A Tale of Forest Beer and a Smashed Torino

Bringing her the brew and hoping for…

Act One: Cupid’s Nerf Arrows

I was the star of the high school Senior Class Play in 1969 because the drama coach told me I was his first choice to play someone who was ugly and neurotic. In fact, he said he wouldn’t do the play without me which was a mixed message, to say the least.

Even though I was in a bathrobe the entire play, a fabulously beautiful girl who played my daughter started flirting with me and actually suggested we go out. I said OK and immediately was overcome with fear as if I had agreed to wrestle wolves.

Word got out. Ben sidled up to me at play practice.

“Go out with her, you will need two six-packs of beer. She guzzles that shit.”

In the hero’s quest, there are always barriers. I took up my burden and drove to Kozee Korners. Of course, I was driving my Dad’s car, a 1968 Ford Torino, yellow with a black roof. In the parking lot, there were always guys that would buy you beer if you gave them enough for a pint of Mad Dog 20/20. No sweat, I got a case of Bud.

Act Two: The Hero’s Quest Brings Him to the Forest

Now I had beer but it was Wednesday and the date was Friday night. I couldn’t stash it in the playroom or on my Dad’s workbench.

Revelation. I parked the yellow Ford about a half-mile from my house on an asphalt two-lane and took the beer deep into the woods, nestling it lovingly next to some birch trees. Unless the squirrels drank it, I was golden for some primo loving.

Over the next 48 hours, my anxiety grew. Remember according to my drama teacher I was renowned for my neuroses. I imagined catastrophic post-apocalyptic outcomes of this date leaving the very corn fields scorched and barren.

Act Three: The Hero Returns But Meets His Doom

In my tribe having beer in the car was normal, almost essential. But my parents did not quite see it that way. So Friday night I told them I was picking up my friend Greg and meeting some people at the bowling alley. I thought if I told them I was picking up a girl they would suspect beer would somehow enter their car and they would refuse me my love wagon.

Off I went but as I neared the beer terror clutched my heart. If I parked the car and walked into the woods the neighbors would see the car, suspect monkey business, and alert my parents.

There was only one way out. I turned off the pavement and drove into the woods. I quickly discovered this Ford was no off-road vehicle.

I pitched and swayed and almost got stuck in the mud. I turned the wheel wildly hitting a gully and smashed the passenger side into a large oak caving in the whole side of the car. No quitter I. I got the beer and drove off in the lumbering, now deformed vehicle.

The date can be readily summarized. Yes, it was true you needed at least two six-packs which she sucked down greedily and then passed out. I watched her sleep for a while, fascinated by her drooling and snoring. She woke to barf on a park bench then I took her home.

Finale: A Legend and a Lesson

Moderately intoxicated, I drove home to be greeted by my mother in full Greek Chorus Mode. Wailing and complaining of her contemptible life, she who had been destined for academic greatness and now lived in a veritable den of vermin, she summoned my father.

My father was objectively a fine man, a gentleman. He did not like being a parent and did not like the company of children especially teenage me. He walked out of his house in his dressing gown and looked at the scene with the critical eyes of a civil engineer dressed in flannel pajamas.

“Extensive Damage. Not roadworthy. An explanation must be found.”

I explained to him, as he walked around then carefully examined the car on his knees, that I had parked the car across the road from Greg’s house. There is a vacant field there and as I backed the car I struck a tree. The forest tale of the quest for beer would have put him in a permanent coma.

“You know the one Dad. That big Oak.”

“ Accident suggests a speed of at least 30 MPH. More evidence is needed.”

At that point, he took out a fountain pen and hit me rather hard on the shoulder. This incident was the only time my Dad ever struck me. It was also the only time I ever recall he offered me advice or instruction.

We marched down the road at 1 A.M. toward Greg’s house. I was extremely surprised and kept my head down watching Dad’s furry slippers. The dew was already on the grass as we stood in the vacant lot, scene of my enormous lie. A full moon lit the thick darkness.

Horror upon Horror. It was impossible to hit the tree I had described on the passenger side. It was surrounded by closely bunched smaller but sturdy trees that I would have had to knock down. No tire tracks, no paint marks, no bent trees. A pristine accident scene!

My father walked to the trees. “These saplings are six inches apart. This is not physically possible,” he said slowly with measured tones.

“It’s what happened Dad.”

“The evidence insists otherwise,” he declaimed again hitting me with the fat fountain pen. He looked at me, looked at the trees, looked at me, looked at the trees then slowly marched home.

“This one goes in the Out Bin,” he thought to himself. “Time to cut my losses.”

There was no further discussion of this incident by my father, may his soul rest in peace. Being a parent mostly sucks and I was sure no Blue Ribbon winner as a father either.

Although I did all sorts of stupid stuff after that, I never drove a Torino in the woods again.

Here is a silly story:

A story I really enjoy from Lee Bidoski: