birds. That was when he started to become a really good bird dog.

Sam had what was called a hard mouth and we were never able to change him. Retrieving birds he tore into the flesh sometimes making them almost inedible. When we cleaned them Sam chomped down like an alligator on whatever entrail dad tossed at him. Then sometimes he would lay on his back showing his throat. Dad would rub it reminiscing on how handlers at Silver Springs rubbed the gators under neck to put them to sleep.

Free from the chicken wire pen, Sam slept in the yard or sometimes dad left open a door on the station wagon on really cold nights. He was free to wander as he pleased and stories began circulating about dog fights with him sometimes taking on two or three. After being away two or three days he would return partially bloody and with the reputation of being a dog to avoid. I saw this when rigid, growling down deep, he stood off two German Shepherds who turned and trotted away.

Fiercely territorial nothing came on our property he didn’t know about. Testing this I clanged the metal mailbox on the front porch and in seconds Sam appeared rigid snarling. He was chained when visitors came and got loose one time lunging at my sister’s boyfriend. We used to laugh that she married my brother in law because he was the only one Sam liked.

He also patrolled our neighborhood, trotting around our block like a King inspecting his serfdom, enjoying other dog’s food and sometimes producing offspring. If he were human he would have been the classic bad boy roaring by on a Harley getting into trouble but tolerated because he  somehow protected the neighborhood. I wonder if that was the case with Sam.

Sometimes he would walk with me to school and in the afternoon wait for me at the top of the hill. Somehow he felt more human than dog. On Saturdays he would follow me around town and walk with me and my sister to get groceries. I wonder how many times he protected me when I walked home from Boy Scouts in the dark.

Away from our home it was amazing how well he interacted with people. I really think he thought he was human. Sam walked down the sidewalk past stores among people and even stopped on the corner waiting on the light. Then he would cross with everyone else. Passing through town in our car I actually saw this happen. He was just walking around town like all the other humans.

Dad would often take us around town and I’d hold Sam as he went into the lumber supply store. Then we’d ride around town in the old 58 wagon with the windows down with Sam sticking his open mouth in the wind. People would smile or wave as we drove past. The only problem is sometimes I had to sit in the back seat. At times it felt like a sibling rivalry.

Adding to his bad boy image Sam also broke the law and received a citation. School buses came by our house everyday and Sam loved to chase them. He would run past them on Alta Vista then down the hill through the speed zone by the Primary school. One day he registered at 37 m.p.h. on the speed zone marker and was given a citation by the City police which stated he had to be on a chain while the buses ran. A columnist in the local paper wrote a funny article about the incident including a picture of Sam. He was a town celebrity.

Sam gradually began slowing down and by age 8 he was no longer hunting. I was at college then and every time I called home I always asked about him and how he was doing. Heartworms were beginning to affect him and also his legs were beginning to give out. Every time I went home he seemed to be worse. At family gatherings how Sam was doing was always brought up.

I moved back home and saw first hand the decline ….how he struggled to stand and often wheezed at the slightest movement. He was no longer the dog that could run forever or the alpha dog patrolling the neighborhood. Like seeing Mickey Mantle running like a gazelle to struggling to run on aged and damaged knees it was at times painful to watch. 

No longer the energetic puppy full of life chasing butterflies he was now a tired old dog waiting to die. I had spent all my growing up years from nine to twenty one with him and it was hard to let go. Mercifully he closed his eyes for the last time when he was twelve and we had a neighborhood funeral for him. 

Mr. Hardwick was there and Mr. Bates and I believe Mr. Foster was there from just down the street. Dad wrapped him in a plastic sheet with a note telling all about him then lowered him in the ground. Someone said a prayer then we reminisced about Sam when he was sleek and  powerful and could run forever. A fitting end to an amazing dog and my loyal companion.

