Children and Fools

January 28, 2018

Funny, how long-forgotten memories can be jolted by a melody, an aroma, or some visual similarity. That happened to me this evening. What jogged mine is unimportant; and while the memory itself is pretty inconsequential, I thought I’d share it anyway.

Some twenty five or thirty years ago, I brought home for Linda a beautiful maroon ‘68 Mustang coupe. She had always wanted a Mustang, and the price was right for this one. Years before, I brought home for her to test drive, a different ‘68 Mustang—blue, with a high performance 289, four on the floor. She turned it down for a wimpy Camaro with a six cylinder automatic. There’s a whole story there, but I digress. It’s years later, and this maroon Mustang is sitting in our driveway, just waiting to be driven. It wasn’t high performance, was automatic instead of standard, but it did have a small block eight under the hood. The only problem was that the steering was a bit squirrelly. No matter how tightly I held the wheel, this wild pony wanted to wander all over the road. Truth be told, it wasn’t safe to drive, so I slowly drove it to my brother in law’s brother’s shop in Frewsburg. The old Mobil station still sits, empty now, at the five corners. Back then, it was most often a beehive of activity. Hobb knew his stuff, and I figured if anyone could decipher what was wrong with this car, he could.

He put it up on the lift, and in short order, diagnosed the issue as loose front wheel bearings. He tightened them up, lowered the lift and told me to take it for a test drive, which I did. I thought the bearings were now just a tad too tight, so I parked it at the curb and walked in to tell him. 

“Bring it back in here,” he said; and that’s when the trouble began. A woman in a big station wagon was filling up at the pump. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but it is a crucial piece of the story. I went out to start my Mustang, but to no avail. I turned the key and heard a ‘click, click, click.’ I knew exactly what was wrong: the battery I knew was OK, but the starter solenoid must have had a flat spot. 

Back then, the solenoid for Fords was mounted on the inside fender well of the engine compartment, right out in plain view. I suspect now that the reason for this was that the solenoids were junk, and often needed the fix I was about to apply. I got a screwdriver that I kept with me for just such occasions, lifted the hood, and jumped the terminals on the solenoid. 

The motor instantly roared to life, which made me happy. But at the same time, the transmission jumped out of ‘Park,’ which did not. If you can imagine the scene, I am standing at the side of the road, screwdriver in hand, watching my driverless car backing down the road, right into the path of the above-mentioned station wagon which had at that precise moment, left the pumps and headed to the street. Needless to say, it was a rather expensive wheel bearing adjustment.

So here I am, years later, smiling at this scene playing out in my head, thankful that no one was hurt, and that God does indeed, watch over children and fools.