The Old Car
Some time after our 16th birthdays, my stepbrother
David got his driver's license. I was too lost in this world to even
think about getting a license. My parents and David both knew it.
That was part of our wallpaper; something they saw everyday. I was
lost emotionally and everybody knew it. I was not capable of having
a license. I was smart enough to have one, but my confidence was
nil.
David or my dad found a car that we could afford
to buy, a cheap vehicle that was well kept. It was an older car that
was probably built in the 1940s. It was not fancy, but was plain
and simple transportation. I don't know when or where we got the
car. But, it was probably near our La Puente, California, home.
We lived at that time in a typical California
stucco tract house that was located at the southern edge of a large subdivision
in La Puente. Pink and tan walls surrounded most of our subdivision.
The subdivision was laid out in a maze of streets that did not allow you
to drive straight through to your home without going around the edges.
There was no fence behind our pink stucco house,
just a plowed field on which some kind of vegetable was planted.
This field was quite large. There was also an old farmhouse with
a tree-lined drive some distance away. I remember this farmhouse
faced Valley Boulevard. We knew at the time that taxes would force the
farmer to sell that was common knowledge in our environment. Off
to the west was the edge of our small valley, which was surrounded by low
hills. Cattle grazed the hills that were covered with wild, golden
brown wheat. We could see the hills and the cattle from our home.
Bobcats, deer, and other animals shared these hills with the cattle.
As teenagers, we were always adventurous and full of energy, and we enjoyed
climbing and exploring the areas surrounding our house.
We once told a friend of ours a huge fib, and
we thought it was very funny at the time. I remember this incident
where our friend was coming over for a visit while David and I offered
direction to our home. He was driving us home in his car; our mom had dropped
us off at his home in Temple City earlier in the day. There was a
nearby shopping center that had a huge "T" (probably 50 feet high) in front
of it. This "T" was the supermarket's logo. We had convinced
our friend that my father had built this huge "T" in our backyard.
(All our friends at that time knew my father from when we lived in Temple
City and Arcadia, knew that we were always working on major projects in
our yard.) So, we told our friend that my father had built this huge
"T" in our yard, and he apparently believed this little white lie.
At some point in time, as we were riding in our friend's car on Valley
Blvd., less than a quarter of a mile or so from the large T. It was
then that our friend spied the huge "T" and his eyes widened in disbelief.
He had apparently believed our story and thought the "T" was really in
our yard. David and I were proud of our little joke, and we laughed
at how funny we thought we were as we told our friend the truth.
I don't think he ever believed another word we ever told him.
When we first picked up our new, old car from
the owner, David drove it away with me riding shotgun in the passenger
seat. David was halfway through the subdivision and was nearing our
house. Cars were parked out in front of many of these homes.
Children were outside playing, and families everywhere were enjoying the
day. This was typical of the comfortable, leisurely lifestyle of
the late 1950s in California.
Ahead of us, cars were parked along the right
side of the street. As we drove slowly down the street, a small child
darted out from between two cars directly in front of us. I saw it
all in slow motion. One second the child was there, and the next
moment he was gone. David quickly applied the car's brakes.
When we finally stopped, David and I stepped
out of the car to see if the child was okay. Some women who had seen the
accident were already at the child's side. We were kept away. I remember
one woman screaming at David and calling him a murderer. I assumed it was
the child's mother. An ambulance and the police soon arrived at the
scene of the accident. The police proceeded to question us.
They also questioned those people who had witnessed the accident.
The child's mother cried hysterically and she called us murderers.
The police measured skid marks, secured the area, and took photos.
All we could do was wait and stand around in a state of shock. The
police determined that David was driving at about 20 to 25 miles per hour
at the time of the accident, which was well within the speed limit for
this neighborhood. We felt terrible when we realized that a child
had died because of us.
We felt that we could not keep the car nor could
we bear the thought of traveling down that street ever again. The
police deemed that this was an accident, but accidents do not give a child
his life back. David was not charged with anything, but our entire
family was hit hard emotionally because of this unfortunate event.
We were never the same.
We soon returned to school in La Puente.
But, because of my poor performance in school, I was forced at age 17 to
join the Navy. I never did get my driver's license until I was about
27 years old.
This photograph shows me wearing my uniform and
David in his dress suit. The photo was taken a year or two after I joined
the Navy or around the time David joined the Air Force. I am not
sure of the year. Following completion of his military service obligation,
David joined the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) where he was assigned
to ride a motorcycle on his patrol of the streets.
David and I shared many things during our passage
into adulthood, both good and bad. Unfortunately, we have been apart
since we went away to serve our time in the Navy and the Air Force -- not
because of the accident, but because that's what happens in life.
We physically grew up and went our separate ways, but emotionally we have
never been apart. We recently had a reunion after more than 30 years.
We all felt the years melting away and took up where we left off so many
years ago.