 

  

The Tangerine Hotel

 

 

The Tangerine Hotel was built in Brooksville, Florida in 1925 according to my sources. It was built in the Spanish Mission style of that period consisting of three sections. The middle was rectangular with three floors then jutting out from the ends toward Howell avenue were squarish sections two floors high with three windows on both floors facing the street. The bottom middle windows were canopied and all the sections were trimmed along the sides of the flat roofs by rust colored terra cotta tiles.

 

From the front to the street was a covered walkway with a flat roof also trimmed with reddish tiles and held up by two rows of large square stucco columns. Close to the street a rectangular sign on two narrow steel rods jutted up above the roof of the walkway. The background was a dark blue and in white letters it said Tangerine Hotel. Depending on the picture the hotel was either a white to light tangerine stucco or light brick with an adobe like texture.

 

An image from around 1931 seems to indicate an unscreened veranda spanning the front of the rectangular middle section. It is partially secluded by two columns of light adobe like brick and the front covered walkway. The front entrance was reached after crossing through the veranda.

 

Going in the front door you would first see the wide staircase as you stood in the lobby where wicker chairs were arranged for people to talk and floor lamps allowed them to read. To your left was the check in counter with a bell on the counter and overhead three evenly spaced lights spanned the lobby. Large for Brooksville it looked more average and functional than luxurious.

 

It was being planned and financed probably in “23” and “24” when the Florida land boom was at its height.  Rapidly rising real estate prices and easy credit could make someone a real quick profit. South Florida and Orlando were booming and it was spreading to other parts of central Florida. That may have been why the hotel was so large for Brooksville with a population less than 2,500 during this time.

 

Also, people had more money during the twenties to travel and the central gulf coast region had a lot to attract them. Anyone who wanted to travel down to Tampa or further south to Ft. Myers by highway had to go through Brooksville and the Tangerine Hotel was sitting next to Howell Avenue which started North of town as an offshoot of State road 5 (currently U. S. highway 41).

 

After making its way about a mile Howell Avenue started a gradual ascent up a long hill going past the Tangerine Hotel on the right and reaching the summit where on the left sits the brick courthouse in the middle of Brooksville then Howell intersected with State Road 5. Going left took you North to Georgia while right took you to Tampa and eventually to Ft. Myers. It was an ideal location for a hotel.

 

State road 5 started as State Road 2 at the Georgia border just south of Valdosta then became State road 5 west of Gainesville continuing south through Brooksville and Tampa ending at Ft. Myers. It was classified first class the entire route which probably meant it was paved. People from Georgia and nearby states could drive down into Florida however it would have been a long trip considering Model T’s might have reached top speeds of 40.

 

State Road 15 that went along the Gulf Coast originated at the Georgia border but it was mainly third-class with lots of detours onto other roads including State Road 5. After New Port Richey it was first-class all the way to St. Petersburg. People would probably have stayed on State Road 5 and driven through Brooksville. Also, a spur line of the Atlantic Coast Line railroad ran to Brooksville. The A.C.L. had connections all throughout the Northeast including New York City.

 

So, what would it have been like to stay at the Tangerine Hotel in the twenties?

 

This was the time before air conditioning in the South so Fall and Winter were the best times to visit Florida. The weather was generally mild with crisp dry days and colder nights with very few days when temperatures dropped in the thirties. Like other larger buildings of that time it was probably heated by large boilers that piped heat into waist high, silver accordion radiators in the rooms. This would have kept residents comfortable.

 

Spring could be nice but unpredictable and Summers were brutal especially in August with temperatures often in the mid-nineties with lots of humidity. Mornings and late afternoon would have been cooler but it would have been at least in the nineties other times of the day with high humidity. Thunderstorms especially at night would have had a nice cooling effect with strong winds and guests would have kept their windows open as long as possible. Also, at night cooler winds sometimes blew off the Gulf creating fog while giving relief from the stagnant heat.

 

In their rooms, guests would sit in front of a fan near an open window and on especially hot days or nights they might have placed a large block of ice in front of the fan to give an extra cooling effect. Buying a window fan might have made sense for those staying longer to visit with family and grand kids out of school. Also taking a cool lingering bath with water up to your armpits would have been refreshing while listening to music on the radio.

