So much awesome right there. Can't wait for the next installment
Prayers; thoughts; encouragement
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1981 FORD COURIER
If you pull up right now to Daddy’s farm in Kosciusko, sitting under the carport is a little faded yellow Ford Courier. Its history with the Tolleson family is long and colorful.
My dad’s business was not just the retail store but grew into a large commercial and wholesale business as well. Every morning his salesman loaded up their trucks and dispersed throughout the state and into the neighboring states as well.
In 1981, the bean counters in Akron or Chicago decided to save some money when Daddy requested some new trucks for his salesman. Instead of the new ½ ton or ¾ ton trucks he asked for, they ordered Ford Couriers and generously upgraded them with the 2.3lt engine. Since they spent the extra for the optional engine, they ordered them without air conditioning.
The trucks were delivered to Birmingham where the district offices were located. The district was run by a large gregarious man named Cliff Windham. Friends with Bear Bryant, Mr. Windham loved a winner, so he loved Daddy.
Daddy was going to fly two salesmen over to get the trucks and he bought me a ticket to fly over with them and ride back. Back then most flights from Jackson to Atlanta stopped in Birmingham. The 727 barely got the gear up before they came back down coming into the Pittsburgh of the South. We landed in Birmingham, caught a cab over to the Firestone offices, picked up the keys to these brand new little white trucks and headed back to Jackson.
When we were in the office we picked up the keys from Mr. Windham's assistant. His title was something like the “Assistant District Manager for the Birmingham Zone”. Anyway he called Daddy and chewed him out for letting me ride in the company truck because of the liability. Daddy, always respectful of authority, said yes sir and probably uttered a FO under his breath. The ADM complained later in the day to his boss Mr Windham, who requested his assistance to pull the year's prior profits and losses statement for store 05K1. That was the last time the stowaway was discussed.
The little Couriers got some aftermarket air conditioning systems installed and were put to work. Loaded down with tires that fit lawn mowers to John Deere Skidders the canvased the state. I wish I had pictures of them loaded, they looked like a Pakistaini pickup with tires stacked way over the cab. They were quickly worn out and dispatched to other stores for in city use which they were better prepared for. Eventually one of them was to be written off and Daddy bought it for $500. He used it to haul firewood, pull his little John boat up to B Lake or haul wedding arches and candelabras for mom’s flower shop.
It was what Ginny and I learned to drive a manual transmission in. I used it to move to Hattiesburg and back. Eventually I bought it for 49 Tire to use to run to pick up cars and to take customers home. We used it several years till we bought another retired truck from Daddy’s store.
By that point, daddy had purchased most of the family farm and his parents house and he took it up there. It made trips to the pond, he liked it better than his diesel Mule, to the Walmart in town and up to his sister's house. Several months back Daddy brought the old truck down for us to service and “Fix everything”. I had to tell him, we could keep it going but fixing up was more like replacing it. We put a bandaid on it and sent it back to the farm. He called me two days later complaining about the battery light coming back on. I told him he was gonna have to live with that light on like he had to live with high blood pressure. Keep watch on it but it is what it is.
“It's old like you are,” I told him. He kinda grunted at that...
If you pull up right now to Daddy’s farm in Kosciusko, sitting under the carport is a little faded yellow Ford Courier. Its history with the Tolleson family is long and colorful.
My dad’s business was not just the retail store but grew into a large commercial and wholesale business as well. Every morning his salesman loaded up their trucks and dispersed throughout the state and into the neighboring states as well.
In 1981, the bean counters in Akron or Chicago decided to save some money when Daddy requested some new trucks for his salesman. Instead of the new ½ ton or ¾ ton trucks he asked for, they ordered Ford Couriers and generously upgraded them with the 2.3lt engine. Since they spent the extra for the optional engine, they ordered them without air conditioning.
The trucks were delivered to Birmingham where the district offices were located. The district was run by a large gregarious man named Cliff Windham. Friends with Bear Bryant, Mr. Windham loved a winner, so he loved Daddy.
Daddy was going to fly two salesmen over to get the trucks and he bought me a ticket to fly over with them and ride back. Back then most flights from Jackson to Atlanta stopped in Birmingham. The 727 barely got the gear up before they came back down coming into the Pittsburgh of the South. We landed in Birmingham, caught a cab over to the Firestone offices, picked up the keys to these brand new little white trucks and headed back to Jackson.
When we were in the office we picked up the keys from Mr. Windham's assistant. His title was something like the “Assistant District Manager for the Birmingham Zone”. Anyway he called Daddy and chewed him out for letting me ride in the company truck because of the liability. Daddy, always respectful of authority, said yes sir and probably uttered a FO under his breath. The ADM complained later in the day to his boss Mr Windham, who requested his assistance to pull the year's prior profits and losses statement for store 05K1. That was the last time the stowaway was discussed.
The little Couriers got some aftermarket air conditioning systems installed and were put to work. Loaded down with tires that fit lawn mowers to John Deere Skidders the canvased the state. I wish I had pictures of them loaded, they looked like a Pakistaini pickup with tires stacked way over the cab. They were quickly worn out and dispatched to other stores for in city use which they were better prepared for. Eventually one of them was to be written off and Daddy bought it for $500. He used it to haul firewood, pull his little John boat up to B Lake or haul wedding arches and candelabras for mom’s flower shop.
It was what Ginny and I learned to drive a manual transmission in. I used it to move to Hattiesburg and back. Eventually I bought it for 49 Tire to use to run to pick up cars and to take customers home. We used it several years till we bought another retired truck from Daddy’s store.
By that point, daddy had purchased most of the family farm and his parents house and he took it up there. It made trips to the pond, he liked it better than his diesel Mule, to the Walmart in town and up to his sister's house. Several months back Daddy brought the old truck down for us to service and “Fix everything”. I had to tell him, we could keep it going but fixing up was more like replacing it. We put a bandaid on it and sent it back to the farm. He called me two days later complaining about the battery light coming back on. I told him he was gonna have to live with that light on like he had to live with high blood pressure. Keep watch on it but it is what it is.
“It's old like you are,” I told him. He kinda grunted at that...
That truck is cool
Parts for a Ford Courier are not the easiest things to find these days. The voltage regulator we found for it came in a clear blister pack that had turned yellow with a faded sticker that said Western Auto. You have a better chance finding a brand new OEM dizzy for a 60 than a harness kit for a Courier so replacing every wire one by one would of had to be done. I kinda wish I spent the time rewiring that one now.
FIAT BRAVA 131
It's a known fact my Daddy was a very smart businessman. I have always thought that he could have run a much larger company. Bridgestone Firestone over the years offered him jobs all over the country and the positions were always higher up. You could argue that they could have landed him a corner office or a title like President of Retail Sales. But I think he knew his limitations. Threatening to kick a salesman's ass usually meant the salesman would respond in a favorable way. Saying that to a secretary would probably make her cry and at worst get him in trouble with HR. Plus like he told so many bosses, “I've got to many fruit trees to move to Chicago”
But he didn’t always make the smartest business decisions. Case in point the Fiat Brava 131.
Wikipedia states The Fiat 131 is a family sedan manufactured and marketed by Fiat from 1974 to 1984 after its debut at the 1974 Turin Motor Show. Available as a two-door and four-door saloon and 5-door estate across a single generation, the 131 succeeded the Fiat 124.
The 131 was also marketed as the Fiat Mirafiori, after the Turin suburb where the cars were manufactured. Initially, the 131 was offered with 1.3 L and 1.6 L overhead valve engines and the range received revisions in 1978 and 1981. Production reached 1,513,800.
The 131 was a boxy little car about the same size as a Datsun 510 or a BMW 3 series.But that's all in common it had with them. The Fiat dealer in Jackson was on the corner of Poindexter and Terry Road, now University Blvd. The only thing left of it may be the parking lot. It was not the Fiat X19, the Bertone designed mid engine car. It was vanilla looking in color as in style. The only thing I remember that stood out were the little aluminum wheels. With black insets it's the only thing on the car that looked fast.
Somehow, someway Daddy’s service manager Ken found this poor little Brava and convinced Dad to buy it, fix it up and flip it. Daddy would provide the working capital and Ken would provide the working labor. My Daddy was much like me. He could move the mechanics around and buy the parts right to make a profit but he was no mechanic. They worked night after night after night.
I think I was in junior high school, I wasn’t working at that point but I spent several nights in the shop while Ken and Dad tried to extract a profit, like a roughneck drilling for oil in West Texas. Dad handing Ken tools or parts, lots of cuss words, body work, more cussing, expensive Italian parts and more cussing.
There was alot of cussing back then. Partially because of Daddy’s job, Mom was a small business owner trying to make payroll along with making sure we all had clean underwear and some fried ham and rice and tomatoes to eat for supper, partially because they had a teenage s*** head (me) trying to decide if he wanted to listen to Grand Master Flash, REO Speedwagon or the soundtrack to the Empire Strikes Back at the decibel level of a 747 taking off from a short runway, a 4 year old girl (Ginny) who threw up at the most inopportune times and this little Itainian no horse powered bondo queen. Daddy had not refound Jesus at that point. And as mad as he was at that little Fiat and Ken, I don't think Jesus would have wanted to deal with Daddy anyway.
I’m not making excuses but while church and retail have lots of similarities. I am of the belief that other than Christian book stores they should not intermingle. I mean we saw how Jesus reacted in a retail situation. (See John 2:13-16) Anyway cussing and retail go hand in hand. That's why when I do sit down and put all this in a book the title will be Jesus Didn’t Do Retail. I hope you 600 followers of me on Facebook will buy it.
Every day when everyone came into work, in bay 8 the little Fiat sat. Not running. Not backing out. Wires pulled out in every direction like it was connected to South Central Bell or something. The sales people snickered, the tire guys snickered, the mechanics bitched because that's what they do, the warehouse manager would have snickered to but his desk was just outside Daddy’s office so he kept his snickering to himself. Daddy’s manager was pissed because he was trying to make quota and the bays were where you made sales and this little Italian car just sat there killing his sales per bay average. But he didn’t say that to Daddy, he didn’t want to die over a Fiat. I mean even today. Die over a Ferrari? Sure, but a Fiat. Just, No.
Poor Ken knew he was screwed. He ordered more parts, pulled more wires and laid on more bondo. The little 4 door Italian monolift just sat in bay eight for months. Bleeding cash like a hog at slaughter. Today we can go online order a part from the other side of the world and if you are lucky you will have it within a week. But this was in the day of Deney Terio and Dance Fever, a wiring harness from Turin, Italy that you ordered from Earl on Terry Road in Jackson. Right.
And then it was gone. It was a topic not discussed. But the old Choctaw Indian mechanic Herman said that Ken had hauled it home.
“Your Daddy told him to get that *&^%$#@ thing out of here before I come in Monday at 6:30”
I spent lots of time talking with Daddy about stuff since he retired. I would go over not near often enough but I never thought about asking about that little Fiat. Thinking about it today I really wish I had.
Ken left at some point afterwards. He did some odd jobs at the house. Installed some ceiling fans, maybe plumbed the pool house, I think he went on to be a preacher. Many guys after they left Daddy found Jesus and went into preaching. Working with him had that effect on some. Others it had the opposite, many came into work drunk. It's hard enough selling someone road hazard warranty sober or hungover but drunk? I have always thought selling salvation and selling tires isn't that different. You need them both but doesn't mean you want them today.
Ken lived in a stilt house that wasn't near water just over the line in Simpson County. Even as a 13 year old I knew that was a little off. Years later he got cancer and died. I hope he and Daddy catch up now in eternity. Maybe Daddy found out what happened to that little Fiat.
It's a known fact my Daddy was a very smart businessman. I have always thought that he could have run a much larger company. Bridgestone Firestone over the years offered him jobs all over the country and the positions were always higher up. You could argue that they could have landed him a corner office or a title like President of Retail Sales. But I think he knew his limitations. Threatening to kick a salesman's ass usually meant the salesman would respond in a favorable way. Saying that to a secretary would probably make her cry and at worst get him in trouble with HR. Plus like he told so many bosses, “I've got to many fruit trees to move to Chicago”
But he didn’t always make the smartest business decisions. Case in point the Fiat Brava 131.
Wikipedia states The Fiat 131 is a family sedan manufactured and marketed by Fiat from 1974 to 1984 after its debut at the 1974 Turin Motor Show. Available as a two-door and four-door saloon and 5-door estate across a single generation, the 131 succeeded the Fiat 124.
The 131 was also marketed as the Fiat Mirafiori, after the Turin suburb where the cars were manufactured. Initially, the 131 was offered with 1.3 L and 1.6 L overhead valve engines and the range received revisions in 1978 and 1981. Production reached 1,513,800.
The 131 was a boxy little car about the same size as a Datsun 510 or a BMW 3 series.But that's all in common it had with them. The Fiat dealer in Jackson was on the corner of Poindexter and Terry Road, now University Blvd. The only thing left of it may be the parking lot. It was not the Fiat X19, the Bertone designed mid engine car. It was vanilla looking in color as in style. The only thing I remember that stood out were the little aluminum wheels. With black insets it's the only thing on the car that looked fast.
Somehow, someway Daddy’s service manager Ken found this poor little Brava and convinced Dad to buy it, fix it up and flip it. Daddy would provide the working capital and Ken would provide the working labor. My Daddy was much like me. He could move the mechanics around and buy the parts right to make a profit but he was no mechanic. They worked night after night after night.
I think I was in junior high school, I wasn’t working at that point but I spent several nights in the shop while Ken and Dad tried to extract a profit, like a roughneck drilling for oil in West Texas. Dad handing Ken tools or parts, lots of cuss words, body work, more cussing, expensive Italian parts and more cussing.
There was alot of cussing back then. Partially because of Daddy’s job, Mom was a small business owner trying to make payroll along with making sure we all had clean underwear and some fried ham and rice and tomatoes to eat for supper, partially because they had a teenage s*** head (me) trying to decide if he wanted to listen to Grand Master Flash, REO Speedwagon or the soundtrack to the Empire Strikes Back at the decibel level of a 747 taking off from a short runway, a 4 year old girl (Ginny) who threw up at the most inopportune times and this little Itainian no horse powered bondo queen. Daddy had not refound Jesus at that point. And as mad as he was at that little Fiat and Ken, I don't think Jesus would have wanted to deal with Daddy anyway.
I’m not making excuses but while church and retail have lots of similarities. I am of the belief that other than Christian book stores they should not intermingle. I mean we saw how Jesus reacted in a retail situation. (See John 2:13-16) Anyway cussing and retail go hand in hand. That's why when I do sit down and put all this in a book the title will be Jesus Didn’t Do Retail. I hope you 600 followers of me on Facebook will buy it.
Every day when everyone came into work, in bay 8 the little Fiat sat. Not running. Not backing out. Wires pulled out in every direction like it was connected to South Central Bell or something. The sales people snickered, the tire guys snickered, the mechanics bitched because that's what they do, the warehouse manager would have snickered to but his desk was just outside Daddy’s office so he kept his snickering to himself. Daddy’s manager was pissed because he was trying to make quota and the bays were where you made sales and this little Italian car just sat there killing his sales per bay average. But he didn’t say that to Daddy, he didn’t want to die over a Fiat. I mean even today. Die over a Ferrari? Sure, but a Fiat. Just, No.
Poor Ken knew he was screwed. He ordered more parts, pulled more wires and laid on more bondo. The little 4 door Italian monolift just sat in bay eight for months. Bleeding cash like a hog at slaughter. Today we can go online order a part from the other side of the world and if you are lucky you will have it within a week. But this was in the day of Deney Terio and Dance Fever, a wiring harness from Turin, Italy that you ordered from Earl on Terry Road in Jackson. Right.
And then it was gone. It was a topic not discussed. But the old Choctaw Indian mechanic Herman said that Ken had hauled it home.
“Your Daddy told him to get that *&^%$#@ thing out of here before I come in Monday at 6:30”
I spent lots of time talking with Daddy about stuff since he retired. I would go over not near often enough but I never thought about asking about that little Fiat. Thinking about it today I really wish I had.
Ken left at some point afterwards. He did some odd jobs at the house. Installed some ceiling fans, maybe plumbed the pool house, I think he went on to be a preacher. Many guys after they left Daddy found Jesus and went into preaching. Working with him had that effect on some. Others it had the opposite, many came into work drunk. It's hard enough selling someone road hazard warranty sober or hungover but drunk? I have always thought selling salvation and selling tires isn't that different. You need them both but doesn't mean you want them today.
Ken lived in a stilt house that wasn't near water just over the line in Simpson County. Even as a 13 year old I knew that was a little off. Years later he got cancer and died. I hope he and Daddy catch up now in eternity. Maybe Daddy found out what happened to that little Fiat.
William Tolleson Obituary (2020) - Florence, MS - Clarion Ledger
View William George "Bill" Tolleson's obituary, send flowers and sign the guestbook.
www.legacy.com
1977 CHEVROLET K5 BLAZER
Some cars you buy because you just want them. You don't really need them but like a certain 86 BMW 325ES I bought, you just gotta have them. They call you like the Three Muses from shore and like those muses they will wreck you financially and sometimes even physically. The Toyota Land Cruisers that have become such a part of our family's world are a case in point. They will take your money and break your heart and your American Express.
But there are cars that you justify and need. Our old K5 Blazer was one of these. The K5 has been around for years, the generation before our 77 are now bringing crazy money. One sold recently for $100,000. Our Blazer purchase was demanded by Momma. Other than her car being able to go every morning and her delivery van at Busy Bee running every day with the air conditioning working like a 7/11 beer cooler she didn’t demand much about cars. Cars to her were just another appliance back then. Get me to point A point B and C and then back home and we are good to go again tomorrow. Gas mileage didn’t matter to her. When it was empty you stopped at the full service Chevron the sweet little man came out filled her up and she rolled. Her delivery van was just as important as her telephone at work.
