the hearse
For some reason, yesteday I got to thinking about the hearse. Not hearses in general, but the 1953 Cadillac hearse my dad bought one summer. When I was 10 or 11, my mom went to help one of her girlfriends set up a new house and left my dad to be the primary caregiver of their three children. Granted, she hired two college girls home for the summer to provide supplemental care, and to make sure we were indeed fed, clothed and occasionally bathed. Still, day to day life depended on Dad to plan. Which was a first.
It was an eventful three weeks. Among the cherished memories of that time are my sister breaking her arm. (Whether she fell or was pushed from the tree house depends on who tells the story - but be assured I was not there at the time.) I remember that she got a bright yellow cast. It was the first broken bone any of us got, although not the last. I also remember the production of trying to wash her hair. My sister, although lovable even to this day, is the most stubborn person I have ever encountered. She hated getting her hair washed and so my mother tried a variety of methods, all of which usually resulted in holding her down and pouring water on her head while she screamed. The poor college girls tried the practical method of laying her across the kitchen counter with her head in the sink. Molly would start off cooperative, but would soon start to panic that water might touch her face. She would then start to both scream and wiggle, which provided another exciting facet to the story as she was lying on the kitchen counter. Eventually, the two helpers would hold her down, wash her hair, and my brother and I would sit on the front stoop with our hands over our ears until it all stopped.
But back to the hearse... whether it was a good deal, or simply a warning to my mother of the craziness that happened when she was gone, my dad one day came home towing a 1953 Cadillac hearse. It was on the purple side of burgundy, and had the coolest silver shadow hood ornament. Dad parked it square in the middle of the front yard and there it sat for quite some time. We children found it fascinating. It had an interesting smell, mildew and what we figured must be formaldehyde. Behind the front seats were metal signs, temporary grave markers with people's names typed on them. The gas tank opened by lifting up on of the taillights. It was a cool car. I'm sure mom was able to appreciate the beauty of it after seeing it in the yard upon her return.
The hearse never ran, but it was always a topic of conversation. Dad credited it with the decline in visits from missionaries and charities (although I always wondered if it was really because word spread after the time he answered the door naked). The summer after I graduated, I house sat for my parents while the rest of the family was away. Once or twice a small cultural gathering turned into a rather wild party. Pity the poor partygoer who made the mistake of passing out. The party prank of the season was to take the sleeping fellow and carry him, ever so gently, to the back of the hearse. He would awake several hours later, likely sickened from the musty smell, and a bit freaked out from his location. It was at that point that he would realize there are no door handles on the inside of a hearse. The passengers it was designed to carry weren't looking for a way out.
Eventually dad got rid of the hearse and now it lives on only in memory. Sometimes I wonder where it ended up. It would have been a great car for a high school student. You wouldn't have to worry about your child going parking, because if he/she climbed in back, they would need to call for assistance to get out. Imagine pulling up to prom and getting out of this thing - too cool.
If anyone out there is looking for a unique Christmas present, this would be my first choice. Folks are dying to get one.
It was an eventful three weeks. Among the cherished memories of that time are my sister breaking her arm. (Whether she fell or was pushed from the tree house depends on who tells the story - but be assured I was not there at the time.) I remember that she got a bright yellow cast. It was the first broken bone any of us got, although not the last. I also remember the production of trying to wash her hair. My sister, although lovable even to this day, is the most stubborn person I have ever encountered. She hated getting her hair washed and so my mother tried a variety of methods, all of which usually resulted in holding her down and pouring water on her head while she screamed. The poor college girls tried the practical method of laying her across the kitchen counter with her head in the sink. Molly would start off cooperative, but would soon start to panic that water might touch her face. She would then start to both scream and wiggle, which provided another exciting facet to the story as she was lying on the kitchen counter. Eventually, the two helpers would hold her down, wash her hair, and my brother and I would sit on the front stoop with our hands over our ears until it all stopped.
But back to the hearse... whether it was a good deal, or simply a warning to my mother of the craziness that happened when she was gone, my dad one day came home towing a 1953 Cadillac hearse. It was on the purple side of burgundy, and had the coolest silver shadow hood ornament. Dad parked it square in the middle of the front yard and there it sat for quite some time. We children found it fascinating. It had an interesting smell, mildew and what we figured must be formaldehyde. Behind the front seats were metal signs, temporary grave markers with people's names typed on them. The gas tank opened by lifting up on of the taillights. It was a cool car. I'm sure mom was able to appreciate the beauty of it after seeing it in the yard upon her return.
The hearse never ran, but it was always a topic of conversation. Dad credited it with the decline in visits from missionaries and charities (although I always wondered if it was really because word spread after the time he answered the door naked). The summer after I graduated, I house sat for my parents while the rest of the family was away. Once or twice a small cultural gathering turned into a rather wild party. Pity the poor partygoer who made the mistake of passing out. The party prank of the season was to take the sleeping fellow and carry him, ever so gently, to the back of the hearse. He would awake several hours later, likely sickened from the musty smell, and a bit freaked out from his location. It was at that point that he would realize there are no door handles on the inside of a hearse. The passengers it was designed to carry weren't looking for a way out.
Eventually dad got rid of the hearse and now it lives on only in memory. Sometimes I wonder where it ended up. It would have been a great car for a high school student. You wouldn't have to worry about your child going parking, because if he/she climbed in back, they would need to call for assistance to get out. Imagine pulling up to prom and getting out of this thing - too cool.
If anyone out there is looking for a unique Christmas present, this would be my first choice. Folks are dying to get one.
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