 

The veranda and covered walkway would have been a popular spot any time of year. In summer guests would have enjoyed sitting and sipping tall glasses of ice tea while playing cards or checkers or maybe just listening to the radio. As twilight descended maybe they talked into the night as lightning bugs flickered around the flowering plants hanging from the walkway. On many of those sweltering nights some may have slept out there on cots under mosquito nets.

 

In the Fall and Winter, they may have sat under the veranda enjoying the cool, dry air and maybe a Christmas or Homecoming parade. Possibly they had breakfast and enjoying a steaming cup of coffee leaned back in their chair eyeing the royal palms and the huge twisting oak trees along Howell avenue. Perhaps a group sat out there cheering every home run and strike as they listened to the World Series. Sometimes they may have taken their chairs and sat in the yard enjoying the warm soothing sun.

 

Spring would have been especially nice with azaleas blooming pink and dogwood trees clothed in white all over Brooksville. A walk down one of the nearby brick streets canopied by centuries old twisting oak branches would have been a nice way to observe all the different colors.

 

Those less energetic could have sipped ice tea under the walkway looking across the street at nineteenth century homes with first and second floor screened porches. In front of the houses was multi-colored flowering foliage and maybe a tall, skinny century palm tree and it’s shorter, stouter cousin the royal palm.

 

Baseball was big during this time and many towns had their own baseball teams in addition to the local high school. They may have had informal Sunday afternoon games at the high school ball park between the older townies and the high schoolers. Residents at the Hotel could have easily walked or rode to one of these games where enterprising locals might be selling peanuts and coca cola.

 

Also, hotel residents could walk the short block to town and maybe have a hot dog sandwich (two grilled hot dogs split length wise laying flat on two pieces of bread) and a cherry coke at Bacon’s Drugstore while sitting on round chrome stools in front of the soda fountain. They may have gone to one of the café’s around the courthouse and overheard conversations about a trial taking place across the street.

 

Crossing the street, they might have engaged someone in a conversation about sports or local fishing stories while standing under the massive oak tree in front of the courthouse. At night you could go see a silent film at the Dixie theater slightly down the hill from the square then walk back to the hotel in the moonlight.

 

Beautiful scenery and interesting places were within short driving distance. State road 34, designated first class, ran southeast out of Brooksville through the heart of Florida’s central ridge country. Chugging up a steep hill in a Model T you could smell the sweet, white orange blossoms and reaching the top you could see orange groves stretching off into the distance. Reaching the tiny town of Spring Lake, you could go cane pole fishing or have a picnic under an oak tree. You could do all this and be back to the hotel by night fall.

 

Aripeka and Bayport, tiny fishing villages on the Gulf, were within driving distance. Aripeka, about 15 miles Southwest of Brooksville could be reached by taking State Road 15 which also continued on to St. Petersburg. The 1926 state map did not show any roads going to Bayport but it’s very probable there was a county road.

 

The road was probably graded limestone then after crossing State Road 15 it probably became sand entering the coastal lowlands with sandy flat land, marshes and lots of palmetto and palm trees. It might have taken almost a day to reach Bayport depending on road conditions and prudent travelers would have brought along a shovel and some boards in case they got stuck as well as food, water and a gun. There was always the possibility they might have to sleep in their car overnight.

 

Coming out of the marshland a few weathered gray, clapboard houses on concrete blocks might have appeared. Their roofs might have been orange from the rusting tin. Then a general store with metal signs in front advertising R.C. Cola, camel cigarettes and Wonder Bread might have stood along the narrow sandy road. The Bayport Hotel might have appeared with a broad front porch and people rocking. A short distance down the road several Model T’s may have been parked by a wooden dock where a pelican and some sea gulls perched on the pilings.

 

There was a bait store nearby where you could rent a small boat and possibly find a guide to take you out further in a larger boat. Local people might have been standing around swapping stories about old hernando county and you might have stopped to listen and ask about the fishing as you drank a bottle of coca cola.