Last year Chevrolet brought back the Blazer name. They used the name for a sportier Equinox. I’m not judging you if you drive a Equinox. The Tolleson’s have had some nice meals and vacations because you chose a Equinox. They are good cheap SUV’s that wear out relatively quickly and Tolleson’s are ok with that. But why are you using that name on that car?
The need for a 4x4 came about one winter around 1984-85. A sister was very sick in the hospital at the same time a freak ice storm came through the Jackson metro area. Mom’s station wagon, Dad’s Ford LTD or my 280zx were no match for the icy highways. For those of you reading this from Colorado, Illinois or Ohio you wouldnt understand. But if we get an inch of snow here in the South we freak out. Especially when we are in the grocery store or in our Nissan Altimas. Most Southerners will get in our car and drive towards a tornado to catch a glimpse of it. But if it snows we just freak out…
So after the ice thawed, Momma told Daddy to go out and buy a 4 wheel drive that no matter what, they could get whatever they needed to go. A month or so later Dad brought home a used power blue 1977 K5 Blazer. It had the optional full time 4 wheel drive transfer case. It was beautiful, it was strong and it would have taken Momma to Fairbanks, Alaska as long as she had her Chevron gas card. With the full time four wheel drive and the big 350 engine, it drank regular unleaded like a Sherman tank drank diesel. You could watch the gas gauge go down as the speedometer went up. It was a marvelous piece of Red Blooded In God We Trust American Made Fourth of July goodness.
And I don't believe it ever had to be used for emergency transport services. But it got used. I loved to drive it. We could pile a bunch of us in it and go to ball games or drive up to B lake to the fishing camp that Daddy got talked into joining. I have such good stories about his brief membership at B Lake. Anyway it was a great truck till Daddy decided it needed to be painted.
I don’t remember how bad the original paint job was but Daddy decided to get it painted. I don't know if the painter owed him money or if they swapped out a set of steel belted radials. There were usually tires in any transaction those days. People will swap damn near anything for a set of white letter tires. Lawyers, orthodontist, plumbers, its a never ending list.
Anyway, the paint colors were not discussed to my recollection and to be honest I was madly in love and paint colors were not on my mind. Getting that truck back, to go parking further in the woods was of much greater importance than the color anyway. The Blazer returned from the paint shed and well, it didnt look the same. What was white was now khaki and what had been baby blue was now navy. It looked like a pair of brand new Lee jeans going down the road.
But new color aside it was a good ole truck. When Debbie and I got married she got the Nissan Maxima I drove and I took the old Blazer. I drove it for nearly three years after that. I hauled tires in the back of it, loaded it down with supplies from Sam’s and started a family with the Lee jeans colored 6 miles to a gallon Blazer. After I got a new truck, the old Blazer just sat and the paint job that had cost a new set of white letter tires started fading.
Daddy thought it best to repaint it again. One of his employees offered to paint it real cheap. It disappears long enough for Michelangelo to have painted it until somehow Dad discovered that it was out by a lake stuck, where the soon to be, former employee had driven it weeks before. It was recovered and cleaned up, maybe repainted and brought back to 118 Oakdale Street. It was drinking oil then, probably from the Swampfest that the young former tire changer/body man had taken it to. It still was driveable as long as you checked the oil every 100 miles. The internals were shot. I didn’t need it, Momma had gotten over the 4x4 need. She found out that 4x4 trucks were tall and difficult to get into and Daddy didn't need it any longer. So it was sold.
My friend Nolen always says that I have too much sentimentality when it comes to vehicles. It’s true, I would have made a horrible Cattleman...
Years later, I was out at the Co-Op in East Brandon. Daddy gave me $100 and told me to get him a bag of deer corn and buy myself some Carharts. Right past the Co-Op sat the old Blazer. Still painted like the Lee Jeans only now a much more worn pair of jeans. Dirty, rotting from neglect probably still needing the engine rebuilt.
It made me sad then, makes me sad now. It was a good truck.
Some cars you buy because you just want them. You don't really need them but like a certain 86 BMW 325ES I bought, you just gotta have them. They call you like the Three Muses from shore and like those muses they will wreck you financially and sometimes even physically. The Toyota Land Cruisers that have become such a part of our family's world are a case in point. They will take your money and break your heart and your American Express.
But there are cars that you justify and need. Our old K5 Blazer was one of these. The K5 has been around for years, the generation before our 77 are now bringing crazy money. One sold recently for $100,000. Our Blazer purchase was demanded by Momma. Other than her car being able to go every morning and her delivery van at Busy Bee running every day with the air conditioning working like a 7/11 beer cooler she didn’t demand much about cars. Cars to her were just another appliance back then. Get me to point A point B and C and then back home and we are good to go again tomorrow. Gas mileage didn’t matter to her. When it was empty you stopped at the full service Chevron the sweet little man came out filled her up and she rolled. Her delivery van was just as important as her telephone at work.
Last year Chevrolet brought back the Blazer name. They used the name for a sportier Equinox. I’m not judging you if you drive a Equinox. The Tolleson’s have had some nice meals and vacations because you chose a Equinox. They are good cheap SUV’s that wear out relatively quickly and Tolleson’s are ok with that. But why are you using that name on that car?
The need for a 4x4 came about one winter around 1984-85. A sister was very sick in the hospital at the same time a freak ice storm came through the Jackson metro area. Mom’s station wagon, Dad’s Ford LTD or my 280zx were no match for the icy highways. For those of you reading this from Colorado, Illinois or Ohio you wouldnt understand. But if we get an inch of snow here in the South we freak out. Especially when we are in the grocery store or in our Nissan Altimas. Most Southerners will get in our car and drive towards a tornado to catch a glimpse of it. But if it snows we just freak out…
So after the ice thawed, Momma told Daddy to go out and buy a 4 wheel drive that no matter what, they could get whatever they needed to go. A month or so later Dad brought home a used power blue 1977 K5 Blazer. It had the optional full time 4 wheel drive transfer case. It was beautiful, it was strong and it would have taken Momma to Fairbanks, Alaska as long as she had her Chevron gas card. With the full time four wheel drive and the big 350 engine, it drank regular unleaded like a Sherman tank drank diesel. You could watch the gas gauge go down as the speedometer went up. It was a marvelous piece of Red Blooded In God We Trust American Made Fourth of July goodness.
And I don't believe it ever had to be used for emergency transport services. But it got used. I loved to drive it. We could pile a bunch of us in it and go to ball games or drive up to B lake to the fishing camp that Daddy got talked into joining. I have such good stories about his brief membership at B Lake. Anyway it was a great truck till Daddy decided it needed to be painted.
I don’t remember how bad the original paint job was but Daddy decided to get it painted. I don't know if the painter owed him money or if they swapped out a set of steel belted radials. There were usually tires in any transaction those days. People will swap damn near anything for a set of white letter tires. Lawyers, orthodontist, plumbers, its a never ending list.
Anyway, the paint colors were not discussed to my recollection and to be honest I was madly in love and paint colors were not on my mind. Getting that truck back, to go parking further in the woods was of much greater importance than the color anyway. The Blazer returned from the paint shed and well, it didnt look the same. What was white was now khaki and what had been baby blue was now navy. It looked like a pair of brand new Lee jeans going down the road.
But new color aside it was a good ole truck. When Debbie and I got married she got the Nissan Maxima I drove and I took the old Blazer. I drove it for nearly three years after that. I hauled tires in the back of it, loaded it down with supplies from Sam’s and started a family with the Lee jeans colored 6 miles to a gallon Blazer. After I got a new truck, the old Blazer just sat and the paint job that had cost a new set of white letter tires started fading.
Daddy thought it best to repaint it again. One of his employees offered to paint it real cheap. It disappears long enough for Michelangelo to have painted it until somehow Dad discovered that it was out by a lake stuck, where the soon to be, former employee had driven it weeks before. It was recovered and cleaned up, maybe repainted and brought back to 118 Oakdale Street. It was drinking oil then, probably from the Swampfest that the young former tire changer/body man had taken it to. It still was driveable as long as you checked the oil every 100 miles. The internals were shot. I didn’t need it, Momma had gotten over the 4x4 need. She found out that 4x4 trucks were tall and difficult to get into and Daddy didn't need it any longer. So it was sold.
My friend Nolen always says that I have too much sentimentality when it comes to vehicles. It’s true, I would have made a horrible Cattleman...
Years later, I was out at the Co-Op in East Brandon. Daddy gave me $100 and told me to get him a bag of deer corn and buy myself some Carharts. Right past the Co-Op sat the old Blazer. Still painted like the Lee Jeans only now a much more worn pair of jeans. Dirty, rotting from neglect probably still needing the engine rebuilt.
It made me sad then, makes me sad now. It was a good truck.
My condolences Chris and family. Your family will be in my thoughts this holiday season.
Love from your Yankee friends.
Love from your Yankee friends.
1983 CHEVROLET CAMARO
Over the years I have learned a thing or two about cars. Not so much on how to work on them but about reliability (Land Rover), ease of acquiring parts (Fiat), durability (land cruiser) and such. If you ask, I can tell you what cars allow me to vacation in the Caribbean and which cars made a poor boy from Attala county provide beyond his wildest dreams for his family. Cadillacs will break you quicker than a Lexus, Corvettes and their owners can be a nightmare, buy a BMW and you're going to regret it, lease a Range Rover and at least your nightmare will be over in 24 to 36 months.
But the number one rule, after saying no to the Cadillac, the Rover and the BMW is NEVER buy a used sports car that's been through a rental program. DO NOT DO IT. We have seen so many former Budget rental Mustangs and National Rental Car Chargers come through the stores. They have all been down 55 going 100, raced through downtown Houston, used as demo cars for tire launches and some get rented for proms...
Back before parents got smart and rented stretched Hummers and Excursions for all the kids to go to Lou’s or PF Changs before heading to the Country Club, some suave kids got their parents to rent them cars for prom. We have already shown over the last couple of posts that I was a spoiled rotten but this installment I will leave little doubt of the lengths my Daddy would go to spoil me.
Lets travel back to the days when JR was screwing over everybody. Joan Collins was just screwing everybody on Dynasty and Mr. T was talking smack in a black van on the A Team. Daddy was known as “Mr T.” by most everybody in the shop at this point. Mr. T should have sent my Dad a check instead of buying another gold necklace. Times were good. Reagan had us all pumped up, the economy was strong. Everybody was buying tires.
I was working for my Dad then. I got my first paycheck in the spring of 1983. He had an account servicing the Budget Rental fleet of cars. So every day Ford Fairmonts, Chevy Vans and such would come through getting some Kendall oil and hopefully a new set of 721 tires. One day I noticed a new Chevrolet Camaro come through for service and I got an idea…
I was driving a great little 1979 Toyota Celica hatchback at that point. It had this great Proton stereo system that Daddy paid $750 for and the rear hatch had the louver shade. It was a great car but it was not that Camaro. Prom was coming up, I already had asked this cute little pricess to go. A bunch of us were going to eat at Dennery’s and prom was going to be there and arriving in style was paramount. A brown Celica that I drove every day would not cut it. I needed that white Camaro to pick up Cinderella for the Ball.
So I started talking and talking to Daddy about getting that Camero for that special night. Sooner or later he gave in. Daddy had one of his guys go to the Budget with his American Express and rent this white Z28. It arrived clean and ready to go. So there I went in my rented Gingiss tuxedo in my rental Camaro for a night of surf and turf, loud music and hopefully a little fun before delivering my princess back to her castle, safe and hopefully madly in love with me…
I’ve never worked in the restaurant industry but something tells me prom nights are a dreaded thing for waiters and waitresses. I vaguely remember spending $60 with the tip. The prom was fun. I remember that it was very hot and very loud. It was a perfect night I am sure. We took pictures and I picked out a worthy photo package. I was certain my princess wanted to send her great aunts and third cousins photos of her romantic night. Speaking of romance, I just knew I was going to have a great finish to such a fantastic evening. Im sure I had queued up the best Michael Jackson song and I had reconnoitred a place that my princess and I could review the special night. I was filled with anticipation as we headed south to Florence in that rented Camaro. I had allowed enough time for some serious discussion. I had made sure that the meeting area was in a great secluded spot with a good view of the stars and of headlights that might interrupt serious discussions.
Alas, my plans were much like Napoleons at Waterloo. Every advance was blocked. I realized that all my strategies had failed and I cranked the Camaro and returned my princess to her castle. Promising to see her next week and bring the pictures so she could send one to her third cousin in Biloxi or Kingsport, TN. Somewhat dejected, I meet up with most of my cadre of friends. It seemed for most that spring night of 1984 was a night of wasted plans and of defeat. Very few of our brothers made it to the promised land that night and if they did they would still meet up at the Bridges Quickie in the next 30 minutes. We laughed and made fun of each other, most still wearing some of their rental tuxedos. The bow ties hung from the rearview mirrors of the pickup trucks, mom’s Buick or their brother's Mazda. Some had strick curfews even on prom night. My Mom and Dad didnt seem too worried over a curfew. They had to get up and go to work anyway. This again was before early morning pancake parties after prom that moms and dads pushed on their kids in hopes of keeping them out of wild nights of bacchanal orgies in ratty hotels on Hwy 80.
One of my group was the last of three children. His parents were worn out from trying to save the older children from alcoholism and babies, and had thrown the last one into the wild. In hopes that the love of Jesus and the thought of prison would keep him on somewhat of a straight path. (All three turned out fine)
“Lets go for a drive” he ordered. We hopped into the Camaro and headed south. Away from Caley the Florence policeman that seemed to patrol 24/7. We headed down to Plantation Shores. A subdivision with a hodgepodge of dwellings. Two story homes down to Airstream trailers. But it had some great streets.
And this is where the cautionary part against sports car rentals comes into. My co pilot and I did all we could to kill the sweet Camaro that night. 0-100 in 10 seconds, 100-0 in 4 seconds. We brake torqued those Goodyear Eagle tires till the next morning they were as slick as a new Ethan Allen coffee table. We did donuts in the church parking lot and we laughed like the devils we were. It was a good time. And believe me, every sports car rental and even some minivans and pickups are treated like that.
I don't remember what time I got home. I gathered the pieces parts of the tux rental out of the back of the Camaro and went upstairs to bed. I woke up sometime the next day, went down stairs and probably had a banana, a Twinkie, King Dong or a bowl of Fruit Loops. For in the Tolleson house other than Sunday morning or Christmas Day those were you choices back then. But when I went outside the Camaro was gone. Daddy had gotten up that morning and taken it back to Budget. I hope he got a purchase order for some tires and a fresh oil change because that spoiled 16 year old had given that rental hell.
Last summer a white mid 80’s Camaro came in. The memories of that rental and the sales pitch I used on my dad to acquire it for 24 hours flooded back to me.
The next week my princess rejected my telephonic advances and had turned west towards an old flame. I was to be stuck with $78 of “Prom 84” pictures for eternity. They still pop up from time to time in boxes of stuff in our attic or moms. Like finding confetti from years past New Years Eve parties...
Over the years I have learned a thing or two about cars. Not so much on how to work on them but about reliability (Land Rover), ease of acquiring parts (Fiat), durability (land cruiser) and such. If you ask, I can tell you what cars allow me to vacation in the Caribbean and which cars made a poor boy from Attala county provide beyond his wildest dreams for his family. Cadillacs will break you quicker than a Lexus, Corvettes and their owners can be a nightmare, buy a BMW and you're going to regret it, lease a Range Rover and at least your nightmare will be over in 24 to 36 months.
But the number one rule, after saying no to the Cadillac, the Rover and the BMW is NEVER buy a used sports car that's been through a rental program. DO NOT DO IT. We have seen so many former Budget rental Mustangs and National Rental Car Chargers come through the stores. They have all been down 55 going 100, raced through downtown Houston, used as demo cars for tire launches and some get rented for proms...
Back before parents got smart and rented stretched Hummers and Excursions for all the kids to go to Lou’s or PF Changs before heading to the Country Club, some suave kids got their parents to rent them cars for prom. We have already shown over the last couple of posts that I was a spoiled rotten but this installment I will leave little doubt of the lengths my Daddy would go to spoil me.
Lets travel back to the days when JR was screwing over everybody. Joan Collins was just screwing everybody on Dynasty and Mr. T was talking smack in a black van on the A Team. Daddy was known as “Mr T.” by most everybody in the shop at this point. Mr. T should have sent my Dad a check instead of buying another gold necklace. Times were good. Reagan had us all pumped up, the economy was strong. Everybody was buying tires.
I was working for my Dad then. I got my first paycheck in the spring of 1983. He had an account servicing the Budget Rental fleet of cars. So every day Ford Fairmonts, Chevy Vans and such would come through getting some Kendall oil and hopefully a new set of 721 tires. One day I noticed a new Chevrolet Camaro come through for service and I got an idea…
I was driving a great little 1979 Toyota Celica hatchback at that point. It had this great Proton stereo system that Daddy paid $750 for and the rear hatch had the louver shade. It was a great car but it was not that Camaro. Prom was coming up, I already had asked this cute little pricess to go. A bunch of us were going to eat at Dennery’s and prom was going to be there and arriving in style was paramount. A brown Celica that I drove every day would not cut it. I needed that white Camaro to pick up Cinderella for the Ball.
