One night when I was a teenager Larry Holcomb came by my our
home to show me a car he had just bought from Bobby McEntyre. It was a black Chevy, 1955 I think. The motor rumbled in deep breaths instead of
purring.
We drove it out to Varner’s Drive-In for him to show our
friends his new purchase. I remember one
friend wanted to shine a flashlight around the back seat, looking for Bobby’s “peter
tracks”.
After spending an hour or so at Varner’s we got back into
Larry’s Chevvy for him to take me back home.
My family and I lived on Richard Street, which ran into the
4-Lane across from the present parking lot of White Water Park. We were going down the hill, with the Richard
Street turn off at the bottom of the hill when the car motor stopped
running. The car settled to a stop at
the bottom of the hill. We got out and
tried to push it off the road, but it would not move. It was on level ground, either frontward or
backwards we would be pushing it uphill, which was impossible for two
teenagers.
Then we heard the engine and groans of a big truck coming
downhill, directly towards us. We ran
over to the side of the road.
Then I brilliantly remembered that if I put the brake pedal
on the red taillights would light up and the truck driver would see it and
pull into the other lane
I ran over and jumped into the Chevvy about to save the
day.
Larry screamed at me, telling me to come back.
The trucks headlights' light completely filled the inside of the
car with light.
I stepped on the brake pedal.
The truck made a loud screeching sound, but whizzed by me.
I told myself I was a fool.
Larry told me I was a fool too, but thanked me anyway.
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