I need a place to write about things that just "pop" into my thoughts so I'm creating "Fleeting Moments" and from time to time will add stories that do just "pop" into my thoughts.
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The cars available when I was a young boy were some of the neatest. Like many people of the time dad drove used cars as did his father, they may have been used and a little old but they were sound and fit the needs of the family.
Automobiles of the 1940's and early 1950's generally had few amenities, there was no air conditioning, GPS, cruise control or sunroof. Few even had automatic transmissions or power steering but one thing many of the older ones had were "running boards".
Running boards were an integral part of the main body connecting the front fender to the rear fender and wide enough to make a step for easy entrance to the vehicle, they had been a part of the car since the invention of the automobile. We kids (mostly boys) found a different use for them, considered dangerous by today's standards, we kids would take every opportunity to jump on the running boards and grab on to the window frame and ride the length of the driveway or across a field.
It wasn't a long distance ride but for young boys it was a thrill, our mothers and grandmothers constantly berated us about the danger of falling off and being run over but it was one of those things they knew was going to happen regardless of the danger or their concerns. Sadly, the running board disappeared from cars sometime during the late 1940's, they are another thing that my kids and kids of today will never know about, one of the shortcomings of their youth.
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I had my first job when I turned 13, I went to work in the grocery store where dad was the butcher. I worked weekends and summers until I went into the Navy at age 18.
One of the things that comes to mind is that dad seldom filled his gas tank. We lived about ten or twelve miles from work and yet dad would pull into a gas station and tell the attendant to put in a $1 worth of gas. Gas at that time was about 20 to 25 cents per gallon or less. The average car could be filled up for $4 to $5 compared to today's prices it cost me $75 to fill the truck last week.
Dad only putting a few gallons of gas in car at a time got me in trouble once. I was maybe 15 and had planned to go fishing with a friend. Dad had a wooden John boat chained to a tree in the nearby creek and I got his permission to use the car to carry the 12 horsepower boat motor to the creek some three hundred yards from the house. After getting the motor and gas tank to the boat I decided to drive to my friend's house, a few miles away, and bring him back to the boat. I might have been alright if I had taken the direct route but instead, I went the long way around. The gas gauge indicated there was a quarter tank of gas in the car but only dad knew that the gauge was broken. I ran out of gas and had to have my friends dad take me home and take dad back to the car. Needless to say dad was not happy, not only did I not get to go fishing but I had put that boat motor on my shoulder to get it back to the house ( that thing must have weighed fifty pounds).
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At a family get together with Kay's family today, her brother, two cousins and I were swapping war stories about life, it's a guy thing that goes on whenever two or more men over the age of 50 get together. Kay's brother Doug and cousin Joe are retired from the Georgia State Patrol so all of us related our experiences with law enforcement. I have to admit that, since obtaining my drivers license at the age of 16, I have had more than my share of run ins with law enforcement. My right foot has cost me a lot of money over the years.
My first duty in the Navy was as a duty driver, I drove naval officers from lowly Ensigns to three Star Admirals where ever they wanted to go while visiting the base in Florida. I also drove several US Senators and Congressmen and the Commandant of the Marine Corp.
One day I was returning to the base from the airport in Orlando, I was driving a 1965 Ford Custom with a V-8 engine. The road was four lane divided highway in an unpopulated area. So, there I was driving along when a Florida State Trooper pulled up next to me, spoke into his radio then he put his pedal to the floor, within seconds he was a mile ahead of me.
I can't explain why but I decided to follow him to find out where he was going in such a hurry so I sped up keeping him in sight. My speedometer went past 100 mph when the road went down to two lanes and turned into a Cypress grove. The other side of the grove opened up on a small bridge that crossed the St. Johns River, which was maybe 75 feet across at that point, and there was the trooper making a u-turn in the parking of a small store. I won't say the words that came out of my mouth as I started braking and down shifting trying to get down to the speed limit, I don't know how fast I was going when I passed the trooper but it must have been slow enough that he didn't come after me, as I looked in the rearview mirror he was headed back towards Orlando.
I don't remember getting my first speeding ticket until I was out of the Navy and then I started a nice collection of them, so many in fact that I had to pay risk insurance for about four years. I did a lot of driving for work and most of my tickets were in company vehicles, I even got two tickets in two different states on the same day some four hundred miles apart.
It has been many years now since I was stopped for speeding although I do continue to push the envelope just not as far as I once did but now days it seems speed limit signs are just a suggestion. It's as if it is not considered speeding unless you're doing twenty mph over the limit and I'm getting to old for those speeds.