So I started talking and talking to Daddy about getting that Camero for that special night. Sooner or later he gave in. Daddy had one of his guys go to the Budget with his American Express and rent this white Z28. It arrived clean and ready to go. So there I went in my rented Gingiss tuxedo in my rental Camaro for a night of surf and turf, loud music and hopefully a little fun before delivering my princess back to her castle, safe and hopefully madly in love with me…
I’ve never worked in the restaurant industry but something tells me prom nights are a dreaded thing for waiters and waitresses. I vaguely remember spending $60 with the tip. The prom was fun. I remember that it was very hot and very loud. It was a perfect night I am sure. We took pictures and I picked out a worthy photo package. I was certain my princess wanted to send her great aunts and third cousins photos of her romantic night. Speaking of romance, I just knew I was going to have a great finish to such a fantastic evening. Im sure I had queued up the best Michael Jackson song and I had reconnoitred a place that my princess and I could review the special night. I was filled with anticipation as we headed south to Florence in that rented Camaro. I had allowed enough time for some serious discussion. I had made sure that the meeting area was in a great secluded spot with a good view of the stars and of headlights that might interrupt serious discussions.
Alas, my plans were much like Napoleons at Waterloo. Every advance was blocked. I realized that all my strategies had failed and I cranked the Camaro and returned my princess to her castle. Promising to see her next week and bring the pictures so she could send one to her third cousin in Biloxi or Kingsport, TN. Somewhat dejected, I meet up with most of my cadre of friends. It seemed for most that spring night of 1984 was a night of wasted plans and of defeat. Very few of our brothers made it to the promised land that night and if they did they would still meet up at the Bridges Quickie in the next 30 minutes. We laughed and made fun of each other, most still wearing some of their rental tuxedos. The bow ties hung from the rearview mirrors of the pickup trucks, mom’s Buick or their brother's Mazda. Some had strick curfews even on prom night. My Mom and Dad didnt seem too worried over a curfew. They had to get up and go to work anyway. This again was before early morning pancake parties after prom that moms and dads pushed on their kids in hopes of keeping them out of wild nights of bacchanal orgies in ratty hotels on Hwy 80.
One of my group was the last of three children. His parents were worn out from trying to save the older children from alcoholism and babies, and had thrown the last one into the wild. In hopes that the love of Jesus and the thought of prison would keep him on somewhat of a straight path. (All three turned out fine)
“Lets go for a drive” he ordered. We hopped into the Camaro and headed south. Away from Caley the Florence policeman that seemed to patrol 24/7. We headed down to Plantation Shores. A subdivision with a hodgepodge of dwellings. Two story homes down to Airstream trailers. But it had some great streets.
And this is where the cautionary part against sports car rentals comes into. My co pilot and I did all we could to kill the sweet Camaro that night. 0-100 in 10 seconds, 100-0 in 4 seconds. We brake torqued those Goodyear Eagle tires till the next morning they were as slick as a new Ethan Allen coffee table. We did donuts in the church parking lot and we laughed like the devils we were. It was a good time. And believe me, every sports car rental and even some minivans and pickups are treated like that.
I don't remember what time I got home. I gathered the pieces parts of the tux rental out of the back of the Camaro and went upstairs to bed. I woke up sometime the next day, went down stairs and probably had a banana, a Twinkie, King Dong or a bowl of Fruit Loops. For in the Tolleson house other than Sunday morning or Christmas Day those were you choices back then. But when I went outside the Camaro was gone. Daddy had gotten up that morning and taken it back to Budget. I hope he got a purchase order for some tires and a fresh oil change because that spoiled 16 year old had given that rental hell.
Last summer a white mid 80’s Camaro came in. The memories of that rental and the sales pitch I used on my dad to acquire it for 24 hours flooded back to me.
The next week my princess rejected my telephonic advances and had turned west towards an old flame. I was to be stuck with $78 of “Prom 84” pictures for eternity. They still pop up from time to time in boxes of stuff in our attic or moms. Like finding confetti from years past New Years Eve parties...
RIDING LAWN MOWERS
Is the riding lawn mower the 8th wonder of the world?
When I googled the Seven Wonders of the World, I found out there are several lists. American Society of Civil Engineers, USA Today’s New Seven Wonders of the World, & Wonders of Nature, Seven Wonders of Cities, Seven Wonders of the UnderSea, Seven Wonders of the Industrial World and so on…
I think as humans the ability to cut your grass, while sitting and drinking a Coors is right up there with The Great Wall of China or Machu Picchu especially when both of them are in forgien countries anyway.
I was raised on a little riding lawn mower. It was a copper colored Firestone branded mower. It had a Briggs and Stratton engine, as all mowers had back then. My mom tells the story that as a baby she would hold me while she cut the yard and I would sleep. She would cut the whole neighborhood as I slept. Today she would get thrown in jail for endangering a child like that. But in 1969 it was game on. This mower moved from Columbus, MS where daddy ran a Firestone store, back to Jackson and then down to Florence where we moved in 1977. It was a fast little mower. Easy to turn and to crank. I actually was able to use it for a time. And that's where the fun began.
Daddy sold lawn mowers at the Firestone downtown in the 70’s and early 80’s. In the days before Walmart, you bought your mower the same place you bought your tires and got your oil changed in your car. His store back in the 70’s like most Firestones sold washing machines, tv’s, air conditioners, and more. Back in the decades before they sold sporting goods as well. You could get a Firestone tennis racquet. Check out ebay. They are like $5000 on there. We threw a case of them away one day in the 80’s cleaning out a warehouse.
The old mower was worn out, it had cut St. Augustine grass around 4 different Tolleson houses at that point and several neighborhoods. So a new Murray riding lawn mower was brought home. Some of my earliest memories were of Daddy coming home on Saturday afternoons and getting on his mower and cutting grass. Daddy wasn’t much of a drinker. But on those Saturday afternoons in the spring and summer he would have two or three Old Milwaukee beers and a bag of Fritos. Then throw some T bones on the grill. Later as his income grew he drank a few Lowenbraun and then Coors when Jerry Reed and Burt Renolds drove them back to Georgia from Texarkana.
I remember this mower being lime green in color. It looked cheap like a pair of Kmart tennis shoes. Anyway he drove it around the yard, cut some with it and gave me instructions on it with a list of areas to cut the next week. I was told umpteen times not to run over the fruit trees that were planted around the three acre plot we called home. If you cut your arm off while using the mower it would be fine, if you ran over your four year old sister it wouldn't be good but if you mowed down one of those plumb or apple trees, your ass was grass…
This is an opportune time to mention that I would have been easily recognized as a child with ADHD if my parents had understood what that was. I rarely went to the Doctor because they had needles. Old Dr. Cronin just figured I was damaged because my mom took codeine when she was pregnant. I locked myself in the car at the health department as a child once to try to keep the needle away. At least my mom knew I would never become a heroine addict. I had very little focus then, less later as girls entered my cerebral cortex. Anyway I cut the grass, dodged the plum trees and moved on to bigger and better things.
My brain, stimulated by the visuals of a clean cut, I would do another lap and another, grinning with the excitement of a pig in s*** till my laps had me going into the woods. I am still transfixed by that. I believe that I would have been awesome at cutting hay fields or cutting grass along the highway. Daddy would be so proud of how good this looked I thought. Then I hit the stump. Stumps are like suburban landmines in my opinion. All of a sudden the mower sounded like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I bent the blade. Dejected and sad I waited to tell Daddy till he got home. If I had called he would have just cussed and hung up. He was ok, his new mower, not a payment made, got new blades and all was good. Probably remembering the Zig Ziglar statement about positive reinforcement, he didn’t call me a dumb ass. Till the next week…
Once Daddy brought this horrible big ugly used mower home. There was a customer that would trade his mowers in every couple of years like you might a Silverado pickup. I think about it now and I want to shower. It was a piece of crap. But when you pushed the handle down to engage the blades it was like a hurricane under your Adidas. It roared. I mean literally roared. Like the start of a MGM movie. But it couldn't steer worth a damn. It ate belts and pulleys, mostly because I had ripped the bottom out of it so many times. Daddy had Mr. Shack weld a piece of rebar to the front of the deck trying to prevent it when I went off to cut a trail with it or take one more lap into the woods.
I destroyed several mowers this way. Now 40 years later Debbie still cringes when she hears me crank up our Gravely. There is no way to know if this time I will find a concrete block buried in the ground or take out a 50ft pine tree. It's a mystery.
While I had moved out of the Oakdale Street house by the time my sister Ginny could have cut grass, I never remember any stories of her tearing up a mower. I’m pretty certain if she did get on the mower, she cut the exact area she was instructed to, not a strip of St. Augustine more. She didn’t hear the call of those leaves out in the woods that needed mulching or experience the joy in the sound of the blades hitting the dead magnolia leaves that fell under that big tree out back.
I was much gentler on the push mowers. They lasted forever. Like a Baptist who will not have a cold beer or a whiskey I refused to push a mower unless being threatened of eviction or being sent to military school. That changed after getting married. Sex is a great and powerful thing. So I cut the grass around the pool whenever needed...
Is the riding lawn mower the 8th wonder of the world?
When I googled the Seven Wonders of the World, I found out there are several lists. American Society of Civil Engineers, USA Today’s New Seven Wonders of the World, & Wonders of Nature, Seven Wonders of Cities, Seven Wonders of the UnderSea, Seven Wonders of the Industrial World and so on…
I think as humans the ability to cut your grass, while sitting and drinking a Coors is right up there with The Great Wall of China or Machu Picchu especially when both of them are in forgien countries anyway.
I was raised on a little riding lawn mower. It was a copper colored Firestone branded mower. It had a Briggs and Stratton engine, as all mowers had back then. My mom tells the story that as a baby she would hold me while she cut the yard and I would sleep. She would cut the whole neighborhood as I slept. Today she would get thrown in jail for endangering a child like that. But in 1969 it was game on. This mower moved from Columbus, MS where daddy ran a Firestone store, back to Jackson and then down to Florence where we moved in 1977. It was a fast little mower. Easy to turn and to crank. I actually was able to use it for a time. And that's where the fun began.
Daddy sold lawn mowers at the Firestone downtown in the 70’s and early 80’s. In the days before Walmart, you bought your mower the same place you bought your tires and got your oil changed in your car. His store back in the 70’s like most Firestones sold washing machines, tv’s, air conditioners, and more. Back in the decades before they sold sporting goods as well. You could get a Firestone tennis racquet. Check out ebay. They are like $5000 on there. We threw a case of them away one day in the 80’s cleaning out a warehouse.
The old mower was worn out, it had cut St. Augustine grass around 4 different Tolleson houses at that point and several neighborhoods. So a new Murray riding lawn mower was brought home. Some of my earliest memories were of Daddy coming home on Saturday afternoons and getting on his mower and cutting grass. Daddy wasn’t much of a drinker. But on those Saturday afternoons in the spring and summer he would have two or three Old Milwaukee beers and a bag of Fritos. Then throw some T bones on the grill. Later as his income grew he drank a few Lowenbraun and then Coors when Jerry Reed and Burt Renolds drove them back to Georgia from Texarkana.
I remember this mower being lime green in color. It looked cheap like a pair of Kmart tennis shoes. Anyway he drove it around the yard, cut some with it and gave me instructions on it with a list of areas to cut the next week. I was told umpteen times not to run over the fruit trees that were planted around the three acre plot we called home. If you cut your arm off while using the mower it would be fine, if you ran over your four year old sister it wouldn't be good but if you mowed down one of those plumb or apple trees, your ass was grass…
This is an opportune time to mention that I would have been easily recognized as a child with ADHD if my parents had understood what that was. I rarely went to the Doctor because they had needles. Old Dr. Cronin just figured I was damaged because my mom took codeine when she was pregnant. I locked myself in the car at the health department as a child once to try to keep the needle away. At least my mom knew I would never become a heroine addict. I had very little focus then, less later as girls entered my cerebral cortex. Anyway I cut the grass, dodged the plum trees and moved on to bigger and better things.
My brain, stimulated by the visuals of a clean cut, I would do another lap and another, grinning with the excitement of a pig in s*** till my laps had me going into the woods. I am still transfixed by that. I believe that I would have been awesome at cutting hay fields or cutting grass along the highway. Daddy would be so proud of how good this looked I thought. Then I hit the stump. Stumps are like suburban landmines in my opinion. All of a sudden the mower sounded like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I bent the blade. Dejected and sad I waited to tell Daddy till he got home. If I had called he would have just cussed and hung up. He was ok, his new mower, not a payment made, got new blades and all was good. Probably remembering the Zig Ziglar statement about positive reinforcement, he didn’t call me a dumb ass. Till the next week…
Once Daddy brought this horrible big ugly used mower home. There was a customer that would trade his mowers in every couple of years like you might a Silverado pickup. I think about it now and I want to shower. It was a piece of crap. But when you pushed the handle down to engage the blades it was like a hurricane under your Adidas. It roared. I mean literally roared. Like the start of a MGM movie. But it couldn't steer worth a damn. It ate belts and pulleys, mostly because I had ripped the bottom out of it so many times. Daddy had Mr. Shack weld a piece of rebar to the front of the deck trying to prevent it when I went off to cut a trail with it or take one more lap into the woods.
I destroyed several mowers this way. Now 40 years later Debbie still cringes when she hears me crank up our Gravely. There is no way to know if this time I will find a concrete block buried in the ground or take out a 50ft pine tree. It's a mystery.
While I had moved out of the Oakdale Street house by the time my sister Ginny could have cut grass, I never remember any stories of her tearing up a mower. I’m pretty certain if she did get on the mower, she cut the exact area she was instructed to, not a strip of St. Augustine more. She didn’t hear the call of those leaves out in the woods that needed mulching or experience the joy in the sound of the blades hitting the dead magnolia leaves that fell under that big tree out back.
I was much gentler on the push mowers. They lasted forever. Like a Baptist who will not have a cold beer or a whiskey I refused to push a mower unless being threatened of eviction or being sent to military school. That changed after getting married. Sex is a great and powerful thing. So I cut the grass around the pool whenever needed...
1985 Corvette
O’Reilly’s law states that Murphy was an optimist. I read that a week ago. At the time it made me laugh. Every day no matter what, s*** happens in business and in life.
A ladder doesn't get tied down on a rack.
A hair color goes bad.
The contract is written all wrong.
You double book the ballroom.
The Tolleson’s get this. Like many in business, our mistakes have been right front and center for all the world to see. Let's do the math for 1986 on 125 Pascagoula Street. You are open for business for approximately 308 days. You are open on average 10 hours each day. That's 3080 hours a year. You probably saw 50 cars a day on average. 15400 cars a year. Thats 15,400 opportunities or 5 opportunities every hour to screw up if my very elementary math is correct. Not to mention you had approximately 30 people on the payroll. With at least 6 at any given time driving 70 miles an hour up Hwy 61 or down 55 with tires hanging off the side of the Ford Courier. Thats a lot of opportunities for bad things to happen.
Some of you are in charge of more vehicles and more people so you get it. Some of you are a one man band so all mistakes are your and yours alone and you get it. Tollesons wakes up at 3am in a cold sweat having dreamed about the wheel coming off a Ford pickup, the oil being left out of the Mercedes or the back glass exploding out of a Corvette…
Corvettes, ever since the first one was introduced in New York City in 1953, have been sought after by young and old alike. They have always been a sign of prosperity and youthfulness. The pride in ownership is strong with Corvette owners. Remember “Corvette Summer” Luke Skywalker and Annie Potts, the receptionist from Ghostbusters, try to find Luke’s stolen Corvette. Corvette owners also have the reputation of being kinda prickly and rightly so when someone starts working on your baby.
There is a joke that goes “Whats the difference between a porcupine and a Corvette driver? One of them has pricks on the inside”
A customer brings his new 1985 red Corvette in with a simple request. The owner, a son inlaw of a large long term customer, loved his Corvette. Like a Ferrari should always be red, a Porsche silver, a Corvette should always be red. The black interior was beautiful, the stereo fantastic. The car was several years away from the cracks, sloppy driving, expensive brake jobs and rattles that would plague Corvettes for years.
It lacked just one simple thing. A third brake light. In 1986 Chevrolet added a third brake light just above the rear hatch. The customer wanted a third light so his three month old car couldn't be dated.
Back then Daddy had a young and very smart technician named Charles. Charles was what we call in our world an A tech. He also was the first mechanic I ever heard described as a technician. Smart as a whip, efficient, rarely intimidated and very expensive. Charles could handle any problems that you had with your car when you brought it in or fix any problems that we created when you brought it in. Charles studied the installation, sniffing around the Corvette like a beagle sniffing around an oak tree. Parts were ordered and Charles went to work. My Dad having been apprised of the procedure, discussed quickly with Charles the operation and went about putting out other forest fires that seemed to ignite like fall in California when the Santa Annas kicks up.
This is a true story. No names have been changed.
I was there the day it happened. I didn't find out from Cat Monkey, Sonny, Paul or Lidell the tire changers. I had by that point been taken out of the shop because I could make a $1000 costing error on the computer but I could no longer crank a stick shift Mustang without sitting in it causing it to hop around the shop like a bullfrog. I might not answer the phone fast enough for Daddy's taste but I wouldn't get in Aspen, not pump the brakes and back it across the parking lot across 3 lanes of Pascagoula Street and into the competitors building. I might forget to take the deposit by 11am one morning but I wouldn't cross 8 lug nuts on a 4 wheel drive Dodge 1 ton dump truck. The liability issues were much more controlled with me working on the sales floor and not working in the shop. That holds true to this day.