 

Tourists would have gotten rooms at the Hotel described by a visitor as a very satisfactory place to stay with fine food which probably included a lot of fresh fish. They might have gone back the next day or stayed a few days to fish and go out on the Gulf. Also, they might have swam in the warm salty water and sun bathed.

 

The tourists could have joined other people on the dock fishing…ladies in large sun hats and men wearing skippers and long white shirts with dark gray pants held up by suspenders. Other people may have been getting into small wooden boats with primitive motors to troll along the coast for mackerel, sea trout and other fish. A larger boat with a guide may have been by the dock to take people further out in the Gulf for bigger fish.

 

After getting back to Brooksville a train ride to Tampa might have been something to do.

The walk to the train station would have been very enjoyable. After passing through town you would have walked down South Brooksville Avenue. The street is red brick and goes about three blocks down about a twenty-degree grade.

 

Huge old oak trees with moss hanging from massive twisting limbs created a canopy down the length of the road creating nice shade as you walked on the sidewalk past large two-story frame houses fronted with large columns and large porches. At the bottom of the hill you took a right then a little ways down the street on the left was the train station.

 

Two different trains took you to Tampa. You could take a feeder line out of Brooksville about ten miles due east to a little town called Croom. There you caught a train on the main line of the Atlantic Coast Line which took you into Tampa from the Northeast. It was a longer route which would have taken you through Dade City, Zephyrhills and Plant City. Also, an offshoot of that track took you to St. Petersburg where Babe Ruth and the Yankees had spring training.

 

The other train to Tampa was the Seaboard Air Line. It was a shorter route of about forty- five miles. Leaving in the morning you could return that evening. After buying your round trip ticket in the station for between sixty and seventy cents you could perhaps buy a coca cola and peanuts. Then you could wait on a bench under the covered platform for your train.

 

You would arrive in the Northeast side of Tampa at Union Station which was right next to Nebraska Avenue. Photographs from that time show lots of street trolleys and cars so it would have been easy to get around the city. Perhaps someone wanted to do some shopping and eat somewhere nice like the Columbia restaurant. There were also theaters showing silent movies or maybe someone just wanted to wander around seeing the sights. Then that afternoon they could have caught a train and been back to Brooksville by evening.

 

As their vacation was winding down maybe they wanted to go over to Bayport one last time and see the sunset over the shimmering Gulf waters or just have one more hot dog sandwich at Bacon’s Drugstore and talk to some new friends. Then that night maybe they listened to some radio shows while taking a nice refreshing bath. After that perhaps they decided to sleep outside on the veranda one last time watching lightning bugs as they drifted off to sleep.

 

Maybe there were two grandparents from Valdosta who had driven down to spend part of the summer with grand kids. Getting up early they may have walked to the courthouse square and had a large breakfast and coffee at one of the cafes. Then after hugs and kisses the grandkids and parents waved as the Model T chugged out onto Howell Avenue headed North to State Road 5 and home. They would probably get home sometime late that night.

 

Then there were the many people just passing through and just stayed one night at the Tangerine Hotel. Maybe they sat out on the veranda a short while smoking to relax before going to bed. The next day they drove past the courthouse then took a right on State road 5 to Tampa and their ultimate destination Ft. Myers where they had plans to stay several weeks in a cottage by the Gulf.

 

There might have been a man who worked for an investment bank out of New York City. He had been staying at the Tangerine Hotel some while exploring the Gulf Coast for possible investment opportunities. He spent his last night listening to his Yankees beat the Pirates at Yankee stadium then got up early had breakfast at Bacon’s Drugstore then in the dark walked the three blocks to the train station.

 

He sat for a little while as the sun came up and the first rays of light shone on the platform. A smile came to his face as he remembered shaking Babe Ruth’s hand and the Babe autographing his baseball. He had watched the other Yankee greats as they scrimmaged in St. Petersburg. A train whistle startled him out of his daydream and a few minutes later he boarded the train. About two days later he arrived in New York City.

