STORY PAGE

The 58 Desoto

It belonged to my grandfather. It was new. It was his pride and joy.

My graduation was drawing near. A friend had talked me into taking on of her friends to the Prom and double dating after. (Another story to write) My grandmother and I ganged up on my grandfather and finally convinced him to let me take the58 Desoto. (Obviously the occasion called for something better than my old 50 Ford.)  No easy feat as my grandfather knew of the private all-night party after the prom.

The day of the prom I had the Desoto washed, waxed, and the radio presets set to the best Rock and Roll stations in town. Dressed in my finest, I drove to the house of my prom date.

Her parent’s lawn had just been reseeded. It had those little wooden stakes with string tied to show where not to step. As I drove in to her driveway I hit the closest stake and pushed it over. After parking, I checked to see if the tire had gone on the lawn. It hadn’t. I then checked to see if the stake had scratched the bumper. It hadn’t. I straightened the stake with little effort and returned to the car for the corsage. Flowers in hand I rang the doorbell. 

I will not elaborate at this time of the festivities we encountered that night. I will only say that it is not what we expected. The next day I returned the Desoto to my grandfather in better condition than I had taken it.

About a week later, my grandmother called and asked me to stop by their house when I had a chance. When I did, my grandfather asked what I had hit with his car and why had I not told him. I first did not remember the little wooden stake. Before he asked again I remembered and told him, explaining that it had did no damage. He confessed that he had checked the car and was happy that I had returned it in the condition that I had. He then asked me to follow him to the basement where the Desoto was garaged.