Dad’s glass office was like a Fish bowl. Glass on three sides. Sitting at his desk when he turned to his left he could see the area where the brake lathes were, the door to the employee bathroom and the entrance to the warehouse. Where thousands of dollars in batteries, parts and tires were stored. Facing straight ahead were the service bays where 10-15 men and boys ran around every day hoping to accomplish one thing. Don't get called into that glass office. When Daddy turned to his right he could see the sales counter where at any given time 3-5 salesmen and managers scurried around attempting to achieve their sales goal. Achieving your sales and profit goals are central in any business be it a law firm, construction company or a veterinarian and on 125 Pascagoula Street it was of most importance.
Salesmen in a tire store have always made consumers uneasy. I get that. We rank right in line with going to the dentist. Ouch! Many businesses have been ruined by over zealous mechanics, technicians and sales people. I can tell you, Dad thought there was plenty of business out there without having to invent it. He was 100% correct. Dad always thought if you could cook a steak at home, eat at home. If you wanted someone to cook it, serve it and wash the dishes afterwards be ready to pay. Hence the reason we only ate at Jerry’s Fish House or Shoney’s growing up. Other than a trip for beef tips and a baked potato at Western Sizzlin I never remember eating at a steakhouse till I was an adult with him.
So the third brake light. Charles removed the panels needed, pulled the wiring up to run the light which took a while. He tested the light and it worked. Sitting on top of the car, it looked just like a 1986. It was such a pretty Corvette.
All that was left was to lay down in the back on the Corvette with the hatch open and tighten the light in place. Please understand there was not a group of guys watching this. The shop was busy like every afternoon. Everybody working on their assigned tickets. Mounting tires, replacing front brakes, installing a set of spark plugs then BAM!
Somebody just shot a gun in here I thought. Which wouldn't have surprised me. People get so pissed when we don't put an oil sticker in the windshield. I remember me and Melvin, another salesman, literally ducked. Melvin was used to ducking. He wasn’t married but knew several females that were. We looked out into the shop and there was glass everywhere. Like confetti in the ballroom of the Sheraton in New Orleans on New Years Eve.
My Dad was already out the door going into the shop screaming “What the $#^& just happened!”
Charles laid in the back of the Corvette, white as a wedding dress, bleeding from an arm, covered in glass. When he was tightening down the brake light it put pressure on the hatch causing the glass to shatter.
Murphy was certainly an optimist. The glass hatch was in a million pieces which itself isn't tragic. That would have been an easy problem to solve. But when you looked at the car some of the glass was sticking into the car. Inevitably it would have to be painted. Several times actually.
The owner ended up having Daddy have the hood and top painted white. Making the beautiful car look like the most expensive Coca-Cola delivery truck in Jackson. His wife refused to ride in the Coke Car. I think he traded it soon after.
O'Reilly showed up time and time again. One time a guy dropped a car off a rack. That is the worst sound I have ever heard I think. My Dad watched it happen in slow motion Hell. He had a guy deliver an air conditioning unit one day, only to drop it off the back of a truck on Capitol Street. The delivery guy didn't know it fell off it he got to the house and it wasn't in the back. He sent a man to Mobile one morning to deliver some tractor tires. The guy thought he said pick up tires. Drove up to the customers business and asked where to pick the tires up. This was before cell phones. Trailers broke taking out the delivery truck, the trailer and damn near every car at the Lakeland Drive exit.
He once got so mad at a tire man he kicked a glass door out going into the shop with his wing tipped shoes. Glass shattering and falling around him. He just kept walking toward the quivering tire changer. Its seven wonders he didn’t have a heart attack back then. His blood pressure was always too high. Ole Dr. Cronin telling him to take it easy and quit drinking cokes. Dr. Cronins was a Morman. He wasnt as concerned about tetanus as much as he was about caffeine. If Daddy had smoked or drank he would not have made it to 2020.
When mistakes or accidents happened especially those that were minor. No blood, no body shop bills over a $1000 dollars and the customer was leaning into him hard. He would ask them,
“What do you do for a living?”
O’Reilly pays us all a visit in business. It pays us a visit in life. We back into someone in the Kroger parking lot, our kid takes out a neighbors mail box on a Mule, Daddy was like Ok, let's solve the problem, learn from it and dont try to put another @#$%^&* brake light in a Corvette.
O’Reilly’s law states that Murphy was an optimist. I read that a week ago. At the time it made me laugh. Every day no matter what, s*** happens in business and in life.
A ladder doesn't get tied down on a rack.
A hair color goes bad.
The contract is written all wrong.
You double book the ballroom.
The Tolleson’s get this. Like many in business, our mistakes have been right front and center for all the world to see. Let's do the math for 1986 on 125 Pascagoula Street. You are open for business for approximately 308 days. You are open on average 10 hours each day. That's 3080 hours a year. You probably saw 50 cars a day on average. 15400 cars a year. Thats 15,400 opportunities or 5 opportunities every hour to screw up if my very elementary math is correct. Not to mention you had approximately 30 people on the payroll. With at least 6 at any given time driving 70 miles an hour up Hwy 61 or down 55 with tires hanging off the side of the Ford Courier. Thats a lot of opportunities for bad things to happen.
Some of you are in charge of more vehicles and more people so you get it. Some of you are a one man band so all mistakes are your and yours alone and you get it. Tollesons wakes up at 3am in a cold sweat having dreamed about the wheel coming off a Ford pickup, the oil being left out of the Mercedes or the back glass exploding out of a Corvette…
Corvettes, ever since the first one was introduced in New York City in 1953, have been sought after by young and old alike. They have always been a sign of prosperity and youthfulness. The pride in ownership is strong with Corvette owners. Remember “Corvette Summer” Luke Skywalker and Annie Potts, the receptionist from Ghostbusters, try to find Luke’s stolen Corvette. Corvette owners also have the reputation of being kinda prickly and rightly so when someone starts working on your baby.
There is a joke that goes “Whats the difference between a porcupine and a Corvette driver? One of them has pricks on the inside”
A customer brings his new 1985 red Corvette in with a simple request. The owner, a son inlaw of a large long term customer, loved his Corvette. Like a Ferrari should always be red, a Porsche silver, a Corvette should always be red. The black interior was beautiful, the stereo fantastic. The car was several years away from the cracks, sloppy driving, expensive brake jobs and rattles that would plague Corvettes for years.
It lacked just one simple thing. A third brake light. In 1986 Chevrolet added a third brake light just above the rear hatch. The customer wanted a third light so his three month old car couldn't be dated.
Back then Daddy had a young and very smart technician named Charles. Charles was what we call in our world an A tech. He also was the first mechanic I ever heard described as a technician. Smart as a whip, efficient, rarely intimidated and very expensive. Charles could handle any problems that you had with your car when you brought it in or fix any problems that we created when you brought it in. Charles studied the installation, sniffing around the Corvette like a beagle sniffing around an oak tree. Parts were ordered and Charles went to work. My Dad having been apprised of the procedure, discussed quickly with Charles the operation and went about putting out other forest fires that seemed to ignite like fall in California when the Santa Annas kicks up.
This is a true story. No names have been changed.
I was there the day it happened. I didn't find out from Cat Monkey, Sonny, Paul or Lidell the tire changers. I had by that point been taken out of the shop because I could make a $1000 costing error on the computer but I could no longer crank a stick shift Mustang without sitting in it causing it to hop around the shop like a bullfrog. I might not answer the phone fast enough for Daddy's taste but I wouldn't get in Aspen, not pump the brakes and back it across the parking lot across 3 lanes of Pascagoula Street and into the competitors building. I might forget to take the deposit by 11am one morning but I wouldn't cross 8 lug nuts on a 4 wheel drive Dodge 1 ton dump truck. The liability issues were much more controlled with me working on the sales floor and not working in the shop. That holds true to this day.
Dad’s glass office was like a Fish bowl. Glass on three sides. Sitting at his desk when he turned to his left he could see the area where the brake lathes were, the door to the employee bathroom and the entrance to the warehouse. Where thousands of dollars in batteries, parts and tires were stored. Facing straight ahead were the service bays where 10-15 men and boys ran around every day hoping to accomplish one thing. Don't get called into that glass office. When Daddy turned to his right he could see the sales counter where at any given time 3-5 salesmen and managers scurried around attempting to achieve their sales goal. Achieving your sales and profit goals are central in any business be it a law firm, construction company or a veterinarian and on 125 Pascagoula Street it was of most importance.
Salesmen in a tire store have always made consumers uneasy. I get that. We rank right in line with going to the dentist. Ouch! Many businesses have been ruined by over zealous mechanics, technicians and sales people. I can tell you, Dad thought there was plenty of business out there without having to invent it. He was 100% correct. Dad always thought if you could cook a steak at home, eat at home. If you wanted someone to cook it, serve it and wash the dishes afterwards be ready to pay. Hence the reason we only ate at Jerry’s Fish House or Shoney’s growing up. Other than a trip for beef tips and a baked potato at Western Sizzlin I never remember eating at a steakhouse till I was an adult with him.
So the third brake light. Charles removed the panels needed, pulled the wiring up to run the light which took a while. He tested the light and it worked. Sitting on top of the car, it looked just like a 1986. It was such a pretty Corvette.
All that was left was to lay down in the back on the Corvette with the hatch open and tighten the light in place. Please understand there was not a group of guys watching this. The shop was busy like every afternoon. Everybody working on their assigned tickets. Mounting tires, replacing front brakes, installing a set of spark plugs then BAM!
Somebody just shot a gun in here I thought. Which wouldn't have surprised me. People get so pissed when we don't put an oil sticker in the windshield. I remember me and Melvin, another salesman, literally ducked. Melvin was used to ducking. He wasn’t married but knew several females that were. We looked out into the shop and there was glass everywhere. Like confetti in the ballroom of the Sheraton in New Orleans on New Years Eve.
My Dad was already out the door going into the shop screaming “What the $#^& just happened!”
Charles laid in the back of the Corvette, white as a wedding dress, bleeding from an arm, covered in glass. When he was tightening down the brake light it put pressure on the hatch causing the glass to shatter.
Murphy was certainly an optimist. The glass hatch was in a million pieces which itself isn't tragic. That would have been an easy problem to solve. But when you looked at the car some of the glass was sticking into the car. Inevitably it would have to be painted. Several times actually.
The owner ended up having Daddy have the hood and top painted white. Making the beautiful car look like the most expensive Coca-Cola delivery truck in Jackson. His wife refused to ride in the Coke Car. I think he traded it soon after.
O'Reilly showed up time and time again. One time a guy dropped a car off a rack. That is the worst sound I have ever heard I think. My Dad watched it happen in slow motion Hell. He had a guy deliver an air conditioning unit one day, only to drop it off the back of a truck on Capitol Street. The delivery guy didn't know it fell off it he got to the house and it wasn't in the back. He sent a man to Mobile one morning to deliver some tractor tires. The guy thought he said pick up tires. Drove up to the customers business and asked where to pick the tires up. This was before cell phones. Trailers broke taking out the delivery truck, the trailer and damn near every car at the Lakeland Drive exit.
He once got so mad at a tire man he kicked a glass door out going into the shop with his wing tipped shoes. Glass shattering and falling around him. He just kept walking toward the quivering tire changer. Its seven wonders he didn’t have a heart attack back then. His blood pressure was always too high. Ole Dr. Cronin telling him to take it easy and quit drinking cokes. Dr. Cronins was a Morman. He wasnt as concerned about tetanus as much as he was about caffeine. If Daddy had smoked or drank he would not have made it to 2020.
When mistakes or accidents happened especially those that were minor. No blood, no body shop bills over a $1000 dollars and the customer was leaning into him hard. He would ask them,
“What do you do for a living?”
O’Reilly pays us all a visit in business. It pays us a visit in life. We back into someone in the Kroger parking lot, our kid takes out a neighbors mail box on a Mule, Daddy was like Ok, let's solve the problem, learn from it and dont try to put another @#$%^&* brake light in a Corvette.
1982 Datsun 280zx 2+2
We have all had dogs that we wish could talk. But if you are a car person you have had cars that you wish could talk with as well. There are two or three on my list. The first would be this electric blue Datsun.
If this car and I could have a conversation it would go something like this.
280zx: “You are an a******?”
Me: “What do you mean?”
280zx: “Oh you know damn well what I mean.”
What do you buy your 17 year old son after he totals a nice 1979 Toyota Celica?
Well if you are Bill Tolleson. You buy him an electric blue 1982 Datsun 280zx with maybe 30k on the clock. His friend Kenny had just traded it in and got his wife an Oldsmobile. I bet she didn't keep it long. Years later she came into the store and bought tires for her Porsche. Kenny squealed like a piglet in the petting zoo when I told him what those Porsche tires cost. Kenny may have told him to buy it for me. I suspect he did. For that I am grateful. For that car was special.
Daddy and Mom just brought it home one afternoon. I don’t think she wanted me to have it.
When I totaled the Toyota, I had busted blood vessels in my eyes for a couple of days and I looked like a junkie. She thought I was on drugs. I happened to get report cards about the same time and my dreams of becoming an astronaut were fading fast. I was failing geometry and chemistry. By the end of the year Mrs Ezelle, my geometry teacher gave me a 70 and told me to see her next year for another go at it and Mr. Benton gave me a 76 on a finale so he wouldn't have to attempt to teach me chemistry again. I’ve always believed that Mr Benton got a couple of mud grips for the rear of his truck from Daddy for the grade. I still give Mr Benton coupon prices when he comes in for service. Regardless I love Mr Benton to this day and Mrs Ezelle should be a saint. I am friends with several teachers. Don't ever tell me teachers can't make a difference.
Anyway Daddy brought this car home for me and even now it makes no sense. I should have gotten one of the 1972 service trucks with the 3 on the tree with no ac. But Momma wouldn't have liked that in her driveway unless they were delivering firewood or bringing one of the lawnmowers back home that I had torn up.
It had to be about Daddy growing up poor. His family's poverty was not like today's poverty. It was different. The minimalist hippies would be jonesing for Dad’s early days. They didn’t go hungry. Everything they needed to eat was right out the back door. Cows for milk and maybe some beef, hogs for bacon and ham (smoked in the little smokehouse that still stands today) and chickens for eggs and Sunday's lunch. In the fields were dove and deer tip toeing around the edges and squirrels jumping from oak to oak that framed the edges of the field.. Those fields held watermelons, peas, peanuts, cotton, tomatoes and okra. And all of last year's peach preserves, persimmon jelly and pickled everything were on the shelf back behind the little kitchen. My outdoor kitchen is larger than the old house kitchen, dinner table and den area.
So they didnt go hungry and Grandpa Tolleson sold off plenty of crops and cows and bird dogs for cash. He would drive clear across the county to put up a barn for some hard cold cash. Their biggest worry was the weather. All of that generation of Tolleson children keep up with the weather reports. The Weather Channel is their nirvana. I bet if you called any of them tonight they could tell you how much rain we had last night. They had a tv when I was a kid and a transistor radio. GrandPa Tolleson liked listening and later watching baseball games.
Today many of us buy guns for home protection and with a certainty those shotguns would come down if a strangers car pulled up or maybe the dogs went crazy at night but mostly they were for squirrels and birds. GrandPa Tolleson loved bird hunting and squirrel hunting. His bird dogs were first class. He had a ole bird dog named Ned. Ned was one of the few that were let out of the pens. He laid on the porch waiting for GrandPa Tolleson to go across to the pond or the fields. GrandPa Tolleson talked to him more with grunts, and moans, and a wooden whistle that he had made out of cane. Heeeahhh he would say, Woooooo he’d call and the dog knew what all that meant. Anyway a man came up one day and wanted to buy Ned. GrandPa Tolleson said he weren't for sale. The lawyer from over in Greenwood just started putting down $20’s on GrandPa Tollesons tailgate.. When the lawyer got to $600 Ned got a new home in Greenwood. I think Grandma Tolleson was pretty pissed he had sold Ned.
GrandPa Tolleson would load up watermelons out of the patch and sell them to the man at the Sunflower in town. He would sell him peanuts and whatever else. 40 years later my Daddy would sell his muscadines to the same grocery store and he would sell them to people that just pulled up to the house every August and September. Tolleson’s have always loved making money. Its in their DNA. I was in my dads store when they had the biggest month ever to that point. He bought beers and cooked burgers. It was a big deal. But I saw the same excitement when he told me how much he brought in selling his muscadines at the end of the season. Its the DNA.
So this 280 ZX. It was a 2+2. We put nine people in one night and went to the Pizza Hut in Pearl. Its hood was as big as the rest of the car. It kinda reminded me of those old Jags. But unlike a Jag the Z car was very reliable. I only remember a problem with the Mass Air Flow sensor. It was fast. Not the fastest car I ever owned but it was faaaasssttttttt. Why would my Dad buy me this car?
My senior year in highschool, I was madly in love. There is a reason people say madly. They arent talking about mad like angry, they are talking about “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest” mad. I was 17 and I was mad. I had a plan. I made $4.00 an hour working 25 hours a week when school started. My Daddy finished his junior year and he had a plan too.
He was tired of the early mornings hitching mules to plow a field, or getting on the tractor trying to see the turning rows at dawn. Pulling peanuts out of the ground sucks and doing it in August in the boiling sun of Attala county is just torture. I have been to some hot places. Malaysia, Costa Rica, Arizona and none of them compare to Attala county in August. Hottest place in the world.
Daddy wanted out at all cost. So he took a job as assistant undertaker at Nowell Funeral Home. Living in an apartment up above the funeral home. On call 24/7 but he got free meals and room and board. That's wanting out bad. He joined the Army looking for a way out of Mississippi and he got it. Utah in the summer where he says the Army sprayed him with God knows what. Fogged in whole valleys, put a gas mask on him and told him to walk till he fainted. He found that Utah sucked as bad as Mississippi. Tired of the heat and dust, he landed in Fairbanks, Alaska. Just in time for winter. He ran from polar bears to stay warm and became a clerk. He was a trained killer with a typewriter. Tapping out order after order and trying to not get eaten by polar bears.