 

After getting back home, they all talked about their time in Florida and perhaps they remembered the Tangerine Hotel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Favorite car memories

During my growing up years in the late 50’s and 60’s cars had a lot of different body shapes and sizes. They ranged from the extravagant style of the ’59 Oldsmobile 98, which looked something like a rocket, to the simple, utilitarian style of the 60’s and 70’s Volkswagen Beetles.

Lights came in all kinds of shapes, sizes and arrangements. There were single round headlights like on the early 60’s Falcons and Mustangs and double headlights as on the ’58 Chevy and ’65 Thunderbird. Pontiac liked to place headlights vertically in a row of two as in the early 60’s Bonneville and the late 60’s classic GTO. Chrysler experimented with double headlights arrange diagonally. Headlights and body shapes were so distinctive I could name the make and model as cars drove by us.

Tail lights were elliptical shaped in the 1959 Chevy and two large, gently pointed red globes in the ’57 classic Thunderbird. On the larger Cadillacs of the early sixties smaller round red lights on the ends of enormous rear tail fins looked like the rear lights of a large jet airliner. The rear lights on the tail fin of the enormous Oldsmobile 98 when lit up red looked like the tail exhaust of a rocket. Then there were cars like the 60 Chevy station wagon that had three smaller tail lights on each side of the rear. The 65’ Thunderbird had rear turn signals that lit up sequentially.

Cars came in a variety of colors then there were different two-tone arrangements like blue and white. Then you had the chrome bumpers and on the really big cars they had posts that jutted out and were placed symmetrically on both sides of the front. The bumpers contoured nicely next to the car body accentuating its shape. Large white sidewall tires really added to the beauty especially on the larger luxury cars like the Lincoln Continental.

To me the older cars were like works of art. I remember afternoons as a boy sitting on our front steps admiring the workmanship and beauty of my parent’s two cars. Now that I’m older I cherish the memories that come back when I think of some of those cars. These were some of my favorite cars.

1959 Oldsmobile 98

With a 394 cubic inch Rocket V8 engine this Oldsmobile was 4 cubic inches larger than Cadillac that year. It’s Hydra Matic transmission set a standard in the industry and created a quote silky smooth ride. I remember it felt like you were riding on air even going over railroad tracks. As a side note the transmission fluid was part whale oil.

A factory brochure says the following: “This sleek new beauty makes a complete break with the past, setting the pace for a new styling cycle. It’s lean, clean lines are the essence of Oldsmobile’s “linear look” for ’59. It goes on to say this about the rear fins: “The gracefully sculptured twin booms, accented by thin blades, sweep along the entire body to give the car a look of fleetness even while standing still.”

I just know that as a nine-year-old kid the car looked massive. It seemed like on trips we were taking our whole living room with us. Those soft white vinyl seats seemed as large as couches and the fold down arm rest in the back seat served nicely as a table when playing cards with my sister. It had air conditioning which only someone who grew up without can really appreciate and the front hood seemed to stretch all the way into the next county which made it really great to sit on when at the Drive In watching a movie.

It was the first car we had with electric windows with a panel of switches on the driver’s door controlling all the windows. Having long arms, I could reach over and control my sister’s window. It was fun catching her arm or hair in the window or opening it suddenly and seeing her hair flying in all directions. It was the look on her face that I enjoyed the most.  

Everything about the car embodied the American Dream. It was about feeling financially secure and prosperous. The car shouted out we have arrived and doing quite well. The massive size, sleek design and luxury spoke proudly of American Exceptionalism; number one in car production and a free market land of dreamers and doers that were going to win the space race against the U.S.S.R. It was an incredible car.

’58 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon

With a six-cylinder, 136 horsepower 235.5 cubic inch engine it could reach a top speed of 91 m.p.h. and got about fifteen miles to the gallon.  It was more of a practical family car / work wagon. The guy who works for the city maintenance department who has a son studying engineering at the University of Florida owns this wagon. It says I’m upwardly mobile but I have to do without a luxury car with air conditioning and I have to crank my windows instead of pushing a button.

