When I was about fifteen events occurred that I remember to this day. Earth shattering events, heck no, but to me they were memorable. One of which happened whenever my aunt would come visit my mom. They would chat and catch up on family or local gossip.
Why do I mention this or why do I remember this? Well I was at the cusp of sixteen that age when a drivers license seemed the most important milesone I would ever reach. My aunt who drove a Studebaker for some reason I can't remember would allow me to take her car for a spin around the block while she drank her coffee and helped change my moms picture arrangements.
I don't know why she allowed me to do that, except she had two boys, my cousins, who were older than me so maybe she had been through the 'can I drive the car?' question so many times she never gave it a second thought when I asked her, 'can I drive the car?'.
I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Studebakers since then, so when I saw this poem I had to include it as a post.
Try a small black radio from any year
and listen to the voices you get, they were
much faster then, they raced ahead of us
and rushed the music; love was in a rocking chair,
the floor was crooked, the moon was already in
the sky, though it was daylight still; or love
was in a Studebaker, we were driving east
and we had no idea how long the corporation
would last, or if there was a corporation, how could we?
And did it have its headquarters in Delaware
for taxes and connections, though the doors
were heavy and solid, what was the year? '55?
The Lark appeared in 1958 or
'59—it was their last attempt,
though I remember the Wagoneer, it was 19-
66 and something called the Cruiser, we had
Nat King Cole on the radio though static
was bad in Pennsylvania, given the mountains,
and there was a lever you pushed to make a bed—
I hope I'm getting it right—the leaves on the windshield
were large and wet, the song was Unforgettable,
the tree was either a swamp maple or a sycamore.