I grew up surrounded by mechanics. The men in my family worked on cars, trucks, tractors, lawn mowers, you name it, if it had a motor and it needed fixing, they were on it. Their heads were always stuck up under the hood, or they were on their backs with only their feet showing out from underneath some vehicle. Fingernails carried black grease for most of the day, and smudges of it sometimes rested on their cheeks, or noses. They generally wore white t-shirts, navy blue pants, work boots.
They said things like “She ain’t got no get up and go.”
Or, “that John Brown carburetor’s gunked up again.”
My Dad’s mechanical abilities were outstanding, and he was creative about it too. I’ve always joked with family about him being like McGyver. He could take the ordinary, every day sort of items and make them into something useful. Clearing out his garage after he died revealed the way his mind worked. He was always saying things like, “Aw, well now see? It’s perfectly good, I can use that,” with regard to some item most people would chunk into the trash.
For instance, I found at least a dozen paint “buckets” he’d made, where he took old plastic bleach jugs, cut the narrow spout off, poked a couple holes in them, then shoved a wire through, making a handle. Every single one of them had pale olive green paint stain – from where he’d painted the house the last time.
Mom said, “The regular paint buckets got too heavy, and he made those so he could get up on the ladder with them.”
I found jar upon jar of strings, rubber bands, bread ties, screws, nuts, bolts, nails, all sizes, lined up on shelves, neatly placed, as if he knew exactly where he might need those things next. He made a yard aerator. He took a drum sized plastic container, (like what might have had sheet rock compound in it) and he’d poured it full of concrete, then stuck these short pieces of metal rod he’d cut into the sides, all over in a very specific pattern, and when it dried, voila – yard aerator. He would pull it behind the lawn mower he’d rebuilt.
Dad always had a car in the garage he was working on. I have the two Corvairs he rebuilt, 1963 Monzas that still run today.
This white one above came to the house as only a shell of a car., i.e. the body only, and he restored it to what you see in the picture.
I remember as a child, if my grandfather, Dad, or my uncles were working on something, there was always the inevitable revving of the engines. I was used to them doing this, but something about the sound always made me anxious, especially when they kept doing it, as they tried to troubleshoot a problem. I thought about this when writing the opening for chapter nine, how sound can affect a scene, create tension simply by interrupting what may have been a peaceful atmosphere. It can create disruption, chaos, fear.
Daniel Lassiter has been Sonny Creech’s friend since they were seven years old. He comes to her house often, always has, and they play and do what kids do. They spend a lot of time in the barn, on a “stage” they’ve made for themselves. They’re in the barn when Mr. Fowler appears in the doorway. Daniel doesn’t see him but Sonny does. Mr. Fowler witnesses something he doesn’t like, and he leaves without a word, but his displeasure is revealed as he revs the engine of his truck.
Chapter 9
I looked at the now vacant opening as the sound of Mr. Fowler’s truck filled the barn.
Such an ominous sentence….I agree about the sound of revving engines. It’s something that sets my teeth on edge, and I don’t really know why. Somebody I know owns a Mustang, and he’s the kind of owner that only takes it out if the sun is shining, freaking out if it gets wet; he’s a bit of a show-off, and he never fails to rev that engine and peel out of the parking lot when he’s driving it. The sound also reminds me of someone peeling away from a crime scene, a fast getaway. But mostly I think it’s the sound of sheer power and intimidation that gets under my skin when I hear that sound.
We have an issue here in town with people driving cars and trucks that have those glasspack mufflers or dual mufflers. Like your Mustang owner, they get a kick out of flooring it when they come down our street, and it’s loud enough at times to rattle the windows. It more than gets under my skin – I’ve actually called the non-emergency # for the police to report them. I almost got in trouble with one of these people. I happened to be out driving and saw one of the “culprits.” (red truck, you couldn’t miss it) I got in behind him and took a picture of the back-end with his license plate. He saw me, and did a U-turn in the middle of the road, and came after me. I had to stop at a stop sign, and he pulled up right beside me, gave me the finger, etc. I just waved my phone at him. Haven’t “heard” from him since. 😉
The history behind seventeen words: nothing to do with the story, everything to do with what they say, brilliant.
As I write these posts, I want to convey a message that puts into context what I’m talking about, to stir up memories, poking into what seem like innocuous incidents, until we see how it correlates to the scene. Thank you, 2Ns.
Wow. I love how you give us all the behind-the-scenes info about just one sentence!
It’s early days yet, Carol – I may poop out and become pretty cryptic by Chapter 20! 🙂 (I doubt it)
Trying to distract me with two 63 Monzas. I see what you’re doing but it won’t work.
The perspective of the way you wording that sentence is a thing of beauty. It forces us to take along, drawn look instead of just plowing through it. Mahvelous.
Now, are either of those Monzas Spyders? Those are incredibly rare and were worth the rants by Ralph Nader.
This is going to sound crazy – but I don’t know if they are or not. How would I tell? I looked at pics on the internet and they look like those cars, but unless they would have something on them that says “Spyder” I can’t tell. My dad used to talk about Ralph Nader – and not in a good way. 🙂
The Spyders are turbo charged. In the engine compartment the exhaust would be routed to the turbo charger. In the regular Monza the exhaust is just exhaust. The reason Spyders are rare is because people thought they were race cars and crashed them. They were just Monzas with turbo chargers that boosted the horsepower. Nothing else was done to compensate for that power. The suspension and steering are for an economy car.
Corvairs should be a Sunday cruiser, not a Saturday night special. They are put-put cars.
I actually voted for Nader for President, twice. It was the beginning of the environmental movement and he had the best record on that. Tampa Bay was almost dead because of the pollution and I hated that.
Ah, I see. I think they’re just regular Monza’s. Darn it. 🙂 But I agree, they are putt putt cars – and we actually do just what you say, go for a Sunday drive (when it’s cooler!) My dad didn’t like Nader b/c he said the Corvair was the most dangerous car on the road – and Nader was right, but, I was too young at the time to go toe to toe with my dad. (and he wasn’t like that anyway)