Becoming a Writer – The Early Years, The Convertible

1955 Olds Convertible, (only mine was all red)

Becoming a Writer –

The Early Years, The Convertible

When I arrived in San Miguel in my convertible I was only partly
aware of the effect that car had on San Miguel and its citizens.
I had bought it because I wanted to see more of Mexico when I
came back, and I liked it. It was a two-toned red and white 1955
Oldsmobile 88 convertible with a ragged black top, and red and
white leather upholstery (there were no plastic seat covers
then).

I decided to repaint it choosing a fire engine red color, and
painted the whole thing that brilliant red, no two tone for me.
After a few more weeks I took it to have a new top put on, and
chose a white vinyl one with a tonneau cover, and replaced the
tires with new wide-stripe sidewalls. The effect was stunning,
and the car made quite a splash at the beach.

Our Ft. Lauderdale cruising grounds stretched from Bahia Mar
Marina north to the Jolly Roger Hotel, and then to Jerry’s Drive-
In for a coke, and back to Bahia Mar again. We were, my friends
and I, 18 years old that autumn of 1961, and as horny as only
teenagers can be, and we had some success that summer, with that
hot convertible, and money to spend.

While we cruised, looking for willing girls, we listened to songs
on the radio like: Dedicated to the One I Love, The Wanderer,
Tonight’s the Night, Run Around Sue, Mama Said, Blue Hawaii, Will
You Love Me Tomorrow, and Can’t Help Falling in Love.

By the end of January, 1962, I was ready to get back to Roselia
and Mexico. I had saved $2,000, and I was going to spend a year
there and LIVE.
On my drive to Mexico along Route 66, I didn’t pay any attention
to stares from the people I passed, but once in Mexico I began to
notice that groups of people formed around the car when I stopped
for gas or food. I really didn’t think too much about it, after
all, most of the Mexican people didn’t have cars of their own in
those days, and mine was seven years old. Even when the carwash
guy stole it for a joyride, it didn’t sink in that my car was
really unusual, to say the least. But when a delegation from the
Parroquia Church called on me I began to get an inkling.

The Bishop, they told me, was scheduled to make an visit to San
Miguel soon. This was to be the first visit of a new Bishop and
they wished to make his entrance to town special. Would I, they
asked, loan them my convertible, the only one in town, for the
parade?

Well, that got my attention. Not being a Catholic I had no idea
of the hierarchy of the Church, but a Bishop sounded pretty high
up. “Sure,” I said. “When do you want it?”

If any of the townspeople had failed to see my car before they
sure did that day. The Church decorated it by covering my fire
engine red paint job with purple, silken robes. The only part
visible was the gleaming chrome front end that in itself is very
distinctive. The Bishop in his golden robes and high hat, sat on
top of my tonneau covered top waving at the throngs of people
lining the streets. I don’t think they missed one street that
day. The Bishop’s driver took him up one and down another all
over town, and the parade lasted for hours.

I never did get rid of the confetti that flew out from God knows
where every time I put the top down from that day on.

Mexicans love confetti!