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When Grandpa Riggan died, I was 13 and he was 79. He had retired and sold the farm shortly before he died, up till that time he was used to rising before dawn, milking the cows by hand and feeding the other animals and having breakfast as the sun rose. After eating he would harness his two mules and walk them out to the field he would work that day then proceed to walk behind a plow for the rest of the day often arriving back at the barn around sunset.
You would think that a man who had lived such a hard life would be worn out at his age and maybe he was old and tired. He did look old, his skin had wrinkles, he moved a little slower and had grey hair in his beard but the hair on his head was black as coal and it was thick.
I remember my mother saying, after the funeral, that he looked very natural as he lay in his casket but there was one thing that was out of place. Grandpa had what I call nice wavy hair, there was a curl or wave that normally hung down on his forehead but the person who prepped him for burial perfectly combed his hair. The one curl looked so out of place that mom wanted to flick it so it would lay on his forehead as usual but she didn't because it might upset someone.
I always thought I got my hair from him, if you could see pictures of us you might think so also but the one difference. As I aged grandpa Wade's hair started showing up, he was in his mid 40's when I was born and already grey. Grey hair started showing up on me by my mid thirties, I'm not as light as grandpa Wade but I'm all grey now and that curl / wave that grandpa Riggan had will show up if my hair gets too long.
It's funny how some people can look at you and see features of one family member or another and quite often they are right. I guess if I'm going to look like one of my ancestors I couldn't pick a better ancestor than grandpa Riggan. I loved that man, knowing what I know now I would like to be able to spend some more time with.
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I spent a lot of time on the farm with granny and grandpa Riggan. From before I can remember till about 11, I spent my summers with them. Not to say they had a favorite grandchild but none of the others were allowed to spend the night, of course it may have been that my cousin's parents didn't want them staying over, it wasn't the Waldorf but I loved it.
Grandpa was 66 when I was born, he had worked hard all of his life and continued to work for another 10 or 12 years when he sold the place. By the time I came along, he had slowed down some, he never got in a hurry with anything he did, I never saw him get excited about anything, he never raised his voice. All his movements were slow and deliberate, this held true with everything he did.
When I was maybe five years old, grandpa decided to take a trip to Carthage to see Aunt Rose and my cousin Charlie, so granny, grandpa and I loaded up in the car and headed out to Carthage. This was in the early 1950's, before interstates or four lane highways of any kind. The road was curvy, hilly and two lane. Once we got out of La Guardo the road was even paved.
So, there I was sitting between them in the front seat, no seat belt, airbags or any or safety features. I don't remember the car very well but I can be pretty confident that it was a late 1930's vintage. It was stick shift with a pedal on the floor that had to be pushed to start the car.
The standard speed limit back then was usually 55 - 60 mph but grandpa paid little attention to the limit, he seldom went that fast. I remember at one point wondering if we were ever going to get to Charlie's house. I looked up to granny and asked if this was as fast as the car would go. She laughed then yelled at grandpa (he was very hard of hearing) "Howard, the boy wants to know if you can go any faster". Without looking at either of us, grandpa pressed down on the gas pedal, the car sped up to the speed limit for about a quarter mile then he eases off the gas and slows back down. Surprisingly we made it to Carthage and after a short visit we made it back to La Guardo.
Life in general was much slower than today, people were more laid back. Most farmers were in no more of a hurry than grandpa, the crops grew at their own pace and they cows always came home every night. We had everything we needed, what we didn't have we probably didn't need anyway. I miss those days.
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When I was discharged from the Navy, Linda and I went to Tennessee to live. Not long after returning home, Linda took a job with a bank in Nashville, I don't even know the name anymore because it has since changed hands and names a few times. She worked in the Trust department where she issued monthly checks to recipients of various trust accounts. Some of the recipients she dealt with were quite comical and apparently out of touch with the real world everyone else had to live in.
There were these two sisters, what we then called "old maids". Their father had left them a sizable amount of money that the bank invested for them and paid out a monthly stipend as prescribed by the wishes of those who set up the account.
The account called for a specific amount of money be deposited into their checking accounts each month. There was a problem in that the amount of money didn't evenly divide between the two sisters - there was an odd penny. Now, you wouldn't think that one penny would amount to a hill of beans to someone who was being given money that they had never earned but it did.
Linda became aware of the importance of this penny when she paid it to the wrong sister and that sister called the head of the trust department and raised a ruckus. Seems somebody forgot to tell Linda that sister "A" was to get the penny one month ad sister "B" was to get it the next. Linda had to make a note to remind her of who got the odd penny the previous month. Personally, I don't think the penny was the odd thing about these two sisters.
