Some Cars
I have several pages of this list from grad school... somewhere... nevertheless
Mom's Red Vega. My sister was passenger when some guy slammed into her car at a four way stop at the corner of Decatur and Monroe (near where a friend and I mistakenly placed a "Daly for City Council" bumper sticker on a stop sign. That was not easy to remove.). Mom's knee went through the dashboard, and she had a big Y-shaped scar. I think that might be the knee that just got replaced.
Mom's Illinois Power car. It was purchased from IPC; all their company cars were dark green. I skidded out of control in some sleet, steered to the skid, and ended up with a choice: house or tree. I chose tree. I'm bleeding, the accident having wrecked my chin. I knock on the house door, ring the bell. Nothing. I walk several blocks in the freezing rain to Perkins Cake n' Steak on Pershing Road. The hostess is really nice, and somehow I get change for the payphone to call Dad, and wipe up some of the blood. Since I couldn't really speak at this point, I think she might have called. I distinctly remember writing a number out for her. Decatur Memorial ER stitches up my chin, and by this time DPD is there in the ER. I don't remember if I got a ticket or not. I think I did. Leaving the scene. The car is moved to the parking lot on the same road where my Mom had a shop. Friends of the family salvage the car for us: perfectly driveable, just a foot shorter than it had been. The plastic surgeon removed the stitches next day, with the comment, yeah, you never put stitches in a young girl's face if you don't have to do it. Years later, I have two of my bottom front teeth finally replaced.
Mom's big fancy car, white with a blue interior: Thunderbird. It is my third birthday. Everything is set up on Friel Court, and Mom and I go to the bakery to pick up my cake. I am wearing a red plaid dress, and have a rockin' updo. A tri-delt backs into us as we are entering the park. The handle flies off of the passenger side (mine). I remember sitting on the floor, and after Mom has called everyone -- including her friends (toddlers can't wait birthday parties -- someone ran to A&P to get a sheet cake, I'm sure) -- the police and the girls coax me out. [this might be a repeat post; my memory is failing a bit]
My parents bought the Austin-Healey Sprite in England, I think. It had a grille plaque from England. Since it was so tiny, they sold it when Mom was pregnant with my sister. She couldn't drive the car. Good family friends' daughter bought it, maybe not from my parents, but it is not as though there were many Austins around Central Illinois. I found it again, in the Classifieds, when I was 14. Dad and I went to visit it. Maybe there were some balance sheets involved, how I shouldn't spend any money on a car, especially one I couldn't drive.
Mom's Red Vega. My sister was passenger when some guy slammed into her car at a four way stop at the corner of Decatur and Monroe (near where a friend and I mistakenly placed a "Daly for City Council" bumper sticker on a stop sign. That was not easy to remove.). Mom's knee went through the dashboard, and she had a big Y-shaped scar. I think that might be the knee that just got replaced.
Mom's Illinois Power car. It was purchased from IPC; all their company cars were dark green. I skidded out of control in some sleet, steered to the skid, and ended up with a choice: house or tree. I chose tree. I'm bleeding, the accident having wrecked my chin. I knock on the house door, ring the bell. Nothing. I walk several blocks in the freezing rain to Perkins Cake n' Steak on Pershing Road. The hostess is really nice, and somehow I get change for the payphone to call Dad, and wipe up some of the blood. Since I couldn't really speak at this point, I think she might have called. I distinctly remember writing a number out for her. Decatur Memorial ER stitches up my chin, and by this time DPD is there in the ER. I don't remember if I got a ticket or not. I think I did. Leaving the scene. The car is moved to the parking lot on the same road where my Mom had a shop. Friends of the family salvage the car for us: perfectly driveable, just a foot shorter than it had been. The plastic surgeon removed the stitches next day, with the comment, yeah, you never put stitches in a young girl's face if you don't have to do it. Years later, I have two of my bottom front teeth finally replaced.
Mom's big fancy car, white with a blue interior: Thunderbird. It is my third birthday. Everything is set up on Friel Court, and Mom and I go to the bakery to pick up my cake. I am wearing a red plaid dress, and have a rockin' updo. A tri-delt backs into us as we are entering the park. The handle flies off of the passenger side (mine). I remember sitting on the floor, and after Mom has called everyone -- including her friends (toddlers can't wait birthday parties -- someone ran to A&P to get a sheet cake, I'm sure) -- the police and the girls coax me out. [this might be a repeat post; my memory is failing a bit]
My parents bought the Austin-Healey Sprite in England, I think. It had a grille plaque from England. Since it was so tiny, they sold it when Mom was pregnant with my sister. She couldn't drive the car. Good family friends' daughter bought it, maybe not from my parents, but it is not as though there were many Austins around Central Illinois. I found it again, in the Classifieds, when I was 14. Dad and I went to visit it. Maybe there were some balance sheets involved, how I shouldn't spend any money on a car, especially one I couldn't drive.
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