Diva Dreams

Dream cars scream Identity. In anticipation of my upcoming Sweet 16^th Birthday, my parents did not buy me a car, but they did one just as good.  They allowed me to dream with a car catalog and choose.  Yeah, choose.

Like going into Dinstuhl’s Candies in Memphis today and choosing both a Turtle and a chocolate-covered strawberry.

Favorite color:  Baby Blue.  Favorite style:  sporty, classy.  Favorite accessories: trendy.

Car language:  Light blue Oldsmobile Cutlass with white leather interior, bucket seats, automatic on the floor, radio with rear speakers, and two-door body style.  Daddy ordered it from Laney Motors in Camden and they found one just like I dreamed and it was available for me to drive to school in January. 

It was to be our family “sedan” and the worst decision Daddy ever made regarding a vehicle.

I loved that car.  I felt like a Diva, Movie Star, and Fashion Model rolled into one when I drove through town with enough savvy not to perform the royal wave. With the windows rolled down that spring while drinking Cherry Dr. Pepper and Vanilla Coke from the Cow Bell, my girlfriends and I paraded to rock ‘n roll classics, serenading the various neighborhoods and downtown avenues.  We were hot stuff.

Sometime in July, the family received an invitation from our well-to-do friends, The Phillips. John G. “Bud” Phillips said “come on down” and spend a week in New Orleans. The Future King of Mardi Gras and soon-to-be CEO of LLE (Louisiana Land and Exploration), he is a native of Camden, a classmate and honky-tonk buddy of Mother and Daddy. He had fled the snares of IPCo. It’s not a big deal, except that my Cutlass and I fit with the image of the rich and famous. I could hardly wait for the adventure to begin.

Thomas (my younger brother) and I folded ourselves into the back seat of our two-door sports car with Mother and Daddy in the front bucket seats. Parents in control of the radio, parents smoking like two chimneys with the windows rolled up and the AC blasting, off we went to New Orleans. When the radio lost its KAMD signal, Thomas and I prayed for a flux capacitor.

             What a trip that was! It was Bourbon Street by day and the Roosevelt Hotel’s Classic Blue Room at night, with a stage floor table to see my favorite trio: The Lettermen. They were so good-looking and sang such dreamy love songs. Too shy to take the microphone handed to me as they walked by our table, I shrank like a hot-house violet.

 We whizzed around New Orleans in Bud’s Thunderbird with the trademark doors opening from the center outward. Yep, in my dreams, I was something! I have people. I know folks. I’m riding in a T-Bird! I drive a Cutlass!

Soon it was time to motor home with more to pack for the return trip.  Thomas and I had packages under our feet; the trunk was full.  And we had to transport fresh shrimp across state lines, as was the tradition.  Dry ice in an ice chest would keep the fresh Gulf Shrimp safe and healthy.  The cooler had to go in the trunk. Since no luggage rack was on this vehicle, Daddy rigged up one.  Somehow.  Don’t ask.

He covered the luggage with a tarp and strapped it down.  On top of the trunk.  The sound of wind ripping through the tarp was deafening.  The tarp began to come apart and the luggage shook. Daddy could hardly keep his eyes on the road ahead for glancing in the rear-view mirror and the side mirrors to be sure we did not litter the highway. Stops along the side of the road to secure the tie-downs lengthened our journey. We looked like the Jed Clampets without the Rocking Chair. So much noise whipped around that Daddy did not hear the siren of the Louisiana State Highway Patrol car.

Daddy rarely cursed in the presence of women and children.  He broke with tradition.

I slunk down in the back seat and tried to be quiet. Thomas, on the other hand, gave commentary on all the events as they unfolded. He was especially impressed with being pulled over by a soon-to-be Boss Hog.

We returned to our driveway that Sunday night with our exhausted bodies, battered luggage, and iced shrimp. And a ticket, the coup de grace.

That was the last night the Cutlass spent in the carport at 980 Truman.  Daddy drove it to Laney Motors Monday morning and I never saw that car or the movie star life again.