Friday, May 06, 2005
IN MEMORIAM – LITTLE RED (a.k.a. "O’ GROWLER")
 

Little Red is dead.

She came into our lives several years ago. Even before we officially made her a part of our family, she was our faithful Escort on many weekend outings. More than once, she drove us up north to the hippie-ranch where Jay and I first met. And we took her on winding coastal drives, down many a Sonoma wine-country road, and through wooded, twisting mountain trails high in the Sierras on nearly every occasion we had to get out of the City.

About a year ago, we noticed she was getting tired. Her treads were wearing thin, and she would sometimes cough and wheeze when we were climbing a hill. It became apparent that she didn’t like backing up, and about the time her transmission started slipping, she lost her muffler. She’s been O’ Growler ever since. We didn’t get a new muffler for her, because we didn’t think she was going to be with us much longer. But she surprised us.

And so, for the past year she’s growled on every trip we’ve taken, drawing stares from pedestrians, sometimes provoking laughter and even annoyed curses. But she kept going – she just did it very loudly. And nothing else changed. She always started right up the instant I turned her key. Every time we checked her oil, it was as full and clear as the day it was changed. We bought her for $500, and in the years we had her, she required roughly $100 total for repairs (new brakes and new spark plugs). She was a good car - the most dependable, trouble-free car I've ever owned. And the loudest, until last Tuesday night, when she fell silent.

It was laundry night. It had been laundry night for two weeks. But there was no more avoiding it. We made two trips each out to our Little Red Growler, loaded her down, and drove to our regular laundry-haunt. We did seventeen loads of laundry (a triple-loader, a quadruple-loader, and two quintuple-loaders - full) and didn’t even get it all folded before we needed to vacate the premises. “You guys have been folding a long time,” said one patron at a folding table next to ours. (“Don’t touch my towels!” I screamed at her…)

So we loaded our seventeen loads of downy-scented clothing back into our trusty Escort, and headed for home. We were famished, since we’d had no time for dinner and it was now nearing 11 O’Clock, so we made a stop at Kentucky Fried Taco for some take-away. After getting our food, we got back into the car and drove her home. Of course, at 11p.m. there were no parking spaces, so I double parked right in front and we hauled two-trips of laundry and fried-tacoey-goodness back up to the apartment. Then, I ran back out to find a place to park.

I turned her key, and she growled to life like she always did. But this time, it was only to take her last breath, for then she died. I smelled a funny smell, and when I turned her key again, there was no starting her. She had had enough, and she was finished. A spot had opened up on the alley, so Jay and I pushed her into it, so oddly silent now. I noticed the sound of the pavement grinding under her well-worn treads.

I’m surprised by the things that pop into my head sometimes. As we backed her into the parking space, I thought of my grandpa. When he died, I wrote of him, “My grandpa was a loud man.” And now I thought, “but he wasn’t as loud as my car.” It made me chuckle, but I felt a little ashamed for a moment that I was comparing the death of my grandpa to the death of my car. Then it dawned on me that Little Red had always made me think of my grandpa.

My grandpa drove a little red car too. His was a Pontiac station wagon, but it was nearly the same shade of red as our little Escort. Little Red’s windshield had a leaky seal that let the rain in, keeping the passenger-side floor either damp or wet for most of the winter. On sunny days especially, we were always greeted with a robust, organic aroma every time we opened her doors. Once, there was even a little green clover growing up out of the carpet. Until we bought the Air Spencer, our smelly car always reminded me of Grandpa. Grandpa’s car stank.

He made his own catfish bait that was a stew of fermenting cheese, sour milk, and who-knows-what. We’d drive out to the river together with a bucket of that stuff in the back, and I insisted we leave the back window open the whole way. I preferred the risk of asphyxiation to that horrible stench. And still, I held my head out the side-window as we sped down the highway, hardly able to wait ‘til we were parked beneath the sparkling cottonwoods to get a breath of fresh air.

Once she became O’ Growler, I thought of Grandpa even more often. “We’re trolling!” I’d say to Jay as we rumbled down the street, thinking of how Grandpa and I would pull our fishing lines behind us in the little motor-boat.

Nearly every time I drove her, I thought of him. And when we took her camping, I’d think of both Grammy and Grandpa while taking in the scenery from the driver’s seat, remembering all the camping trips and Sunday drives I enjoyed with them. These are just about the most special memories I have. I was their first grandkid, and for a number of reasons, I spent a lot more time with my Grammy and Grandpa than most kids. Every child should be so lucky.

We're getting our next car from Jay's grandma. It's a 1987 Olds Delta 88. I hope it will bring Jay as many fond memories as Little Red did me.



So, Little Red, thank you. Thank you for being such a good car. Thank you for bringing us home with all that laundry. Thank you for all the years, all the miles, and all the memories – especially the memories of my grandpa. For those, I am very grateful.

 
So far, this post has made 3 people think of something to say. COMMENT.

Comments:
Thank you for sharing your memories of Little Red. Your appreciation of such a trusted friend moved me deeply. May your sense of loss be tempered by the joy of the time you did have with her, of the memories that will live in your heart forever.
 
Thanks for bringing back fond (and stinky) memories of Grandpa Barney and his Pontiac. I never knew the the secret ingredients to his bait.
 
I need to add that Little Red was extra amazing as she was purchased at auction and thus had a mysterious past. Noone wanted Little Red, as they thought she might have "frame damage". Personally, I think she was traded in for a sexier model, after laboring up and down the freeway for 60 thousand miles. Well, she certainly showed them!
 
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