Eileen Cichello

My first experience with a car was when I took Driver's Ed as a high school senior. At the time, I wrote a humor column for the school newspaper. Of course, Driver's Ed. provided great material and I promptly used it, referring to the car we drove as the "Blue Monster" and myself as doing stupid things that drove the teacher crazy. Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies! The teacher, as it turned out, had no sense of humor. The temperature in the car plummeted. "Miss O'Toole, you're driving too slow...too fast... you're not paying attention...you just backed into ...."and so on. It was like I was living out the column I had written. I had the singular honor of failing Driver's Ed, probably the only student in the history of the school (the country?) to do so. "YOU FAILED DRIVER'S ED.?" my kids asked in disbelief.

The next encounter came when I graduated from college in 1957. I had a job and I needed a car. I also needed to be able to drive one. My father manfully took on the task. Suffice it to say, I got my driver's license. I also heard my father, a temperate man, swear for the first time in my presence. Actually, several times.

Now officially employed in my first job as a school nurse teacher in Clyde, New York, I went car hunting. Roger Eidman had a car dealership in Clyde. I walked in one fine day and said, "I want to buy a car. I don't have much money." He showed me a cheap car and told me how much it would cost.

"O.K." I said. "I'll take it."

"Don't you want to drive it first?" he asked, a strange look on his face. (Bet that one went the round of his customers and friends.)

Anyway, I drove it and I bought it.

This car had a peculiar feature. Maybe it was trained by its former owner. You'd be driving along and it would come to a dead stop. Always in front of this bar on one of Clyde's side streets. I'd call the local garage and they'd get it started. This happened several times before I trotted back to Eidman's and said, " I want another car. My reputation is on the line here!" This time, I remembered to ask to drive it first, before making the exchange.

In 1959, I met my future husband Sam at an adult ed. class at Le Moyne College. We started dating. Sam, at the time, was driving a Carmen Ghia, a sporty little red number. It surely didn't hurt his chances! He also had a workhorse of a station wagon. Hmm, a man with two cars! That also didn't hurt! Little did I know!

I sold my car to pay for my wedding reception.

We married and drove away in the station wagon, leaving behind the Carmen Ghia, plastered with shaving cream and sundry other items, mostly the handiwork of my twenty-one year old brother Brian, who really got into the spirit of it. Sam left a note saying Brian could use the Carmen Ghia until we got back from our honeymoon. I don't think Brian has ever forgiven Sam for that.

The Carmen Ghia lasted just a few years. I remember trips to my parents with Mary, the baby, stashed in a portable crib on the tiny back seat , all available space bulging with sundry baby items and Hans, the puppy, desperately scrabbling for leg room. It made for a pretty crowded trip. With the arrival of our second child, Teresa, we bid farewell to the Carmen Ghia.

Sam and I have been married thirty-seven years. We had seven kids. I can't tell you how many cars we've had. They all blend in together and were usually station wagons. We bought only one new one. Sam subscribes to the theory that cars are just comfortably broken in at 60,000 miles.

The one car we bought new lasted for many years. We still had it when the campaign for using seat belts took off. I immediately wanted them installed in the wagon. Sam resisted. Did he foresee what was going to happen? I finally guilted him into agreeing and drove to a service station to have them installed.

"Lady, there's not enough floor left in this heap...pardon...I mean car, to attach anything to, let alone seat belts."

The next new (used) wagon had seat belts.

To Be Continued.......

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