In Cars

In 1967, my brother was in the army and owned a 1965 Plymouth Belvedere. The Belvedere was a pale yellow 2-door, a 'hard-top' they called them back then. The car had a powerful V8 engine that, I was told, was balanced and blueprinted. I guess that is car-talk for a good engine that is not usually available at the dealer. It was not a fancy car, no electric windows, kind of plain interior, and no fancy wheels. In fact, it had hubcaps. I can remember my brother stomping on the gas pedal and smoking those stock tires, creating a cloud of acrid white smoke. I thought that was pretty cool, but what did I know? I was only 12 years old.
My brother volunteered to go to Vietnam in 1968. He said he was tired of the bureaucracy of the army and thought getting into the war would be better. I was too young to question his thinking, but at the time, sounded reasonable. Before he left, he drove the Plymouth from his army post in Massachusetts to Lubbock and we got to spend a few days with him before he shipped out to the 'Nam. His plan was to leave his car at our house and my sister Barbara could drive it while he was on the other side of the world.
The day came when it was time to take my brother to the airport and see him off to the war. We all piled into his Plymouth, can't remember if my dad drove or my brother. In those pre-9/11 days, airport security was non-existent at the Lubbock airport. There was not a ramp at the only gate, just a door to the runway and you walked right up to the airplane and climbed those rolling stairs into the plane. Well-wishers could accompany the departing person right up to the airplane. After my brother's plane took off, we all piled back in the car for the short drive home. I can only imagine the fear and anxiety my parents were experiencing, seeing their son leave to fight a war and possibly never seeing him alive again. Rest assured, my brother came back alive, not suffering any physical injuries.
While he was overseas, my sister drove his car to school everyday. To a high-schooler, this car was uber-cool, not a run-down jalopy most students drove at Lubbock High School. My sister was very careful with my brother's car, kept it clean and was very proud of the pale-yellow Plymouth.
One day after school, my sister was leaving the school parking lot when another student was backing out of a parking space and hit my brother's car as my sister was driving through the parking lot. My sister was devastated. She was very worried about my brother's car and what my brother might say when he learned about the accident. It was decided that my brother would not be told of the accident while he was in Vietnam. The car got fixed and you couldn't detect that the accident had ever happened. My sister might get away with this, I can almost bet she thought.
My brother returned from Vietnam a year after he left, still in one piece. We all met him at the airport. We watched him exit the plane and walk down the steps and greeted him. My sister started crying and blurted out, "I am so sorry, I wrecked your car!" Leonard looked very surprised and said, "What?" She then went on to tell him the story and he didn't seem upset. I guess after being in a war zone for a year, a wrecked car doesn't seem so terrible.
My brother had that car for several more years. After Vietnam, he was stationed in San Antonio and would often drive to Lubbock in the Plymouth to visit us.
We still talk about that car, it's super-performance, and the wreck. Seems like just a side-note now to all of the other events in our lives.