From Jezebel to Phoenix

I cannot remember when I first fell in love with driving.  It was not love at first drive.  Momma taught me to drive in a 1950 Plymouth Deluxe.  It was a flathead six cylinder with three-speed on the column manual transmission.  I can still remember hopping out of the drive on to the highway.  I had had practice driving our Farmall Cub in the field and it was much easier than the Plymouth.  For instance, when changing gears on the tractor it stopped and the cutch was different, as was the shift.  The Plymouth was still moving and going from first to second on the column, known as “three on a tree,” took more coordination than the tractor.  Pushing the clutch, shifting up, and releasing were complicated for a twelve-year-old.  Yes, I was twelve and momma was hollering because I was trying to go into reverse rather than in second.  I was puzzled how reverse and second were in the same place.  There were not on the tractor.

Dad gave me the old Plymouth when I was fourteen.  He had junked it as his work car.  He said that if I wanted a car, I could fix up the Plymouth.  I did.  I bought several old junk Plymouths, back when for five to ten dollars, for spare parts including engines, transmissions, mirrors, door handles, rims, and tires.  Most of the time people gave away the cars to get them out of their yards.  I remember visiting trash piles in hope of recovering a good used fifteen-inch tire.  Way things are inflating, no pun intended, I may have return to the garbage dumps to find tires.

I spent the whole summer working to earn money to get a new paint job on the Plymouth.  By this time, I had named her Jezebel, because she was so unfaithful and ornery.  I went to the parts store, that’s what we call ‘em up home, and bought the paint and a neighbor, who was learning to paint cars, did the body and fender repair and painted it crystal blue in honor of Tommy James and the Shondells’ hit song Crystal Blue Persuasion.

The next summer I spent my earnings from picking and loading watermelons, cantaloupes, and hauling and throwing hay for blue rolled and pleated interior and carpet.  I had me a hot rod.  It would run eighty miles an hour downhill.  You can only imagine how rough and safe a ride I had with tires from junkers that were not balanced.  I know that the tubes had multiple patches, which threw the tires more out of balance.

I started driving the Plymouth to football practice before I had a driver’s license.  It was a step better than all the walking, which I had done from the seventh grade until I started driving.  The sheriff told daddy that it was okay, but be very careful.  After I got my license, I drove carelessly.  To this day, my brother-in-law tells folks that God must have had a plan for me later in life because there is no way that I should have lived with all the reckless driving I did.

I guess that is why I am writing this article.  I did a lot of reckless driving and lived to tell it.  I was returning to Linden from Demopolis on US Highway 43.  I was running the speed limit with the cruise control, which undoubtedly was too slow for folks headed south.  Two cars behind me this lady thinks she is at Talladega Raceway because she is drafting the car behind me and makes her move to pass.  I never saw the checkered flag.  I did see the yellow line, which means no passing, it quickly becomes two yellow lines as she gets beside me, and there is a car headed north and directly toward her.  I have to slow for her to return to the proper lane.

The car behind me says if she can, I can.  He starts around me on a hill, two yellow lines, and a truck flying to Demopolis directly in his path.  Once again, I slow to prevent a wreck.  They had better be glad I was not in my hot rod Plymouth.  I would have been very slow for them.

I do not think people realize the risk they are taking behind the wheel.  I have been hit by a teenage boy in flying Trans Am, passing three cars, with two yellow lines on the road, and on a hill.  I am glad my brother-in-law was a prophet.  Had God been through with me I would have been killed.  I have some ailments today because of that wreck thirty-two years ago.  It is unsettling when people pass when there is no room for passing.  Many lives have been altered and many killed by idiotic drivers who drive recklessly.  All of us need to slow down, drive safely, and be considerate.

When I was hot rodding, folks would quote the Bible and call me Jehu.  I know some that called me a Yahoo.  Both would be true.  I saw two Yahoos on Hwy 43.

. . . And the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously (II Kings 9:20b KJV).

Tongue and cheek humor: I always felt that I was doing good owning Hondas, the choice of Jesus and the early disciples and that God drove a Plymouth Fury and owned a Pontiac Tempest and Geo Storm.  See what you think.  Check out John 12:49, Acts 2:1, Jeremiah 32:37, Ezekiel 13:13, and Psalm 83:15 in the King James Version.

 

In 2012, I started rebuilding the 1950 Plymouth.  My daughter had the volunteer fire department pull the Plymouth from the basement of our burning home before the remains of the house fell on it.

The old Plymouth now has a dependable 5.7 Hemi, a Mustang rear end, automatic transmission, four-wheel disc brakes, power windows, air-condition, synthetic leather bucket seats, Porsche Meteor Grey paint, modern stereo system, and chrome rims with store bought tires.  Since her transformation from the fire Jezebel is now named Phoenix.