That little Z Car would just fly. My sister loved to go riding in it. We would crank up Night Ranger and just haul ass around. Then in late afternoons I was off on another date. Spending every dime I had trying to smother my modern day Aphrodite with material things and the smell of my Polo cologne. My Dad would supplement this with a swipe of a gas card here and there. He’d tell me to be careful and I would go in the other room and get a $20 from mom. She would just look at me with dark thoughts of becoming a grandmother at 40. I never considered joining the Army.
Dad realized that evidently like Dorothy there was no place like home. So one day while typing out orders for some soldiers looking for warmer climates in SouthEast Asia, he typed up his discharge papers and got out 6 months early. But he didnt return to the farm and Atalla county. HE RETURNED TO MISSISSIPPI WHERE HE GOT A JOB AT STANDARD OIL IN JACKSON. THERE IN THE ELEVATOR HE SAW A LITTLE DARK HAIRED SWITCHBOARD OPERATOR. WITH THE EXPERIENCE OF SELLING GRIT NEWSPAPERS AS A KID, HE WENT ABOUT SELLING HIMSELF TO THE OPERATOR. A COURTSHIP COMMENCED AND ON THE DAY OF ONE THE LARGEST SNOWSTORMS IN THE STATES HISTORY, DECEMBER, 21 1963 PATSY AND BILL MARRIED. THEY HONEYMOONED AT THE RODEWAY INN ON I55 IN JACKSON BECAUSE THERE WAS TOO MUCH SNOW ON THE GROUND TO GET TO BILOXI.
So I dream of having a conversation with this fine Japanese made DATSUN sports car.
Me: “I have no idea why you think I was an a****** and why do you sound like Kevin Costner?”
280zx: “Didn't you see that dog movie? I mean would it have worked if they used Robert De Niro for the dog’s voice? You sold me for a POS BMW. You thought getting a preppy POS german car would be enough for her to stay. Just because you wore Polo shirts, pants, underwear and cologne doesn't mean you were Rob Lowe.”
Me: “I was dumb, immature, confused, young, foolish. Im sorry.”
280zx: “Its alright, the little girl that drove me afterwards treated me ok. Her dad got my oil changed, put some Toyo tires on me. She didn't run me under a pickup, she didn't get me stuck behind the ball fields”
Me: “So like you were ok?”
280zx:”Hell I thought I was, then that little girl’s Dad sold me to some a****** that ran me hot. Blew up my engine. I'm stuck behind this abandoned apartment complex in Clarksdale now. Totally screwed. I'm so old.”
Me: “ Son of a Bitch. I'm so sorry. I would come get you but I’ve got all these Land Cruisers now. They suck whatever money I have trying to keep them running.”
280zx: “Naw, I'm almost done. I'm sure some meth head will grab me out of here and haul me to the crusher. Thats what happened to the Taurus in front of me.”
Me: tears
280zx: “Stop that crying. I had a good run. Lots of fun memories with you. The lady before you just ran to Highland Village and Gayfers buying designer jeans and s***. I got to go 105mph across I-10 on your Senior Trip. The car was always full of people laughing and listening to Prince and Journey. The first time you took Debbie out was with me. It was a good time. Y’all sat out on my hood and talked and made out. I knew she was the one. Hell everybody knew it. Mission Accomplished. Call Geroge Bush, we need that banner. Anyhow I did what your Dad said to do.”
Me: “What was that?”
280zx: “Your Dad had the guys at Van Trow deliver me to the store. He just looked at me and wrote the check. He didn't kick the tires, he didn't have Cheeks check under my hood or check my brakes out. When he got in it that afternoon. He just patted me on the dash and said “Take care of that boy.”
Me: tears
We have all had dogs that we wish could talk. But if you are a car person you have had cars that you wish could talk with as well. There are two or three on my list. The first would be this electric blue Datsun.
If this car and I could have a conversation it would go something like this.
280zx: “You are an a******?”
Me: “What do you mean?”
280zx: “Oh you know damn well what I mean.”
What do you buy your 17 year old son after he totals a nice 1979 Toyota Celica?
Well if you are Bill Tolleson. You buy him an electric blue 1982 Datsun 280zx with maybe 30k on the clock. His friend Kenny had just traded it in and got his wife an Oldsmobile. I bet she didn't keep it long. Years later she came into the store and bought tires for her Porsche. Kenny squealed like a piglet in the petting zoo when I told him what those Porsche tires cost. Kenny may have told him to buy it for me. I suspect he did. For that I am grateful. For that car was special.
Daddy and Mom just brought it home one afternoon. I don’t think she wanted me to have it.
When I totaled the Toyota, I had busted blood vessels in my eyes for a couple of days and I looked like a junkie. She thought I was on drugs. I happened to get report cards about the same time and my dreams of becoming an astronaut were fading fast. I was failing geometry and chemistry. By the end of the year Mrs Ezelle, my geometry teacher gave me a 70 and told me to see her next year for another go at it and Mr. Benton gave me a 76 on a finale so he wouldn't have to attempt to teach me chemistry again. I’ve always believed that Mr Benton got a couple of mud grips for the rear of his truck from Daddy for the grade. I still give Mr Benton coupon prices when he comes in for service. Regardless I love Mr Benton to this day and Mrs Ezelle should be a saint. I am friends with several teachers. Don't ever tell me teachers can't make a difference.
Anyway Daddy brought this car home for me and even now it makes no sense. I should have gotten one of the 1972 service trucks with the 3 on the tree with no ac. But Momma wouldn't have liked that in her driveway unless they were delivering firewood or bringing one of the lawnmowers back home that I had torn up.
It had to be about Daddy growing up poor. His family's poverty was not like today's poverty. It was different. The minimalist hippies would be jonesing for Dad’s early days. They didn’t go hungry. Everything they needed to eat was right out the back door. Cows for milk and maybe some beef, hogs for bacon and ham (smoked in the little smokehouse that still stands today) and chickens for eggs and Sunday's lunch. In the fields were dove and deer tip toeing around the edges and squirrels jumping from oak to oak that framed the edges of the field.. Those fields held watermelons, peas, peanuts, cotton, tomatoes and okra. And all of last year's peach preserves, persimmon jelly and pickled everything were on the shelf back behind the little kitchen. My outdoor kitchen is larger than the old house kitchen, dinner table and den area.
So they didnt go hungry and Grandpa Tolleson sold off plenty of crops and cows and bird dogs for cash. He would drive clear across the county to put up a barn for some hard cold cash. Their biggest worry was the weather. All of that generation of Tolleson children keep up with the weather reports. The Weather Channel is their nirvana. I bet if you called any of them tonight they could tell you how much rain we had last night. They had a tv when I was a kid and a transistor radio. GrandPa Tolleson liked listening and later watching baseball games.
Today many of us buy guns for home protection and with a certainty those shotguns would come down if a strangers car pulled up or maybe the dogs went crazy at night but mostly they were for squirrels and birds. GrandPa Tolleson loved bird hunting and squirrel hunting. His bird dogs were first class. He had a ole bird dog named Ned. Ned was one of the few that were let out of the pens. He laid on the porch waiting for GrandPa Tolleson to go across to the pond or the fields. GrandPa Tolleson talked to him more with grunts, and moans, and a wooden whistle that he had made out of cane. Heeeahhh he would say, Woooooo he’d call and the dog knew what all that meant. Anyway a man came up one day and wanted to buy Ned. GrandPa Tolleson said he weren't for sale. The lawyer from over in Greenwood just started putting down $20’s on GrandPa Tollesons tailgate.. When the lawyer got to $600 Ned got a new home in Greenwood. I think Grandma Tolleson was pretty pissed he had sold Ned.
GrandPa Tolleson would load up watermelons out of the patch and sell them to the man at the Sunflower in town. He would sell him peanuts and whatever else. 40 years later my Daddy would sell his muscadines to the same grocery store and he would sell them to people that just pulled up to the house every August and September. Tolleson’s have always loved making money. Its in their DNA. I was in my dads store when they had the biggest month ever to that point. He bought beers and cooked burgers. It was a big deal. But I saw the same excitement when he told me how much he brought in selling his muscadines at the end of the season. Its the DNA.
So this 280 ZX. It was a 2+2. We put nine people in one night and went to the Pizza Hut in Pearl. Its hood was as big as the rest of the car. It kinda reminded me of those old Jags. But unlike a Jag the Z car was very reliable. I only remember a problem with the Mass Air Flow sensor. It was fast. Not the fastest car I ever owned but it was faaaasssttttttt. Why would my Dad buy me this car?
My senior year in highschool, I was madly in love. There is a reason people say madly. They arent talking about mad like angry, they are talking about “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest” mad. I was 17 and I was mad. I had a plan. I made $4.00 an hour working 25 hours a week when school started. My Daddy finished his junior year and he had a plan too.
He was tired of the early mornings hitching mules to plow a field, or getting on the tractor trying to see the turning rows at dawn. Pulling peanuts out of the ground sucks and doing it in August in the boiling sun of Attala county is just torture. I have been to some hot places. Malaysia, Costa Rica, Arizona and none of them compare to Attala county in August. Hottest place in the world.
Daddy wanted out at all cost. So he took a job as assistant undertaker at Nowell Funeral Home. Living in an apartment up above the funeral home. On call 24/7 but he got free meals and room and board. That's wanting out bad. He joined the Army looking for a way out of Mississippi and he got it. Utah in the summer where he says the Army sprayed him with God knows what. Fogged in whole valleys, put a gas mask on him and told him to walk till he fainted. He found that Utah sucked as bad as Mississippi. Tired of the heat and dust, he landed in Fairbanks, Alaska. Just in time for winter. He ran from polar bears to stay warm and became a clerk. He was a trained killer with a typewriter. Tapping out order after order and trying to not get eaten by polar bears.
That little Z Car would just fly. My sister loved to go riding in it. We would crank up Night Ranger and just haul ass around. Then in late afternoons I was off on another date. Spending every dime I had trying to smother my modern day Aphrodite with material things and the smell of my Polo cologne. My Dad would supplement this with a swipe of a gas card here and there. He’d tell me to be careful and I would go in the other room and get a $20 from mom. She would just look at me with dark thoughts of becoming a grandmother at 40. I never considered joining the Army.
Dad realized that evidently like Dorothy there was no place like home. So one day while typing out orders for some soldiers looking for warmer climates in SouthEast Asia, he typed up his discharge papers and got out 6 months early. But he didnt return to the farm and Atalla county. HE RETURNED TO MISSISSIPPI WHERE HE GOT A JOB AT STANDARD OIL IN JACKSON. THERE IN THE ELEVATOR HE SAW A LITTLE DARK HAIRED SWITCHBOARD OPERATOR. WITH THE EXPERIENCE OF SELLING GRIT NEWSPAPERS AS A KID, HE WENT ABOUT SELLING HIMSELF TO THE OPERATOR. A COURTSHIP COMMENCED AND ON THE DAY OF ONE THE LARGEST SNOWSTORMS IN THE STATES HISTORY, DECEMBER, 21 1963 PATSY AND BILL MARRIED. THEY HONEYMOONED AT THE RODEWAY INN ON I55 IN JACKSON BECAUSE THERE WAS TOO MUCH SNOW ON THE GROUND TO GET TO BILOXI.
So I dream of having a conversation with this fine Japanese made DATSUN sports car.
Me: “I have no idea why you think I was an a****** and why do you sound like Kevin Costner?”
280zx: “Didn't you see that dog movie? I mean would it have worked if they used Robert De Niro for the dog’s voice? You sold me for a POS BMW. You thought getting a preppy POS german car would be enough for her to stay. Just because you wore Polo shirts, pants, underwear and cologne doesn't mean you were Rob Lowe.”
Me: “I was dumb, immature, confused, young, foolish. Im sorry.”
280zx: “Its alright, the little girl that drove me afterwards treated me ok. Her dad got my oil changed, put some Toyo tires on me. She didn't run me under a pickup, she didn't get me stuck behind the ball fields”
Me: “So like you were ok?”
280zx:”Hell I thought I was, then that little girl’s Dad sold me to some a****** that ran me hot. Blew up my engine. I'm stuck behind this abandoned apartment complex in Clarksdale now. Totally screwed. I'm so old.”
Me: “ Son of a Bitch. I'm so sorry. I would come get you but I’ve got all these Land Cruisers now. They suck whatever money I have trying to keep them running.”
280zx: “Naw, I'm almost done. I'm sure some meth head will grab me out of here and haul me to the crusher. Thats what happened to the Taurus in front of me.”
Me: tears
280zx: “Stop that crying. I had a good run. Lots of fun memories with you. The lady before you just ran to Highland Village and Gayfers buying designer jeans and s***. I got to go 105mph across I-10 on your Senior Trip. The car was always full of people laughing and listening to Prince and Journey. The first time you took Debbie out was with me. It was a good time. Y’all sat out on my hood and talked and made out. I knew she was the one. Hell everybody knew it. Mission Accomplished. Call Geroge Bush, we need that banner. Anyhow I did what your Dad said to do.”
Me: “What was that?”
280zx: “Your Dad had the guys at Van Trow deliver me to the store. He just looked at me and wrote the check. He didn't kick the tires, he didn't have Cheeks check under my hood or check my brakes out. When he got in it that afternoon. He just patted me on the dash and said “Take care of that boy.”
Me: tears
Damnit man, it just got super dusty in my office...
INDY CAR
On the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, when you are on the lake or the beach, Bill Tolleson was watching the Indy 500. Back when I was a kid it was tape delayed and it usually came on late that Sunday afternoon. Edited down to a three hour program it was one of the largest viewed sports programs on TV. Daddy’s favorite drivers were A.J. Foyt, who won many of the races and Al Unser and his son Al Jr.
A.J. Foyt was old school. He liked to fight and cuss. Once he got out of the car, he became an owner. He was known for throwing stuff at his drivers and firing them when they did something stupid. AJ Foyt was alot like Bear Bryant, another favorite sports celebrity of my dads. Daddy was always a Bama fan except after Gene Stallings was fired and they sucked and went through 20 coaches. When that SOB Saben got them winning again, he was all in. Daddy loved winners. He was a State fan because some of his money went there with Ginny and some with Michaela but like a horse with a bad leg, he wasn't gonna bet on the Bulldogs to win. He would root for the Rebels as well. He loved those Manning boys.
The Indy Cars up until the mid 70’s ran a mix of Firestone and Goodyear tires. Firestone took most of the races, until because of cash flow and Goodyear getting better they left The Greatest Spectacle in Racing. But in 1996 Firestone announced they were coming back to the Brickyard and would be the only supplier for the racing cars.
Win on Sunday, Sell on Monday works for tires just as much as for the car manufactures. As Firestone tire sales people we were stoked. We sold many Firehawk Indy 500 tires after that. With Firestones sponsorship came invites to the Indy 500 and other races. As a family we went to the Houston Grand Prix one year when Ginny and JT lived in that concrete jungle. Then at some point in the late nineties Daddy got the call. Firestone invited him for the weekend of the race. A weekend of parades, parties and finally the race. The only problems were Mom couldnt go and Daddy had already booked the family vacation in Orange Beach.
He talked with Momma, she told him to go. Fly back into Pensacola. He would only miss a day at the beach. Just leave her $1000 cash for groceries and go to Indy. So plans were made. We all headed to the beach with his $1000 cash and he flew to Indy. We watched the race that day, excited for the good weather in Indy and that our Daddy was having the trip of a lifetime.
Daddy was great at winning Firestone trips. He and Mom left me with my Grandparents and went to Portugal, Jamaica, Bahamas, St. Lucia, Mexico, Grand Cayman and hit most of all the Stateside sights. He always hated to fly to a meeting. Not sure that he liked flying, being away from home or that his team at work wouldn't hold it together while he was in Las Vegas, Chicago, Atlanta or San Antonio. I’m going with door #3.
Debbie and I went to the airport late that Sunday night to pick up our race spectator. It was prior to 9-11. We met him at the gate. I could tell he was tired. I knew from the itinerary he was going to be leaving the hotel early that morning, go to the race and then they were busing all of the Firestone guys to the airport after the checkered flag. We got in the car, cutting through Pensacola headed back to the large condo that he had rented for the week. I was peppering him with questions.
Me: “What was the start like?” Dad:”Loud like the Blue Angels taking off”
Me: “Do they look as fast in person going around the track as on TV?” Dad: “Faster”
The questions and answers continued as we continued. He told me I would have loved the parties on Friday and Saturday night. Unlike him, I enjoyed the tubs of cold beer, bartenders serving up alcohol concoctions and of course the food. The lobster tails, the whole hogs cooking, the brisket and such. The Firestone tent in the infield with more food and more alcoholic temptation and tubs and tubes of beer sounded grand. I was so envious of his weekend. My opportunity would come later but we had plans the several years that I got the invite.
“So what did you think about the ending? That wreck on lap 189. Holy Crap! That was something, Unbelievable” I said. There was silence beside me. I honestly thought the poor thing had fallen asleep. I can't remember if he sleeps on planes. We have flown to Hawaii, California, Las Vegas together over the years. I always fall asleep flying. Many a trip I have been woken up by the landing gear touching the ground. But I don't remember about him.
“The ending, wow.” I restated. By that point Daddy’s hearing was starting to fade. In his last years he couldn't hear without his hearing aids. His ruined tire machines air up tires, air guns taking tires off and the air hammers vibrating ball joints out. My hearing is fading as well. Ruined by David Lee Roth, Sammy Hagar and those Van Halen boys. Maybe he just didn't hear me.
“That ending!” I said a little louder.
