Life Along the Way---The Station Wagon

Before the SUV, there was the station wagon. We had a few growing up and probably our work horse over the years was the ’61 Blue Ford Galaxie. It pulled a ski boat, took us cross country in our gypsy Army life several times, and provided years of deep personal pondering and imagination from the back seat.

Our wagon had no air conditioning, so the windows were down constantly in the warm months. I spent a lot of time developing an aerodynamic hand, flying my little mitt up and down with the 60 mph wind created by that mighty 135 HP 3 speed manual transmission.

I suppose I have always been an observer. I like to look at things, hear things, feel things, think about things. I can remember watching the low sun at evening skipping through the tall loblollies as we rode along, creating dancing sunbeams as we chugged down some two-lane U.S. Highway. Sticking my head out the window like a dog was another favorite. Opening one's mouth in different shapes caused a variety of sounds that the tropical storm force wind produced. Bugs were an occasional risk that came along with this activity. I loved staring at the moon because at that ‘just right’ angle, it looked like it was traveling along with us. And there was always plenty of room for family activities in that Battlestar Galactica too.

My brother (18 months older than me) and I were always incurring the wrath of my dad’s signet ring, as he was the best backhanding Captain in the U. S. Army. I sometimes wondered if one of the medals on his uniform was a Bronze Backhander. He could drive with his left, smack us with his right, and never lose a mile per hour. I have never flown a helicopter, but from what I gather, there is a certain 'zen' to flying as the hands, the feet and the mind have to be in perfect harmony. I am thinking that is why he was a backhanding master. At times, I would climb in the ‘way back’ to get away from Jeff and Captian Backhand.
The backseat became even more animated with the introduction of our little whoops, I mean sister, LeeAnn. She came along about 7 years after me…she was truly the baby in the family. By the time LeeAnn became college age, my folks were simply worn out. I really think Pop became the softie that he is now by that time. He can still jab you though. He told our son Stephen recently, 'Looks like your dad got lost on the way to the Weight Watchers meeting'.

I have written about my fond memories of Ft. Rucker during my youth. We lived there during my 5th and 6th grade years and my 9th through 12th grade years. I have a tendency to think of my past

in grades instead of years and it was my 5th grade year (1967) that Little LeeAnn created a family incident that remains a solid thread that runs through our lives to this day.

Ft Rucker was like a kid factory. They were everywhere. We were still in the baby boom years; our homes were actually called ‘quarters’ and were crammed together like the hippies at Woodstock. Now, one of the greatest kid tricks (and NO parent knew---right?) was the invisible rope trick. One kid on the sidewalk on one side, another kid on the sidewalk on the other side and they would yell, “ONE, TWO THREE…PULL!!!” as a car approached. In perfect synergy, the two hooligans would mimic a rope being stretched across the road and I suppose we all thought it was going to make the driver hit the brakes. What we didn’t take into account is that a large percentage of drivers on Ft. Rucker were also pilots and had a great understanding of physics and kinetic energy and they wouldn’t have stopped even if there was a real rope.

The whole fam was out for a Saturday drive when we encountered a couple of imps ready to pull this ruse on us. Of course there was no such thing as seat belts or car seats for young children back then, so the standard operating procedure for our trips consisted of Pop driving, Mom at shotgun, Jeff and I manning each open window in the back seat, and 3 year old LeeAnn STANDING between us. (Hey, what can I say, it was the 60’s.)

We heard the “ONE, TWO, THREE, PULL!” quite clearly, Pop obviously never broke stride, and we breezed on by. Now Jeff and I were well versed in the invisible rope trick, but this must have been something entirely new to LeeAnn. Standing like Little Miss Ft.Rucker, she inquired to the rest of her subjects, “WELL, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT’…DID YOU SEE THAT KID!??”

It was one of those moments frozen in time…well, for a few seconds anyway. My brother and I looked at each other, put a hand up to our mouths both to feign horror and cover our furtive grins. We then looked immediately to the front seat for Captain Backhand to knock her into the 'way back'.

Lucky for LeeAnn, it never came, because she would have been a primo target standing right in the middle. She did, however, get her mouth washed out with soap when we got home and spent the rest of the afternoon spitting on the sidewalk. My brother and I would

have never uttered that word, at least in 1967, but we did find it odd that LeeAnn would get such a punishment, being 3 years old and living in an Army family where expletives were as common as the sound of a pop top on a Falstaff. But remember, it was the 60’s.

Speaking of the 60’s, my brother is going to be 60 years old this year and we still celebrate this story as the appropriate occasion arises. We may all be at the beach and see some crazy drunk carrying on a bunch of nonsense. One of us is going to say, ‘Well shit, shit, shit, did you see that kid?’ Of course if we are in public, we might just say, ‘Well, hmm, hmm, hmm.’ But we all know what it means.

That’s all for now. The next LeeAnn story may be about the number of times we caused milk to pour out her nose at the dinner table. Or maybe not.