By Kirk McCarley
Prior to becoming self-employed as a Manufacturer’s Representative, my dad was in sales for a hose company. Not the kind to be worn on one’s lower extremities, but rather hoses used for industrial purposes.
His was a five-state territory and traveled frequently. A company car was one of the tools provided. Even then, I learned that companies were austere and bottom line focused. The company car was a General Motors product, specifically a Chevy. At that time Chevy offered three sedan models: Impala, Bel Air, and Biscayne. The cars were so equipped in regressive order. The Impala, as top of the line, came with automatic transmission, power steering and brakes, and air conditioning. Lots of chrome. Maybe even bucket seats and a console. There was a nifty radio speaker neatly centered at the top of the rear seat.
Bel Air, not too long before supplanted as Chevy’s top of the line, still contained many of these features.
The Biscayne presented few, if any.
The company car was a Biscayne.
My mom and I, and sometimes my sister would travel with my dad. The interstate highway system was still in its infancy, so most thoroughfares were part of two-lane federal or state systems initiated back in the 1920’s. At least all the roads traveled, to my recollection, were paved. Traffic was often snarled by stoplights, construction, and a vast assortment of other delays in every, yes, in every town center.
Apparently, house selling season was in the summer too or so my memory tells me. Mind you the territory included Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana, not locations conducive to non-air-conditioned travel in July. Vinyl seats deepened the warming process, clothes and cushions adhering through and with sweat as one.
Passing time in my perspiration-laden ennui I noticed other vehicles. Some, even on a 95° afternoon, had rolled up windows indicating air cooling. From a rearview it was easy to distinguish: four taillight Chevy models did not have AC:
1962 Chevy Biscayne
How I longed for the comfort of a six taillight Chevy.
In another year or so, I started school. My dad also made the decision to leave his company to pursue self-employment, albeit in a somewhat similar line of work. I didn’t have an appreciation for precisely what that meant except that there were now more interesting products in the garage: lawnmowers, saws, fertilizer spreaders, and chemical sprayers. There was even a new invention: something called a “sidewalk surfboard.”
Beyond that, now freed from the obligation of a company vehicle he also had the liberty to select his own mode of transportation. With around $3000 of his savings, he took the plunge.
1964 Chevy Impala Super Sport
Ah, air conditioning. We had arrived! And six taillights!
Reflecting on those times of pre-luxury, one thing I don’t believe was valued enough was that the Biscaynes always got us to where we were intending to go. If not loaded, the product was for certain durable. We never failed to arrive at our intended destination.
On top of that there was a lot to be learned from those journeys of misery. For one, I got to know my folks and their stories. I learned counting: passing cars, license plate numbers, mileage signs. A burgeoning allure to geography developed: wheat fields of Oklahoma, forests of East Texas, swamps and bayous of Louisiana, the vastness and mountains of West Texas and New Mexico. Contrasts between major cities such as Houston and the isolation of Route 66 between Amarillo and Albuquerque.
It’s been said that life is a journey, yet we miss it by devoting too much of our focus to the destination. Some of us experience life in a really nice ride, whereas for others there are bumps in the road and the mode of transportation unreliable. There are breakdowns and rescues. Yet those journeys help frame our own unique stories, becoming a vital part of all that we have experienced and done. The challenge before all of us is how to apply the tools and lessons from those passages.
What have you learned from your road trips? Have the four taillights been sufficient?
A graduate of the University of North Texas, Kirk McCarley is a Certified Professional Coach as well as a Professional in Human Resources (PHR) and SHRM-CP Certified. He also is a Production Assistant for both college football and basketball for ESPN and leads group cycling classes as a Certified Spinning instructor. Contact kirk@theseedsowercoach.com, theseedsowercoach.com, or call 314-677-8779.
Author: Sowal Editor
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