He let out a sigh. And then let me and Debbie know about the rest of the story. He had all access passes to the race allowing him to wander pretty much anywhere other than on the 2.5 mile track itself. Behind the pits, race garages, most of the party tents, the VIP passes were just that. Then just prior to starting he had a seat in the stands to watch the race. He got to his seat in time to hear Jim Nabors sing “Back in Indiana”, see the military fly over and the start of the race. He said it was something else. At some point though mother nature called. He went down below the stands, those bathrooms were crowded as were most. On a weekend with good weather the race brings 400,000 spectators. That's a lot of Porta Johns.
So not wanting to wait in line, probably because his prostate was telling him he needed to pee right now. He walked from the area he seated in and into another area and found a bathroom before it was too late. My Dad was walking back towards his stands and noticed a very attractive woman walking toward him. Men can easily get distracted by women with large breasts. If you look inside the walls of the Pyramids or the caves in Namibia there is a picture of a female with some size C or greater. Plastic surgeons have bought many a boat in Destin because of this. My Dad was a Saint but Big Boobs Yo!
The model brushed up against him and swiped his passes.
He realized it immediately but she was gone, passing into the fog of humanity behind him. Daddy knew he was screwed. The personnel wouldn't let him in his VIP AREA. He had a flip phone but didnt know a number to call for a friend or one of the hosts to help him. So he wandered around for a while, got bored and caught a cab back to the airport. Missing the end of the race. His phone goes off in the airport. The hostess was looking for him. He needed to get on the bus now to get to the airport.
“Guys had flights to catch, where are you?”She asked.
I don't think he got to explain as the stressed travel agent hung up on him as she realized she didn't have to worry about the redneck from Mississippi. There were other drunk tire guys from Phoenix that were holding the bus up too.
Like I told you earlier, he won lots of trips with the big F. One that I made with him was to Monterey, CA the week Princess Diana died in Paris. He was invited to Monterey for the Monterey Grand Prix held at the Laguna Seca just a short ride from Monterey Bay. From that race the next morning, he and several of his peers from the US had been invited to fly from there to Tokyo for a week of meetings, site seeing and factory tours. Bridgestone, a Japanese tire company, had bought Firestone 12 years earlier. They were having a hard time with their Japanese Tire and Service stores. They were not making money and they wanted the top ten Americans managers to come over and evaluate and advise their Japanese counterparts.
I would be flying back from San Jose alone. That's how I had gotten to go. Mom didn't want to fly home back by herself. I have seen many beautiful places in the world. But my number one spot is Big Sur. As soon as this Covid is over Deb and I are going there. The parties at night were great, the restaurants they took us to were expensive and glorious. Having said that, We ate at one of the first Bubba Gumps there. I had shrimp and Dad a steak. I made fun of him. He didnt get it.
Monterey is a great town especially with a sponsor. Between Brigestone and my Dad it was a great 4 days. The race was awesome. We had all access passes again. This time Daddy and I would look at those California boobs but we both put a hand over our passes so they wouldn't get swiped. I have an image of us looking like Fred Sanford as he faked his weekly heart attack when those California Dreamin D caps passed by..
Monday morning arrived. Dad packed for the Land of the Rising Sun. Me for a flight back to reality. We had a great four days. I needed it. 49 Tire by that time was 6 years old maybe. Lots of stress. Michaela had been a handful that year. We had discovered she had a blood disorder that year. ITP. She would get over it but at that point Debbie or I were taking her to UMMC every couple of days to have her blood checks. Lots of long days that year.
We drove back to San Jose. Turned in the rental and went into the terminal. Dad’s flight was 30 minutes ahead of mine. We ate a burger. He would nearly starve for the next week. He was not a sushi fan. Rice and Gravy, Rice and Tomatoes you bet. Rice, raw tuna and seaweed in a little cube, Hell no.
He would return from Tokyo full of stories. Like many that I read about he was amazed how they party into the wee hours and got up the next morning. The bullet train amazed him. The lights of Tokyo were something but the jet lag was hard on him. Those of you that have traveled to the otherside of the world know how it is. I think he was in a coma most of the trip. He found the culture so strange and that was the same in their tire stores. He brought home a video that explained their customer service. It was very funny. At the end of the process, after the salesman and customer bows 100 times. They go out to the car and the salesman opens their door, the customer gets in and the salesman goes out and stops traffic so the customer can exit safely.
Try that on Hwy 49. #splat
The time for dad's departure had arrived and I was feeling just a little off. Like my internal watch was a minute behind as I walked with him to the gate. I told him all about the plane he would cross the Pacific in. We chatted a second or two more. His cohorts were in line to board. He was ready to go. But something was off to me. I could feel a lump in my throat. We hugged. Told each other we loved each other. He would always tell me that. He was good like that. I watched him go down the jetway and I just teared up. So weird. So sad.
I watched till the gate closed and went on down the terminal to my gate and caught my flight to Dallas and then home. I got on the plane and pulled my American Express out. I used those plane phones that were in seat backs back then. I wanted to hear Debbie’s voice and here that Michaela was ok from 30,000 feet. I was ready to be home.
When I started to write these earlier this week. This is the one I wanted desperately to write first. The thoughts of that morning in San Jose came back in a huge way. And like then, I am sad but I know that I will see him again. This time I will go home to him.
On the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, when you are on the lake or the beach, Bill Tolleson was watching the Indy 500. Back when I was a kid it was tape delayed and it usually came on late that Sunday afternoon. Edited down to a three hour program it was one of the largest viewed sports programs on TV. Daddy’s favorite drivers were A.J. Foyt, who won many of the races and Al Unser and his son Al Jr.
A.J. Foyt was old school. He liked to fight and cuss. Once he got out of the car, he became an owner. He was known for throwing stuff at his drivers and firing them when they did something stupid. AJ Foyt was alot like Bear Bryant, another favorite sports celebrity of my dads. Daddy was always a Bama fan except after Gene Stallings was fired and they sucked and went through 20 coaches. When that SOB Saben got them winning again, he was all in. Daddy loved winners. He was a State fan because some of his money went there with Ginny and some with Michaela but like a horse with a bad leg, he wasn't gonna bet on the Bulldogs to win. He would root for the Rebels as well. He loved those Manning boys.
The Indy Cars up until the mid 70’s ran a mix of Firestone and Goodyear tires. Firestone took most of the races, until because of cash flow and Goodyear getting better they left The Greatest Spectacle in Racing. But in 1996 Firestone announced they were coming back to the Brickyard and would be the only supplier for the racing cars.
Win on Sunday, Sell on Monday works for tires just as much as for the car manufactures. As Firestone tire sales people we were stoked. We sold many Firehawk Indy 500 tires after that. With Firestones sponsorship came invites to the Indy 500 and other races. As a family we went to the Houston Grand Prix one year when Ginny and JT lived in that concrete jungle. Then at some point in the late nineties Daddy got the call. Firestone invited him for the weekend of the race. A weekend of parades, parties and finally the race. The only problems were Mom couldnt go and Daddy had already booked the family vacation in Orange Beach.
He talked with Momma, she told him to go. Fly back into Pensacola. He would only miss a day at the beach. Just leave her $1000 cash for groceries and go to Indy. So plans were made. We all headed to the beach with his $1000 cash and he flew to Indy. We watched the race that day, excited for the good weather in Indy and that our Daddy was having the trip of a lifetime.
Daddy was great at winning Firestone trips. He and Mom left me with my Grandparents and went to Portugal, Jamaica, Bahamas, St. Lucia, Mexico, Grand Cayman and hit most of all the Stateside sights. He always hated to fly to a meeting. Not sure that he liked flying, being away from home or that his team at work wouldn't hold it together while he was in Las Vegas, Chicago, Atlanta or San Antonio. I’m going with door #3.
Debbie and I went to the airport late that Sunday night to pick up our race spectator. It was prior to 9-11. We met him at the gate. I could tell he was tired. I knew from the itinerary he was going to be leaving the hotel early that morning, go to the race and then they were busing all of the Firestone guys to the airport after the checkered flag. We got in the car, cutting through Pensacola headed back to the large condo that he had rented for the week. I was peppering him with questions.
Me: “What was the start like?” Dad:”Loud like the Blue Angels taking off”
Me: “Do they look as fast in person going around the track as on TV?” Dad: “Faster”
The questions and answers continued as we continued. He told me I would have loved the parties on Friday and Saturday night. Unlike him, I enjoyed the tubs of cold beer, bartenders serving up alcohol concoctions and of course the food. The lobster tails, the whole hogs cooking, the brisket and such. The Firestone tent in the infield with more food and more alcoholic temptation and tubs and tubes of beer sounded grand. I was so envious of his weekend. My opportunity would come later but we had plans the several years that I got the invite.
“So what did you think about the ending? That wreck on lap 189. Holy Crap! That was something, Unbelievable” I said. There was silence beside me. I honestly thought the poor thing had fallen asleep. I can't remember if he sleeps on planes. We have flown to Hawaii, California, Las Vegas together over the years. I always fall asleep flying. Many a trip I have been woken up by the landing gear touching the ground. But I don't remember about him.
“The ending, wow.” I restated. By that point Daddy’s hearing was starting to fade. In his last years he couldn't hear without his hearing aids. His ruined tire machines air up tires, air guns taking tires off and the air hammers vibrating ball joints out. My hearing is fading as well. Ruined by David Lee Roth, Sammy Hagar and those Van Halen boys. Maybe he just didn't hear me.
“That ending!” I said a little louder.
He let out a sigh. And then let me and Debbie know about the rest of the story. He had all access passes to the race allowing him to wander pretty much anywhere other than on the 2.5 mile track itself. Behind the pits, race garages, most of the party tents, the VIP passes were just that. Then just prior to starting he had a seat in the stands to watch the race. He got to his seat in time to hear Jim Nabors sing “Back in Indiana”, see the military fly over and the start of the race. He said it was something else. At some point though mother nature called. He went down below the stands, those bathrooms were crowded as were most. On a weekend with good weather the race brings 400,000 spectators. That's a lot of Porta Johns.
So not wanting to wait in line, probably because his prostate was telling him he needed to pee right now. He walked from the area he seated in and into another area and found a bathroom before it was too late. My Dad was walking back towards his stands and noticed a very attractive woman walking toward him. Men can easily get distracted by women with large breasts. If you look inside the walls of the Pyramids or the caves in Namibia there is a picture of a female with some size C or greater. Plastic surgeons have bought many a boat in Destin because of this. My Dad was a Saint but Big Boobs Yo!
The model brushed up against him and swiped his passes.
He realized it immediately but she was gone, passing into the fog of humanity behind him. Daddy knew he was screwed. The personnel wouldn't let him in his VIP AREA. He had a flip phone but didnt know a number to call for a friend or one of the hosts to help him. So he wandered around for a while, got bored and caught a cab back to the airport. Missing the end of the race. His phone goes off in the airport. The hostess was looking for him. He needed to get on the bus now to get to the airport.
“Guys had flights to catch, where are you?”She asked.
I don't think he got to explain as the stressed travel agent hung up on him as she realized she didn't have to worry about the redneck from Mississippi. There were other drunk tire guys from Phoenix that were holding the bus up too.
Like I told you earlier, he won lots of trips with the big F. One that I made with him was to Monterey, CA the week Princess Diana died in Paris. He was invited to Monterey for the Monterey Grand Prix held at the Laguna Seca just a short ride from Monterey Bay. From that race the next morning, he and several of his peers from the US had been invited to fly from there to Tokyo for a week of meetings, site seeing and factory tours. Bridgestone, a Japanese tire company, had bought Firestone 12 years earlier. They were having a hard time with their Japanese Tire and Service stores. They were not making money and they wanted the top ten Americans managers to come over and evaluate and advise their Japanese counterparts.
I would be flying back from San Jose alone. That's how I had gotten to go. Mom didn't want to fly home back by herself. I have seen many beautiful places in the world. But my number one spot is Big Sur. As soon as this Covid is over Deb and I are going there. The parties at night were great, the restaurants they took us to were expensive and glorious. Having said that, We ate at one of the first Bubba Gumps there. I had shrimp and Dad a steak. I made fun of him. He didnt get it.
Monterey is a great town especially with a sponsor. Between Brigestone and my Dad it was a great 4 days. The race was awesome. We had all access passes again. This time Daddy and I would look at those California boobs but we both put a hand over our passes so they wouldn't get swiped. I have an image of us looking like Fred Sanford as he faked his weekly heart attack when those California Dreamin D caps passed by..
Monday morning arrived. Dad packed for the Land of the Rising Sun. Me for a flight back to reality. We had a great four days. I needed it. 49 Tire by that time was 6 years old maybe. Lots of stress. Michaela had been a handful that year. We had discovered she had a blood disorder that year. ITP. She would get over it but at that point Debbie or I were taking her to UMMC every couple of days to have her blood checks. Lots of long days that year.
We drove back to San Jose. Turned in the rental and went into the terminal. Dad’s flight was 30 minutes ahead of mine. We ate a burger. He would nearly starve for the next week. He was not a sushi fan. Rice and Gravy, Rice and Tomatoes you bet. Rice, raw tuna and seaweed in a little cube, Hell no.
He would return from Tokyo full of stories. Like many that I read about he was amazed how they party into the wee hours and got up the next morning. The bullet train amazed him. The lights of Tokyo were something but the jet lag was hard on him. Those of you that have traveled to the otherside of the world know how it is. I think he was in a coma most of the trip. He found the culture so strange and that was the same in their tire stores. He brought home a video that explained their customer service. It was very funny. At the end of the process, after the salesman and customer bows 100 times. They go out to the car and the salesman opens their door, the customer gets in and the salesman goes out and stops traffic so the customer can exit safely.
Try that on Hwy 49. #splat
The time for dad's departure had arrived and I was feeling just a little off. Like my internal watch was a minute behind as I walked with him to the gate. I told him all about the plane he would cross the Pacific in. We chatted a second or two more. His cohorts were in line to board. He was ready to go. But something was off to me. I could feel a lump in my throat. We hugged. Told each other we loved each other. He would always tell me that. He was good like that. I watched him go down the jetway and I just teared up. So weird. So sad.
I watched till the gate closed and went on down the terminal to my gate and caught my flight to Dallas and then home. I got on the plane and pulled my American Express out. I used those plane phones that were in seat backs back then. I wanted to hear Debbie’s voice and here that Michaela was ok from 30,000 feet. I was ready to be home.
When I started to write these earlier this week. This is the one I wanted desperately to write first. The thoughts of that morning in San Jose came back in a huge way. And like then, I am sad but I know that I will see him again. This time I will go home to him.
I never knew of the ‘silent generation’ until several years ago when I dug into all that trying to understand exactly where Mr. Bill fit in. Wikipedia has a pretty spot on description:
Silent Generation - Wikipedia
A smaller contingent, stuck in the middle, keeping their heads down, and kicking ass. No bull****...just nose to the grindstone.
100%I never knew of the ‘silent generation’ until several years ago when I dug into all that trying to understand exactly where Mr. Bill fit in. Wikipedia has a pretty spot on description:
Silent Generation - Wikipedia
en.m.wikipedia.org
A smaller contingent, stuck in the middle, keeping their heads down, and kicking ass. No bulls***...just nose to the grindstone.
Bomar
SILVER Star
Man such great stories.
You will miss him everyday and that is ok. I still cry alot (as I am typing this) missing my father and it has been 23 years.
Keep telling the stories....
Such great memories....sounds like a damn fine father. You and Ginny are great examples of fine people.
The Bomars send lots of love....
You will miss him everyday and that is ok. I still cry alot (as I am typing this) missing my father and it has been 23 years.
Keep telling the stories....
Such great memories....sounds like a damn fine father. You and Ginny are great examples of fine people.
The Bomars send lots of love....
Off The Highway Truck
There sat parked on 125 Pascagoula Street, a beast of a machine. Like some monster in a Godzilla Versus _________ movie. For most of the time, it only moved from bay 7 to a parking spot behind bay seven. Like the hook and ladder Truck at Fire Station No. 1 down the street, it only rolled out for the big jobs. The big jobs meant big tires and a big sales ticket for Bill Tolleson and one of his salesmen. And that meant the Off the Highway truck.
The name sounds like the “Off the Highway’ truck was a go anywhere type machine. You would be wrong about that. It was so heavy that it needed layers of asphalt or thick concrete to roll over or it would probably get stuck. It had huge hooks under the front bumper to pull or be pulled from the muck. I first remember seeing the big old early 70’s Chevrolet C500 when we moved back to Jackson when I was in kindergarten. Before BigFoot, Sasquatch or GraveDigger these were the biggest trucks around that didn't have a trailer load of chickens behind it.
The off the highway truck was also off limits to pretty much everybody other than pulling it and out of the shop. I can’t remember if it was a diesel or a gas burner. Whatever was the cheapest for Firestone to cut a purchase order for I am sure. The machine was loud and ornery, like a big ole sloppy drunk not wanting to get up. It would leak coolant, oil and hydraulic fluid giving the poor mechanic who had to work on it something else to bitch about. The air compressor on the back didn't get used enough so it was always giving the tireman trouble. It was a high maintenance piece of equipment, probably like a Italian model. It towered above everything else and that big red arm on the back looked like it could grab you up like Jessica Lang in King Kong.
As a child I was enamored with it as lots of stuff at Daddy’s store. One of the coolest things in the store was the Firestone Product Catalogue. The book was the size of a Los Angeles phone book back when they printed them. Inside its thick red leather covers were page after page of every item that Firestone sold. And back then, that was a lot more than tires. Wheels, Shock absorbers, brake pads, batteries but also bicycles, televisions, stereos, refrigerators, freezers, lawn mowers and on and on. It was better than the King James Bible that sat on my Grandmother's living room coffee table.