I remember vacations in August when I was thinking of the Motel swimming pool two hours into the trip. All you could do was crank down the windows and open the passenger side air vent. Basically, all you were doing was allowing hot air to blast into the car………kind of like a sauna on wheels. Praying for rain all you could do was sweat until you stopped at a nice cool restaurant for lunch. If it did rain, little silver awnings over the windows helped keep water from getting into the car.

This is the car I really enjoyed with its unique shapes and lines and how they all came together. Thin blades swept back from the center of the single front headlights gradually flattening out before reaching the side of the windshield. The body paint was kind of an olive-green shade that seemed to subtlety change with the light. Then on the front sides just behind the headlights was a row of small silver rectangular ornaments resembling exhaust ports of souped up engines.

Along both back sides flowed this turned down kind of fin that roughly resembled love handles and culminated at the back by bulging slightly outward as it went down and inward. The single round red tail lights looked similar to a human eye with the bulge at the back kind of looking like eye brows. Some people called them tear drop lights which is a good description. I thought they were really unusual and interesting looking.

My main memories were riding with my dad with the windows down in the summer as we went to the hardware store to pick up supplies for some new home project he was starting. Another memory was stuffing my face with double chocolate fudge cookies as we rode up to a Florida Gator football game.

‘60 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon

This was a bigger built Wagon than the ’58 having a more powerful V8 engine but I didn’t find the body design nearly as interesting as the ’58. However, it did have an air conditioner installed by a previous owner. Rounded and rectangular it hung like a window unit under the dash pointed at the middle of the front seat. It put out cool, dry air and that’s all that mattered.

One of the great things about those old station wagons was the pop-up seat in the rear cargo area that allowed kids to be in their own world as the road stretched out behind them. We could cut up doing farting sounds with our armpits, make faces at people in cars behind us and get an occasional trucker to blow his horn. It was kid heaven. Meanwhile the parents could have adult conversations about mortgages and getting rid of crab grass while listening to whatever they wanted to on the radio which usually was a choice between two or three stations and static.

Two things come to mind when I see a ‘60 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon. The first thing is my dad smoking a cigar as we drove around town. I can close my eyes and smell the smoke and somehow, I find that reassuring. The other is the hole we had in the back-seat floor. I can’t remember if it was the ’58 or the ’60 but I know we were able to see the pavement below.

Someone in a moment of stupidity thought of poking curtain rods through the hole to drag on the flying pavement. I don’t know what we got out of that except to see the sparks fly. Also, I hate to say the hole served as a convenient way to get rid of trash. If my parents only knew what we were doing in the back seat.

’65 Ford Thunderbird

My dad kept a mid-60’s Thunderbird for someone for about a week when I was about ten. I remember it had the bulkier, more muscular body of that period. It had double front headlights and the distinctive rear with a row of three red round lights on each side that lit up sequentially on the ’65 model when making a turn. Under the hood it had a 390 cubic inch four-barrel carburetor V8 engine and in the rear dual exhaust.  This car could really fly. In fact, my dad maxed it out a few times.

This Thunderbird was called pastel yellow with a black interior and had white side wall tires. After riding around some with my dad we stopped at a place like an A&W Drive-In and while we sat waiting for our food I remember looking around at the car.

The black bucket seats were luxurious. Shiny and smelling of leather they were very comfortable as you seemed to sink in them as they wrapped around. The dashboard looked like shiny cedar wood and on the driver’s side it wrapped around you like the cockpit of a fighter jet.

Then when he started it up it had the most amazing sound. It was a low rumbling sound as the car gently shook while at the same time it somehow reminded you of the deep purring of a big cat like a tiger. Pressing on the accelerator it seemed to rumble inside you. I’ve never heard another car sound that way.

‘60’s and ‘70’s Volkswagen Beetles

The 65’ V. W. Beetle had a 4 cylinder 40 horse power engine with a top speed of 78 miles per hour with a stiff wind at your back going down a hill. In other words, they were just plain slow including the 70’s Beetles. However, they were very

economical getting around thirty miles to the gallon which was great for a college student surviving on macaroni and cheese and an occasional care package from home.

