Happy Mother’s Day | Momma’s Cars

Happy Mother’s Day to all Moms everywhere!  I hope you all have a day filled with love, family and happiness.  And, in honor of Mother’s Day and moms, I’d like to feature some of the rides of moms I have known…  

The first car I remember, my Momma’s car, was a turquoise and white 1959 Ford Galaxie.  It was a police interceptor my father bought from one of the firemen he worked with, and was as big as a yacht.  It had an automatic transmission back when automatic transmissions were the exception rather than the rule.  Years later my father told me it had a 352 V8 that, being an interceptor, was not your everyday off the line 352.  He said he got it up to 120 mph once and it got there pretty quick.  I can assure you my mother was not in the car.  If Daddy got over 60 mph, she would start having heart palpitations, flailing her arms, stomping on the imaginary brake with her right foot, screaming and, on some rare occasions, cursing.  She was from Dallas, Texas and at least once a year we would drive out there.  I don’t know if you’ve ever driven from Atlanta to Dallas at 60 mph, but it’s not a trip, it’s a career.  I think I actually went through puberty on one trip.  It wasn’t until I was an adult and drove her home after my grandmother’s funeral that I fully understood what my father went through on those trips.  All I will say is that he was a stronger man than I.

One day when I was about eighteen or nineteen, I picked my mother up from work, which was close to our house. We were sitting at the red light at Highway 42 and Rex Road in my black ’69 Mach 1.  When the light turned green, something came over me.  I stomped the gas and dumped the clutch.  The car sat still for a couple of seconds boiling the tires, then took off down the road burning rubber with an ear piercing scream.  Momma was beating me on the arm and hollering at me to “SLOW THIS DAMN THING DOWN!!!!,” which for her was very strong language.  I hit second gear and the tires barked again, the four barrel carb growling and the glass packs roaring.  About a mile down the road I slowed down and we rode home in silence.  I think she was in shock and unable to speak.  When we got home she got out of the car, slammed the door and stomped unsteadily into the house in a huff.  About a half an hour later, she came into my room.  She had regained her composure and could now talk.  She told me she wasn’t going to tell my Daddy, but hoped I didn’t drive like that anymore because I could get a ticket, lose my license and Mr. Jones would have to cancel my insurance.  I apologized, gave her a hug, and assured her that I would never drive like that again with her in the car.     

My grandmother on my mother’s side learned to drive at eighty years old in a 1967 Rambler American after my grandfather passed away.  My grandmother on my father’s side, Mema, did not drive.  But, my Pepa drove a blue ’57 Bel Air.  Mema always rode in the back and let me ride shotgun.  I loved my Mema and I still do, and not just because she let me ride shotgun.  Looking back, she probably let me ride up front because behind the wheel of a car, Pepa would scare the hell out of the devil himself.  

My Aunt Louise drove a pink and white Buick Special, a car I would love to have today, then graduated to a gold Chevy station wagon.  About five years before she died, she walked into Heritage Cadillac and paid cash for a brand new CTS.  My Aunt Barbara in Dallas had a Chevy station wagon in the Sixties before graduating to a Cadillac as well.  Aunt Lottie drove a Buick Riviera in the Seventies and let me drive it on a date when I was seventeen.  I felt like a king and made sure we rode through McDonald’s and Dairy Queen so everyone could see us.

A lot of my friends mom’s drove cool cars and awesome cruising vessels as well.  Tommy McMillan’s mom had a beautiful dark blue ’66 Mustang with a white vinyl top.  Pat Sconiers’ mom, Joyce, drove a dark green ’72 Mercury Marquis Brougham that was the size of a football field.  My boyhood friend Andy Shook’s mom had a blue ’65 Galaxie, preceded by a blue Falcon station wagon.  Mrs. Shook liked blue.  Jackie’s mom drove a Cadillac, as did Cissy Blalock’s mom.  There were a lot of Cadillacs around.  There were more, but four are enough for the blog…

Debbie Moore’s mom drove a white ’66 T-Bird, which Debbie inherited and drove as a teenager at WHS.  My Aunt Ann had a beautiful 1969 Chevy Caprice, which was the first car I remember seeing with power steering.  My buddy Chip Hunt’s mom had a silver 1970 Impala which we drove to prom, double dating our junior and senior years.  Those were the days before you rented a limo for prom.  In the Impala, we thought we were in a limo.  A lot of our friends doubled up for prom squeezed into Opels and VWs.

My lifelong friend Nan Ennis, Stacey and Dennis’s mom, drove a silver 1968 Dodge Dart Fastback.  It had a slant six engine in it that I don’t believe you could have torn up if you ran battery acid through it and attacked it with a sledge hammer.  She let us drive it all the time.  After the Dart she drove an endless succession of VWs that were bought and sold by her husband Tommie, including the family’s nineteen seventy something model blue and white bus.  For her birthday a few years back I gave Nan a 1/32 scale diecast VW model.  Afterwards, she sent me a card thanking me and added “that damn VW wouldn’t start again!”

None of my friends’ moms rode a motorcycle.  Times were different back then.  Moms didn’t ride motorcycles.  Not on the front, anyway.  A lot of moms drove pony cars and sports cars, though.  I have already mentioned Tommy McMillan’s mom’s Mustang.  Don, Bobby, Darrell and Wanda Campbell’s mom drove a yellow ’69 Camaro with a black vinyl top and a stick shift.  Jan Stowe’s mom, Dale, drove a ’66 Sunbeam Alpine which eventually became Jan’s.  But, the all time prize winner was Doug and Deborah Holmes’ mom, Barbara.  She drove a ’78 Silver Anniversary Edition Corvette.  Now, THAT’S a cool mom!  

Speaking of sporty cars, my friend Dennis Bryant’s dad bought an Army surplus Jeep back in the Sixties to take to the family farm in Greensboro, Georgia and use for deer hunting.  He painted it red.  The Jeep needed a new top, so he asked Mrs. Bryant to take the Jeep to the upholstery shop.  Mrs. Bryant, by the way, was a vivacious and gregarious German woman with a beautiful smile and a rich, wonderful accent.  She introduced me to wiener schnitzel and German potato salad at a very young age.  When she brought the Jeep home from the upholstery shop, it had a white vinyl top with red fringe all around.  I remember Mr. Bryant bringing it over to our house and saying, “Now, won’t I look like a dern dude riding this thing out to the woods to go hunting?”  I saw Dennis a few years back at a high school reunion, and we were laughing about the “surrey with the fringe on the top.”  He said the Jeep is still in use at the farm, minus the bling.  Army Jeeps were built to last.

To Our Moms, thank you for life, for raising us and for teaching us life’s lessons.  To the Mothers Of Our Children, thank you for our sons and for our daughters.  Thank you for loving us, for marrying us and for putting up with us.  To Our Grandmothers, thank you for your love, your kindness, your nurturing and your wisdom.  To the Mothers Of Our Grandchildren, thank you for giving us the precious gift and the joys of a third generation.  Happy Mother’s Day to all Moms everywhere!  We love you all, and today is your day.  Enjoy… Still Cruisin’!  – J.