Of course all this merchandise was mostly on display in that store's huge sales floor. Back when Walmart had not put so many places out of business, a Firestone store is where you bought Christmas bicycles. Every summer Daddy would buy a box car of Murray bikes and his tire guys and mechanics, when they weren’t bitching, put them together. People would come in and put them on layaway picking them up on Christmas Eve. Lawyers, tv news anchors, plumbers, chefs and secretraties came in all day long putting bicycles in trunks of Pontiacs. These same people would be back for a freezer or a tv the next month. Always pulling out their Firestone credit card.
I looked at that catalogue every time Daddy would bring it home. Mom has told the story many times how I would beg Daddy to bring the red book home. It was my favorite catalogue after the JCPenny’s Christmas catalogue and later as I got older the spring JCPenney catalogue. The spring book had a great lingerie and swimsuit section being that it was wedding and beach season. By that time the Firestone book just didn’t get my blood going.
You may wonder why I didn't mention Sears. For the same reason Patton didn’t drink schnapps. They were the enemy. Sears, with their huge credit business, was a big competitor for everything that Firestone sold. It was a long time before we had any Sears branded stuff in the house. I’m not even sure if the tools he kept in the shop he and GrandPa Tolleson built for him at home had Craftsman tools in it.
The off the highway truck or OTR (off the road truck) as they are called now was rarely driven off the parking lot by anyone but the operators. There were only two operators that I recall. Johnny Lee and KC. Johnny Lee was a ole jolly black man. I was very young when Johnny Lee was working for Daddy. But my memories were of a slumped over laughing black man. Already turning grey and in poor health, he’d load some tractor tires on the back of that truck, grab what he needed out of regular truck and tear out for some farmers field or construction site. My daddy telling him all along to hurry up, there was a dump truck needed a set of traction tires done by 3 or dont get that damn truck stuck again. Something like that,
“Yessur” Johnny Lee would holla and off he would go.
One reason why Johnny Lee looked tired was that he had been mounting up tractor tires since they invented the wheel. The other reason was his wife.
I don’t remember her name but she would call Daddy at home all the time. She would holler on the phone. I don’t know if she worked in a factory or it was the 8 kids they had, but she always yelled at you like your were deaf. She yelled over the phone when she would call Daddy. She reminded me then and now of Aunt Esther. The lady was just as dramatic. I dont know why but some nights Johnny Lee might be late coming home. Maybe he was on the side of Highway 49 replacing a tire on a banana truck, maybe he was on the north side of 49 at a Cat House. But his wife would call hollering at Daddy cause it was 9:30 and Johnny Lee “weren’t” home.
Later when Johnny Lee retired she would call Daddy hollering about insurance and drug cards and life insurance and God knows what else. I distinctly remember her coming to the house several times with a bunch of kids to talk about insurance on a Sunday. His only day off and her comes Esther rolls up in that old Pontiac with kids pouring out of it like a school bus. She’d bring a cardboard box of cucumbers or tomatoes, maybe a cake of some sort and just sit at the breakfast table saying “Jesus! GD Johnny Lee! Gawd Almighty!”
She would use words like beneficiary and deductibles. Words you don’t learn till you get married or start selling insurance the day after you graduate from college. Her kids would run around the house, go up in my room look at all my toys and later listen to white people's music and laugh. Esther the whole time cussing them and calling them names that even then I knew I wasn't supposed to call them.
I remember when ole Johnny Lee died. Esther called wailing over the phone about Sweet Jesus and GD this and that and did Daddy have them phone number to them insurance people up in Ohio. “Sweet Jesus! GD Johnny Lee leaving me with all these kids. Sweet Jesus on High” she screamed. Amazing what you remember. I can’t ever remember my Apple password but I remember that. Daddy went to Johnny Lee’s funeral and went to several more. One of them, he was the only white man in the church. He sat right up front with the family. He said he was exhausted after that day in Vaiden.
I grew taller but that old red OTR truck still looked like a beast. By the time, I was old enough to work in the store, the guys in the shop let me pull it in for the night. I think they were hoping I ran it through the shop into a parked Impala or something. One, so it might cover up their screw up for the day and two because it was a bitch to get in to and then to get it into gear. As I tried to shift it it would sound like I was jackhammering asphalt. Daddy would come over the intercom “Yall watch that boy! Watch that Impala”
Daddy loved those intercom phones. When he would use it, it would first make the noise like a horn on Cadillac. Then like God talking to Moses, Daddy would say “Culley come get your plugs! Catmonkey go to lunch! Jim get in here!” All damn day. When he moved to his new place on 49 he got a new phone system. The horn sound was gone but not the voice. One day Debbie was up there and he came across the intercom directing someone to lunch. It startled Debbie. She looked at Blowfly who was working beside her and said “That sounded like God”
Blowfly replied, “It was”
These OTR trucks are probably the most expensive piece of equipment at a truck tire store. But when you see one in action, you get it. By the time Daddy moved to 49 the ole Big Red had died. A new white diesel monster replaced it. But to be honest, it was puny compared to Big Red. KC made some serious overtime in that truck though. KC took Johnny Lee’s place. KC is solid gold. He still works part time. He taught several others how to master those OTR trucks. I could write a whole story about KC. But I don’t want to get sued. One of the funniest men I have ever known and he loved Daddy. Daddy always had KC back.
Daddy had the back of most all his team. I told the story yesterday at the funeral about how far Daddy would go to defend his guys. He may call them an a****** but not you. I remember this day so clearly like it happened yesterday. I remember the customer as well.
He was a bald man. Much like Mr. Clean, he was tall and when he was younger I am sure he was quite the ladies man. He was Mississippi Mafia, a lobbyist and a back room deal maker. He was plugged in to Mississippi politics. From the coast to the capital, he ran the roads in these big white Chrysler Imperials getting mayors, supervisors and senators elected to State and US seats. He had been a customer of Daddy’s for a time, he would visit me later when I worked in Hattiesburg and even later at 49 Tire.
But on this day in 1983-84, he had come in for his tire rotation and after we were done he noticed his revolver was missing. He came back in to the counter raising 7 kinds of Hell because, “that young #$@%& boy stole his gun!”
Remember from past stories Daddy’s glass office was just off the sales counter. Daddy was in front of him before he had finished putting the exclamation point on his sentence. The man wanted to call the cops. Daddy, like a good manager, got the guy out of the building and they went out to the car. Farther back under the seat, Daddy found the pistol. When the shorter tire guy got in the car, he must have shifted the gun when he adjusted the seat and when the 6.4 owner pushed the seat back it must have shifted again.
The man was very apologetic to Daddy. But Daddy stopped him cold.
“You didn’t call me a thief. You called him a thief” and he grabbed the taller man by the arm and took him over to the $4.75 an hour 23 year black tire guy.
“Apologize to him,” Daddy ordered.
By the time I was 18, I had driven the Stake Body truck to Forest, Hattiesburg of Carthage with a load of tires to a county barn or a little tire store. But I never had driven Big Red. Big Red had air brakes, Big Red had this big gear shift and all kinds of buttons. It wasn’t like the Ford Courier. It was a lot of truck.
But on this hot afternoon. KC was down in New Hebron at a loggers using Big Red, mounting 4 28L-26 Firestone 23 degree tires I think they were called. A trucking company somewhere in the Pine Belt called and needed 8 grip tires. Problem was KC needed the tires and really needed his regular service truck. Big Red didn’t go over 60 miles an hour. KC needed to haul ass, which meant not going 60.
A problem solving meeting took place between the salesman about to head in the other direction with a trailer load of tires and my Daddy.
“Let’s send Paul.” the salesman said
“Can’t his licenses isn't any good” Dad replied
“Sonny?” The sales asked.
“DUI” Daddy sighed
That's probably when I came around the corner thinking about my hot date at Crechale’s that night.
My Dad probably already resigned to the fact that this would end badly said, “Back up KC truck load up 8 11 24.5 Tractions and meet him at New Hebron. You can bring back Big Red”
“Oh s***.” I thought and then stupidly said. “I got a date at 6:00pm. We are going to Crechales. I will be late.”
“Damn right you will.” Daddy replied
“What about my car?” I asked as I followed him to the warehouse.
I loaded up and hauled ass to New Hebron and found KC and Big Red. Of course it was loaded with four worn out skidder tires when I got there. KC gave me a quick tutorial since at that point I had never put the truck in 2nd or 3rd gear and he hopped in his truck headed to the next gig. KC’s Ford truck did 75 going south but Big Red wasn’t gonna go over 60. I was gonna be late for my date. My timing was gonna be way off. My night of onion rings, New York strip and desert was in jeopardy of getting started on time. I was going to be a good hour late. Then I had an idea. I would just go pick her up in Big Red and then return it to Pascagoula Street, grab my car and my timeline would work. This was all before cell phones.
I pulled up to her house in Big Red. Her mom thought it was funny, she changed into jeans because Big Red was nasty on the inside especially the passenger seat because no one had sat over there in 15 years. We laughed as we headed up 49 and Dad was waiting for me to get back so he could lock Big Red up in the gate. And off we went on our date.
For about 4 years straight, I ate at Crecales most weekends. Back then all the waiters and the owner knew me. I have great stories about that place. Later I proposed to Debbie in one of their booths. I told you earlier that I didn't eat a steak with my Daddy at a real steak house till 1990 I believe. I”m almost 100% certain he never had a steak at Crechale's...
There sat parked on 125 Pascagoula Street, a beast of a machine. Like some monster in a Godzilla Versus _________ movie. For most of the time, it only moved from bay 7 to a parking spot behind bay seven. Like the hook and ladder Truck at Fire Station No. 1 down the street, it only rolled out for the big jobs. The big jobs meant big tires and a big sales ticket for Bill Tolleson and one of his salesmen. And that meant the Off the Highway truck.
The name sounds like the “Off the Highway’ truck was a go anywhere type machine. You would be wrong about that. It was so heavy that it needed layers of asphalt or thick concrete to roll over or it would probably get stuck. It had huge hooks under the front bumper to pull or be pulled from the muck. I first remember seeing the big old early 70’s Chevrolet C500 when we moved back to Jackson when I was in kindergarten. Before BigFoot, Sasquatch or GraveDigger these were the biggest trucks around that didn't have a trailer load of chickens behind it.
The off the highway truck was also off limits to pretty much everybody other than pulling it and out of the shop. I can’t remember if it was a diesel or a gas burner. Whatever was the cheapest for Firestone to cut a purchase order for I am sure. The machine was loud and ornery, like a big ole sloppy drunk not wanting to get up. It would leak coolant, oil and hydraulic fluid giving the poor mechanic who had to work on it something else to bitch about. The air compressor on the back didn't get used enough so it was always giving the tireman trouble. It was a high maintenance piece of equipment, probably like a Italian model. It towered above everything else and that big red arm on the back looked like it could grab you up like Jessica Lang in King Kong.
As a child I was enamored with it as lots of stuff at Daddy’s store. One of the coolest things in the store was the Firestone Product Catalogue. The book was the size of a Los Angeles phone book back when they printed them. Inside its thick red leather covers were page after page of every item that Firestone sold. And back then, that was a lot more than tires. Wheels, Shock absorbers, brake pads, batteries but also bicycles, televisions, stereos, refrigerators, freezers, lawn mowers and on and on. It was better than the King James Bible that sat on my Grandmother's living room coffee table.
Of course all this merchandise was mostly on display in that store's huge sales floor. Back when Walmart had not put so many places out of business, a Firestone store is where you bought Christmas bicycles. Every summer Daddy would buy a box car of Murray bikes and his tire guys and mechanics, when they weren’t bitching, put them together. People would come in and put them on layaway picking them up on Christmas Eve. Lawyers, tv news anchors, plumbers, chefs and secretraties came in all day long putting bicycles in trunks of Pontiacs. These same people would be back for a freezer or a tv the next month. Always pulling out their Firestone credit card.
I looked at that catalogue every time Daddy would bring it home. Mom has told the story many times how I would beg Daddy to bring the red book home. It was my favorite catalogue after the JCPenny’s Christmas catalogue and later as I got older the spring JCPenney catalogue. The spring book had a great lingerie and swimsuit section being that it was wedding and beach season. By that time the Firestone book just didn’t get my blood going.
You may wonder why I didn't mention Sears. For the same reason Patton didn’t drink schnapps. They were the enemy. Sears, with their huge credit business, was a big competitor for everything that Firestone sold. It was a long time before we had any Sears branded stuff in the house. I’m not even sure if the tools he kept in the shop he and GrandPa Tolleson built for him at home had Craftsman tools in it.
The off the highway truck or OTR (off the road truck) as they are called now was rarely driven off the parking lot by anyone but the operators. There were only two operators that I recall. Johnny Lee and KC. Johnny Lee was a ole jolly black man. I was very young when Johnny Lee was working for Daddy. But my memories were of a slumped over laughing black man. Already turning grey and in poor health, he’d load some tractor tires on the back of that truck, grab what he needed out of regular truck and tear out for some farmers field or construction site. My daddy telling him all along to hurry up, there was a dump truck needed a set of traction tires done by 3 or dont get that damn truck stuck again. Something like that,
“Yessur” Johnny Lee would holla and off he would go.
One reason why Johnny Lee looked tired was that he had been mounting up tractor tires since they invented the wheel. The other reason was his wife.
I don’t remember her name but she would call Daddy at home all the time. She would holler on the phone. I don’t know if she worked in a factory or it was the 8 kids they had, but she always yelled at you like your were deaf. She yelled over the phone when she would call Daddy. She reminded me then and now of Aunt Esther. The lady was just as dramatic. I dont know why but some nights Johnny Lee might be late coming home. Maybe he was on the side of Highway 49 replacing a tire on a banana truck, maybe he was on the north side of 49 at a Cat House. But his wife would call hollering at Daddy cause it was 9:30 and Johnny Lee “weren’t” home.
Later when Johnny Lee retired she would call Daddy hollering about insurance and drug cards and life insurance and God knows what else. I distinctly remember her coming to the house several times with a bunch of kids to talk about insurance on a Sunday. His only day off and her comes Esther rolls up in that old Pontiac with kids pouring out of it like a school bus. She’d bring a cardboard box of cucumbers or tomatoes, maybe a cake of some sort and just sit at the breakfast table saying “Jesus! GD Johnny Lee! Gawd Almighty!”
She would use words like beneficiary and deductibles. Words you don’t learn till you get married or start selling insurance the day after you graduate from college. Her kids would run around the house, go up in my room look at all my toys and later listen to white people's music and laugh. Esther the whole time cussing them and calling them names that even then I knew I wasn't supposed to call them.
I remember when ole Johnny Lee died. Esther called wailing over the phone about Sweet Jesus and GD this and that and did Daddy have them phone number to them insurance people up in Ohio. “Sweet Jesus! GD Johnny Lee leaving me with all these kids. Sweet Jesus on High” she screamed. Amazing what you remember. I can’t ever remember my Apple password but I remember that. Daddy went to Johnny Lee’s funeral and went to several more. One of them, he was the only white man in the church. He sat right up front with the family. He said he was exhausted after that day in Vaiden.
I grew taller but that old red OTR truck still looked like a beast. By the time, I was old enough to work in the store, the guys in the shop let me pull it in for the night. I think they were hoping I ran it through the shop into a parked Impala or something. One, so it might cover up their screw up for the day and two because it was a bitch to get in to and then to get it into gear. As I tried to shift it it would sound like I was jackhammering asphalt. Daddy would come over the intercom “Yall watch that boy! Watch that Impala”
Daddy loved those intercom phones. When he would use it, it would first make the noise like a horn on Cadillac. Then like God talking to Moses, Daddy would say “Culley come get your plugs! Catmonkey go to lunch! Jim get in here!” All damn day. When he moved to his new place on 49 he got a new phone system. The horn sound was gone but not the voice. One day Debbie was up there and he came across the intercom directing someone to lunch. It startled Debbie. She looked at Blowfly who was working beside her and said “That sounded like God”
Blowfly replied, “It was”
These OTR trucks are probably the most expensive piece of equipment at a truck tire store. But when you see one in action, you get it. By the time Daddy moved to 49 the ole Big Red had died. A new white diesel monster replaced it. But to be honest, it was puny compared to Big Red. KC made some serious overtime in that truck though. KC took Johnny Lee’s place. KC is solid gold. He still works part time. He taught several others how to master those OTR trucks. I could write a whole story about KC. But I don’t want to get sued. One of the funniest men I have ever known and he loved Daddy. Daddy always had KC back.
Daddy had the back of most all his team. I told the story yesterday at the funeral about how far Daddy would go to defend his guys. He may call them an a****** but not you. I remember this day so clearly like it happened yesterday. I remember the customer as well.
He was a bald man. Much like Mr. Clean, he was tall and when he was younger I am sure he was quite the ladies man. He was Mississippi Mafia, a lobbyist and a back room deal maker. He was plugged in to Mississippi politics. From the coast to the capital, he ran the roads in these big white Chrysler Imperials getting mayors, supervisors and senators elected to State and US seats. He had been a customer of Daddy’s for a time, he would visit me later when I worked in Hattiesburg and even later at 49 Tire.
But on this day in 1983-84, he had come in for his tire rotation and after we were done he noticed his revolver was missing. He came back in to the counter raising 7 kinds of Hell because, “that young #$@%& boy stole his gun!”
Remember from past stories Daddy’s glass office was just off the sales counter. Daddy was in front of him before he had finished putting the exclamation point on his sentence. The man wanted to call the cops. Daddy, like a good manager, got the guy out of the building and they went out to the car. Farther back under the seat, Daddy found the pistol. When the shorter tire guy got in the car, he must have shifted the gun when he adjusted the seat and when the 6.4 owner pushed the seat back it must have shifted again.