My dad bought my sister a red V. W. Beetle which was about a ’65 model. She was going to the University of Florida eating a lot of Ramen noodles and needed cheap reliable transportation to get around school and also for when she came home for Christmas and occasionally on weekends.

I really looked forward to her visits when she talked about college life and sometimes got to drive her car. Her boyfriend had installed an eight-track tape player with an impressive wrap around speaker sound system. Listening to Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl for the first time in that car was an amazing experience as I felt the soft bass and heard every note and word of that song.

Driving around with friends listening to the music I felt like I was different. Somehow, I felt a part of the larger world outside of my small town with the music in some mystical way connecting to the energy and ideas happening in Gainesville and the rest of the world. Being in that car I was more enlightened and special setting me apart from other teenagers. We had these important discussions about life and politics while the rest were running around following everyone else being mindless teenagers.

The body style which kind of resembles a turtle shell is itself a metaphor for this time. We had gone through all the changes of the sixties and Vietnam leaving at least some of us disoriented. Getting into a V.W. was symbolically like returning to the womb or going into your own shell where you could escape for a while. Everything we had been taught to believe was being questioned and it was nice to have time to figure out things and find meaning.

The simplicity of its design spoke of protecting mother earth, simple living in harmony with nature and to some of communes and a counter culture. It was the baby boomer’s rebellion against what some thought was the dehumanization of society by excessive materialism. To some it was the beginning of the drift into socialism and the V.W. Beetle was a statement against the Ugly American capitalism exhibited in the ’59 Oldsmobile 98. It was the ultimate Hippie car.

I also think about those relatively care free days when I was in my late teens. Being young the world had so many more possibilities; I was at the beginning of my life and good things were just around the corner like meeting that special girl and living happily ever after. I also remember the terrible anxiety I felt the night before I went away to college.

That red V.W. also brings back other images. I think of Carole King singing I feel the earth move under my feet and girls in mini skits walking down high school hallways or riding around Gainesville one night talking about life with my sister. I think of my first semester at college lying in my dorm room listening to James Taylor sing You’ve got a Friend and trying to deal with loneliness and all the changes. You feel life so much more at that age.

Ten years later in my late twenties I had a V.W. when I lived in Orlando. It was lime green, had a black sun roof that slid back and had a large dent in the driver’s door. I was working as a lifeguard/swim instructor at a local Y.M.C.A. and living in a boarding house. I had to really watch my money and the V.W. was very economical.

I could fill up the tank for eight dollars and it would last me for at least a month. Whenever I started getting passed by ten speed bikes, I knew it was time for a tune up which I could do myself for around fifteen dollars. Also, I was able to replace the generator myself with the help of a Chilton book on V.W.’s which I was very proud of and the very day I finished the job I almost ran over the hedge around the I.H.O.P. on Colonial Avenue. I popped the clutch in first gear and with the added power of the generator I did a wheelie.

The sun roof was great. Going down one of the brick streets hearing the low humming of the tires you could feel the soothing light filtering through the massive oak limbs above the road. It was also fun when the passenger stood up in the opening and felt the wind in their face. On dates the moon shone down while you were talking or you could go to the private airport and watch planes flying over………. It was very romantic.

Other things I associate with that car are talking late into the night with friends then waking in the early afternoon with the sun on your face. Also, great walks down brick streets in the waning afternoon light feeling really peaceful as I looked at the old homes and the light sparkling on the lakes. Then there was the health food store that had really great bread made completely from scratch with whole grain. It was a meal in itself and with Deaf Smith peanut butter it was sumptuous. Many other memories come back.

I remember talking to a good friend of mine about emotional memories. They are the feelings you get from the rose-tinted afterglow of an autumn sunset, or a certain smell or song that comes on the radio. I think cars are like that. They are more than just steel screwed together they are a part of the times of our lives.

What do you think?