Another recipient was the widow of a very rich man in Nashville, he owned a new car dealership among other things and lived in the swankiest part of the city. When the husband passed away, the dealership went to the son and mom got a trust account that paid all of her bills (utilities, food, clothing, ect.) and gave her a handsome amount to frivolously spend on whatever she wanted.
One day she came into the bank and told the head of the department that she couldn't live off what she was getting and needed an increase. Consider that I have already told you that the bank already paid her bills, her monthly check from the trust amounted to somewhere around $8000.00 per month, this was in the early 1970's. Linda and I together made about $14,000 a year.
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I'm 76 now, at this age, my life is a collection of fleeting memories that haunt me in moments of melancholy. Fear of the unknown and hope for the future battle each other. Sleepless nights find me rethinking the "what ifs" and "should haves" of the past while wondering about the "maybes" of tomorrow.
It can be difficult to get old, age has stolen the firm muscles, taunt skin and clear eyes of my youth. I want to do so much more with life but wonder if I will have time to fit it all in, I'm lucky that I still have good mobility but it doesn't keep me from wondering how much longer it will be with me.
I have things that get me up and get me going, I can sit and do nothing at times but even then I'm thinking about things I need or want to do. The getting up and going comes with an increased effort accompanied by the creaking, moaning , popping and groaning sounds of age but I refuse to let them keep me down. My doctor says that I have reached the age where I am akin to an old 1955 Chevy, with a lot of the miles on me, some of my parts are wearing out and may have to be replaced or repaired.
Well, I don't know how much longer I will be around or how much longer I can even get around but I will push myself to get the most of every day though I may have to take a few more breaks. I refuse to let age get me down.
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Granny and grandpa Riggan had siblings and seem to remember meeting some of them "once" when I was maybe seven years old. I don't remember them talking about their families or the times of their youth, it was like they were born old and there was no youth to talk about. Grandpa never really talked much about anything, he was 66 when I was born and his hearing was already going downhill and got worse over the years.
Granny and grandpa Wade also had siblings who I met several times through the years, they each stood out from the others due to some memory I have of them. The Wades had a couple of reunions that were held at Shelby park along the Cumberland River in Nashville. Outside all of the people and food the biggest memory of the reunions was that Grandpa's sisters were as overweight as he was, when they sat in chairs with straight legs they would sink down into the earth by several inches and they usually needed help to stand up.
Granny Wade had a sister, named Sahara, who would come down from Kentucky on several occasions. Aunt Sahara was a petite woman like granny, I doubt either of then weighed more than 110 pounds or stood more than 5' 2".She and her husband Tommy ran a grocery store, they had two daughters, Madeline Ruth and Tommie Navare, their daughter Madeline Ruth is about three months younger than me which makes us the oldest of the grandkids.
Grandpa Wade had several sisters and at one time or another I met them all. Aunt May was living with them when they came down from Missouri to take me and Madeline Ruth back home with them. Aunt May taught me how to play Rummy as I recovered from a bout with Chickenpox.
Another sister lived in the Woodbine section of Nashville, I can't remember her name but do remember that she had a daughter. Mom took us to visit her once and the daughter took me to a movie to see Elvis Presley's movie Jailhouse Rock, I didn't care for the movie.
Then there was Aunt Cathrine, she and her husband Henry lived near granny and grandpa Wade in Gallatin, Tn. so I saw them often. I was recently reminded of them by my cousins David and Tim who remember going to see Aunt Catherine and Uncle Henry, they remember that their house always smelled of boiled cabbage which is a very distinguished aroma. I remember them for other reason.
Uncle Henry was always a happy person and he always had a story to tell, The one I remember the most was about a duck hunting trip he went on somewhere up north. He was dressed up in chest waders and taken out in a boat. when the boat reached a certain point he was told to get out. He was left to stand in water up to his chest, whenever a duck would fly over he would shoot at it and watch it fall into the water, later the guide would come back to pick him up and collect his birds. he said the water was cold and there was only one way to go to the bathroom.
Aunt Catherine was severely overweight. At one point she needed an operation for gallstones, normally this was a 45 minute operation that turned into a couple of hours, the doctors said that every time he would cut into and remove enough fat to get his hand in her more fat would cave in around his hand causing him to have to cutout more fat. The operation left a large depression in her side and I remember her showing us how she could stick her hand in it.