The man was very apologetic to Daddy. But Daddy stopped him cold.
“You didn’t call me a thief. You called him a thief” and he grabbed the taller man by the arm and took him over to the $4.75 an hour 23 year black tire guy.
“Apologize to him,” Daddy ordered.
By the time I was 18, I had driven the Stake Body truck to Forest, Hattiesburg of Carthage with a load of tires to a county barn or a little tire store. But I never had driven Big Red. Big Red had air brakes, Big Red had this big gear shift and all kinds of buttons. It wasn’t like the Ford Courier. It was a lot of truck.
But on this hot afternoon. KC was down in New Hebron at a loggers using Big Red, mounting 4 28L-26 Firestone 23 degree tires I think they were called. A trucking company somewhere in the Pine Belt called and needed 8 grip tires. Problem was KC needed the tires and really needed his regular service truck. Big Red didn’t go over 60 miles an hour. KC needed to haul ass, which meant not going 60.
A problem solving meeting took place between the salesman about to head in the other direction with a trailer load of tires and my Daddy.
“Let’s send Paul.” the salesman said
“Can’t his licenses isn't any good” Dad replied
“Sonny?” The sales asked.
“DUI” Daddy sighed
That's probably when I came around the corner thinking about my hot date at Crechale’s that night.
My Dad probably already resigned to the fact that this would end badly said, “Back up KC truck load up 8 11 24.5 Tractions and meet him at New Hebron. You can bring back Big Red”
“Oh s***.” I thought and then stupidly said. “I got a date at 6:00pm. We are going to Crechales. I will be late.”
“Damn right you will.” Daddy replied
“What about my car?” I asked as I followed him to the warehouse.
I loaded up and hauled ass to New Hebron and found KC and Big Red. Of course it was loaded with four worn out skidder tires when I got there. KC gave me a quick tutorial since at that point I had never put the truck in 2nd or 3rd gear and he hopped in his truck headed to the next gig. KC’s Ford truck did 75 going south but Big Red wasn’t gonna go over 60. I was gonna be late for my date. My timing was gonna be way off. My night of onion rings, New York strip and desert was in jeopardy of getting started on time. I was going to be a good hour late. Then I had an idea. I would just go pick her up in Big Red and then return it to Pascagoula Street, grab my car and my timeline would work. This was all before cell phones.
I pulled up to her house in Big Red. Her mom thought it was funny, she changed into jeans because Big Red was nasty on the inside especially the passenger seat because no one had sat over there in 15 years. We laughed as we headed up 49 and Dad was waiting for me to get back so he could lock Big Red up in the gate. And off we went on our date.
For about 4 years straight, I ate at Crecales most weekends. Back then all the waiters and the owner knew me. I have great stories about that place. Later I proposed to Debbie in one of their booths. I told you earlier that I didn't eat a steak with my Daddy at a real steak house till 1990 I believe. I”m almost 100% certain he never had a steak at Crechale's...
Ford LTDII
Like children in the 50’s getting hand me down car coats, Daddy’s Ford LTDII company car was a hand me down. It was silver or gray when it left the Ford factory in Georgia or Ohio. The hood of this car probably weighed the same as a modern day Honda Civic. That hood would arrive home 10 minutes before the rest of the car. If Mississippi had toll booths, the hood and then the rest of the car would be expected to pay.
I am not sure which DM (district manager) drove it prior to Daddy receiving the keys but he left his mark on the car. The car had a transmission tunnel that ran along the floorboard and seemed as long as the hood. The DM always liked a cold beer or two as he headed home or was driving to some hotel to spend the night in Knoxville, Fort Smith or Selma. The DM had taken a hammer and beat a spot in the housing in the perfect circumference to sit a can of beer. Daddy always liked to tell that story.
The Ford LTDII made the trip from Florence to 125 West Pascagoula for years, every day, six days a week and sometimes seven days a week. Much earlier he had driven an old Chevrolet Nova and spent many Sundays in the office looking over invoices and looking for costing errors that the hapless salespeople had made. He would put tire, bicycle and automotive parts orders together on those quiet Sundays when he could be left alone,
He was a workaholic like so many others of that silent generation. My brother in law sent me a link this week that describes this generation to a t.
“From their childhood experiences during the Depression and the insistence from their parents to be frugal, they tend to be thrifty and even miserly. They prefer to maximize the property's lifespan, i.e. "get their money's worth." This can lead to hoarding in the guise of "not being wasteful.”
“ Silents tended to marry and have children young. American Silents are noted as being the youngest of all American generations in marrying and raising families.’
‘As a birth cohort, they never rose in protest as a unified political entity.[18] Because "following the rules" had proven to be successful for Silents and had led to incredible and stable wealth creation’
“Unlike the previous generation who had fought for “changing the system,” the Silent Generation were about “working within the system.” They did this by keeping their heads down and working hard, thus earning themselves the "silent" label.”
Head down, Hard work, No bull**** was how my brother in law described him. 100%
I would go with him many Saturdays and Sundays. Saturdays were a busy day then and we would get there around 6:20. Many guys were there waiting on him to open the doors so they could clock in and get the store ready for the day. Some guys would party all night long and smartly just park their car in the store parking lot and sleep it off a couple of hours before someone would wake them up. They would get cars backed out, move BIG Red back into its spot and then wait for 7am.
Car Repair life hack then and now. Drop your car off before close on Friday, tell the salesman it needs to be ready at 9am for pick up on Saturday. Most cases it will be ready to go at 9 and you can sleep late.
When I was 8-12 I was too young to back out cars before they opened on Saturdays but I could go over to the wall of Philco tvs in the waiting area and turn them all to the same cartoon. Fifteen tv’s playing Space Ghost, Justice League or Scooby Doo. HEAVEN!
The poor credit manager and appliance, electronics salesman desk was next to the tvs. I am sure I drove them up the wall. Or Scooby Doo and Aquaman did anyway.
Sundays while daddy sat at his desk with his red flair pen, I had a full run of the store. In bicycle season, I could test drive all the bikes down the showroom aisles but I was threatened that I better not run into that refrigerator or washing and dryer set. I pretty much stayed away from the appliance area and just ran the circuit between the shock displays and the stacks of tires.
He stayed in his office, running his add machine, cursing under his breath, finding costing error after costing error. He marked up the daily OAR (Operations Analysis Report) like my math teachers. He would sit at that wooden desk with the glass desktop and turn whole pages red. I would get on all those Murray bikes and just run laps while Fleetwood Mac would blair through one of the SoundDesign stereo systems for sale for just $9.99 a month...
Later, probably when the thought of a Sunday at his desk seemed like a horrible idea. He would bring his OAR’s and his red flair pen home. He would put on a ball game and look over the reports. Big question marks, the salesman's name beside the data entry that didn’t make sense to him or when someone would not put the cost at all for a shock or an outside purchase tractor tire. Salespeople would try to slip one of those in there trying to boost their gross profit margin by the end of the month. Dad caught most of them. He would go in the next morning and get Ada, Renee or Carol to make the correction before the salesman even knew what happened.
I totaled my Toyota Celica on Williams Road. Mom had made me deliver flowers down to McLaurin one morning before school. I didn't want to go down there. They were the enemy. But Brian (my best buddy and neighbor) hopped in the Celica and ran the bud vase down to the school where most of south west Rankin country went to junior high school up till several years earlier.
From an athletics program, the split of Florence, McLaurin and Richland into three schools was a death nail. From a power house in the district, they split into much lower districts, it would take years to recover. So now the Tigers and the Rangers were the enemy. We delivered the bud vase and hauled ass back up Williams road. I reached down to change a radio station, ran off the road digging up enough dirt in front of the poor Celica to cause it to flip onto its roof.
Brian should have died that morning. I climbed out brushing glass off and out of my arm. Brian had landed in the back seat. He was moaning and I couldn't pull him out the way I escaped. I told him to get out. “The car is on fire!” He then quickly egressed, looking for the smoke that wasn’t there. We walked down the road, till we got to a house that someone was home. A sweet black lady allowed us in and instead of calling Daddy or the police. I called God’s right hand man back then.
Mr. Vaughn was the high school principal, part time minister and rabbit dog aficionado,
Books, football fields and scholarships should be named in this man's honor. Maybe Ill put my memories down about him soon. He was one of the finest men I have ever known.
Mr Vaughn called my dad, the police and fire departments and tow truck. School was just 5 minutes away so he reached us first. The fire department, sheriff, and my Dad in the LTDII not far behind.
I’m sure as Daddy got to work that morning his blood pressure was already creeping up. He would battle blood pressure till the day he passed away from the effects of Covid. I bet he arrived that morning after his 15 minute drive in. He probably ate a King Dong or a Twinkie on the way in washing it down with a cup of orange juice. He got to work and probably found out Sonny called in sick, Doyle needed 12 tires installed by 9am, one of the alignment machine sensors needed replacing and some lady was mad at the counter because her brakes were still squealing on her Volvo. Then he gets a call from Mr. Vaughn. His blood pressure was maxed out then.
I don't have any memories of what my Dad had to say that day, but I can imagine just how pissed he was. Mom saw the poor Toyota, as the tow truck dropped it at the house. She saw my bruises and cuts and blood shot eyes. She remembered my awesome report cards from a couple days prior, she knew I was hooked on heroin.
Dad dropped me off at school and headed back to his regular problems of the day. Wrong shocks, Volvo brakes, bitching mechanics and missing tires. He could deal with those, a screw up son. Maybe military school was the right decision…
The LTDII made many other emergency runs but luckily I was not the reason for most. Most were for a tire at 3am for a lone trucker going from El Paso to Atlanta. He had a blow out on the side of 20. His dispatcher woke up Daddy and Daddy would in turn wake up KC or Blow Fly. They would meet downtown at the warehouse which at that point the warehouse was right next door. Finally it was off of Poindexter or at the end of Roach Street. Daddy always had his 22 pistol strapped on his side like Barney Fife.
22 pistol in a 38 special world.
He would get back home at 4:30 and his alarm would go off at 6am. Life of a tire man.
Daddy at some point got the old LTDII painted. Today if you order a Porsche 911 in Chalk it will cost you an extra $3500. Dad got the LTDII painted Chalk for $250 and a set of 721 tires. It looked like a narc's car. Maybe that's the look he was going far.
Like children in the 50’s getting hand me down car coats, Daddy’s Ford LTDII company car was a hand me down. It was silver or gray when it left the Ford factory in Georgia or Ohio. The hood of this car probably weighed the same as a modern day Honda Civic. That hood would arrive home 10 minutes before the rest of the car. If Mississippi had toll booths, the hood and then the rest of the car would be expected to pay.
I am not sure which DM (district manager) drove it prior to Daddy receiving the keys but he left his mark on the car. The car had a transmission tunnel that ran along the floorboard and seemed as long as the hood. The DM always liked a cold beer or two as he headed home or was driving to some hotel to spend the night in Knoxville, Fort Smith or Selma. The DM had taken a hammer and beat a spot in the housing in the perfect circumference to sit a can of beer. Daddy always liked to tell that story.
The Ford LTDII made the trip from Florence to 125 West Pascagoula for years, every day, six days a week and sometimes seven days a week. Much earlier he had driven an old Chevrolet Nova and spent many Sundays in the office looking over invoices and looking for costing errors that the hapless salespeople had made. He would put tire, bicycle and automotive parts orders together on those quiet Sundays when he could be left alone,
He was a workaholic like so many others of that silent generation. My brother in law sent me a link this week that describes this generation to a t.
“From their childhood experiences during the Depression and the insistence from their parents to be frugal, they tend to be thrifty and even miserly. They prefer to maximize the property's lifespan, i.e. "get their money's worth." This can lead to hoarding in the guise of "not being wasteful.”
“ Silents tended to marry and have children young. American Silents are noted as being the youngest of all American generations in marrying and raising families.’
‘As a birth cohort, they never rose in protest as a unified political entity.[18] Because "following the rules" had proven to be successful for Silents and had led to incredible and stable wealth creation’
“Unlike the previous generation who had fought for “changing the system,” the Silent Generation were about “working within the system.” They did this by keeping their heads down and working hard, thus earning themselves the "silent" label.”
Head down, Hard work, No bull**** was how my brother in law described him. 100%
I would go with him many Saturdays and Sundays. Saturdays were a busy day then and we would get there around 6:20. Many guys were there waiting on him to open the doors so they could clock in and get the store ready for the day. Some guys would party all night long and smartly just park their car in the store parking lot and sleep it off a couple of hours before someone would wake them up. They would get cars backed out, move BIG Red back into its spot and then wait for 7am.
Car Repair life hack then and now. Drop your car off before close on Friday, tell the salesman it needs to be ready at 9am for pick up on Saturday. Most cases it will be ready to go at 9 and you can sleep late.
When I was 8-12 I was too young to back out cars before they opened on Saturdays but I could go over to the wall of Philco tvs in the waiting area and turn them all to the same cartoon. Fifteen tv’s playing Space Ghost, Justice League or Scooby Doo. HEAVEN!
The poor credit manager and appliance, electronics salesman desk was next to the tvs. I am sure I drove them up the wall. Or Scooby Doo and Aquaman did anyway.
Sundays while daddy sat at his desk with his red flair pen, I had a full run of the store. In bicycle season, I could test drive all the bikes down the showroom aisles but I was threatened that I better not run into that refrigerator or washing and dryer set. I pretty much stayed away from the appliance area and just ran the circuit between the shock displays and the stacks of tires.
He stayed in his office, running his add machine, cursing under his breath, finding costing error after costing error. He marked up the daily OAR (Operations Analysis Report) like my math teachers. He would sit at that wooden desk with the glass desktop and turn whole pages red. I would get on all those Murray bikes and just run laps while Fleetwood Mac would blair through one of the SoundDesign stereo systems for sale for just $9.99 a month...
Later, probably when the thought of a Sunday at his desk seemed like a horrible idea. He would bring his OAR’s and his red flair pen home. He would put on a ball game and look over the reports. Big question marks, the salesman's name beside the data entry that didn’t make sense to him or when someone would not put the cost at all for a shock or an outside purchase tractor tire. Salespeople would try to slip one of those in there trying to boost their gross profit margin by the end of the month. Dad caught most of them. He would go in the next morning and get Ada, Renee or Carol to make the correction before the salesman even knew what happened.
I totaled my Toyota Celica on Williams Road. Mom had made me deliver flowers down to McLaurin one morning before school. I didn't want to go down there. They were the enemy. But Brian (my best buddy and neighbor) hopped in the Celica and ran the bud vase down to the school where most of south west Rankin country went to junior high school up till several years earlier.
From an athletics program, the split of Florence, McLaurin and Richland into three schools was a death nail. From a power house in the district, they split into much lower districts, it would take years to recover. So now the Tigers and the Rangers were the enemy. We delivered the bud vase and hauled ass back up Williams road. I reached down to change a radio station, ran off the road digging up enough dirt in front of the poor Celica to cause it to flip onto its roof.
Brian should have died that morning. I climbed out brushing glass off and out of my arm. Brian had landed in the back seat. He was moaning and I couldn't pull him out the way I escaped. I told him to get out. “The car is on fire!” He then quickly egressed, looking for the smoke that wasn’t there. We walked down the road, till we got to a house that someone was home. A sweet black lady allowed us in and instead of calling Daddy or the police. I called God’s right hand man back then.
Mr. Vaughn was the high school principal, part time minister and rabbit dog aficionado,
Books, football fields and scholarships should be named in this man's honor. Maybe Ill put my memories down about him soon. He was one of the finest men I have ever known.
Mr Vaughn called my dad, the police and fire departments and tow truck. School was just 5 minutes away so he reached us first. The fire department, sheriff, and my Dad in the LTDII not far behind.
I’m sure as Daddy got to work that morning his blood pressure was already creeping up. He would battle blood pressure till the day he passed away from the effects of Covid. I bet he arrived that morning after his 15 minute drive in. He probably ate a King Dong or a Twinkie on the way in washing it down with a cup of orange juice. He got to work and probably found out Sonny called in sick, Doyle needed 12 tires installed by 9am, one of the alignment machine sensors needed replacing and some lady was mad at the counter because her brakes were still squealing on her Volvo. Then he gets a call from Mr. Vaughn. His blood pressure was maxed out then.
I don't have any memories of what my Dad had to say that day, but I can imagine just how pissed he was. Mom saw the poor Toyota, as the tow truck dropped it at the house. She saw my bruises and cuts and blood shot eyes. She remembered my awesome report cards from a couple days prior, she knew I was hooked on heroin.
Dad dropped me off at school and headed back to his regular problems of the day. Wrong shocks, Volvo brakes, bitching mechanics and missing tires. He could deal with those, a screw up son. Maybe military school was the right decision…
The LTDII made many other emergency runs but luckily I was not the reason for most. Most were for a tire at 3am for a lone trucker going from El Paso to Atlanta. He had a blow out on the side of 20. His dispatcher woke up Daddy and Daddy would in turn wake up KC or Blow Fly. They would meet downtown at the warehouse which at that point the warehouse was right next door. Finally it was off of Poindexter or at the end of Roach Street. Daddy always had his 22 pistol strapped on his side like Barney Fife.
22 pistol in a 38 special world.
He would get back home at 4:30 and his alarm would go off at 6am. Life of a tire man.
Daddy at some point got the old LTDII painted. Today if you order a Porsche 911 in Chalk it will cost you an extra $3500. Dad got the LTDII painted Chalk for $250 and a set of 721 tires. It looked like a narc's car. Maybe that's the look he was going far.