No. I never owned one of those marvels of Henry Ford’s engineering, but I sure wish I had when I was in high school over at Stonewall. The next best thing happened when Lefty Wilson drove his “A Model” to school one day. And as luck would have it, he invited some of us, his classmates, on a ride that noon hour. We had to play our cards close to our vests since the Superintendent, D. D. Duke ran a taut ship over there but when Lefty proposed an illicit ride in the nearby country that long ago noon hour, he had plenty of volunteers.

It seemed that about a third of the class of ’52 managed to find a place in the little A-Model as it moved out and went west toward Frisco. And I know I thought, what old D. D. didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or us. Lefty was not only proud of his Model A, but he was also pretty sure none of us knew just how good a driver he was as he hit the gas down the sandy road. We all knew if we were late getting back or if Mr. Duke would know we were off the school ground during this noon hour and we would all suffer his punishment—mightily. Woe would be upon us all. As we sped down the narrow sandy roads between Owl Creek and Wooley Booger, Lefty’s speed (and ours) mounted.

I was seated up front and I could see that the car’s gas tank was just in front of the windshield—which was cranked out for ventilation. The gas tank’s filler had a dirty rag stuffed in it as its cap was missing. Not that it served any useful function. The old Model A car was a dependable product of Detroit. You could turn it upside down, get some men together and set it back upright and drive it home. It might be scuffed up a little, but it would still work. You could drive it off. I say this because old Lefty made a hard turn to the right and the old A-Model dug its narrow tires in the sand which contributed to what happened next. The Model A turned over in the ditch landing almost on its top. Our ride was over. But our troubles were just beginning.

Lots of screaming took place before we got the door open and were able to start getting out. Meanwhile I was mashed tight against the dashboard. Lots of scrambling and confusion ensued as we all tried to get out at the same time. Sometime during that melee, I felt gasoline splashing on my face and had a mental picture of all of us going up in flames. There were lighted cigarettes aboard. My life flashed before my eyes and my fear of D. D. Duke vanished, replaced by the threat of my imminent immolation and the sudden demise of a good percent of the Stonewall class of ’52.

After much shouting, pushing and confusion we all got out and eventually righted Lefty’s Ford. No fire, just a lot of bruises and busted lips and kidding and laughter as we all worked to right the car. Fear and caution ruled the day as most of the passengers chose to ride back to school on the running boards and fenders. Not inside. Lefty was glad his car was still good but as he bravely drove up into the schoolyard, we found D. D. Duke standing there. He was waiting on us.

I guess he supposed we (the boys) had kidnapped these pretty girls for as soon as we had all gotten smeared up with Merthiolate and Iodine he sent them on their way. Not so us skinned up boys. We were all lined up and got some licks from old D. D. with his well-known paddle. Never mind that we felt we were too old for such childish punishment. Lefty, of course had to go home and explain to his dad how his Model A got so skinned up, but that was his problem. All of us left school that day with few regrets. Just glad to be alive and what the heck—we had a new story.

Hope you have a good weekend and that you go to church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gmail.com