A big, long car deserves a big, long story. This one will take a week to tell, a new installment every day this week, with the final chapter on Sunday.

” I swear to god … ” Perry’s mother mumbled to herself as she stared out the picture window the living room, watching her son float lazily on an air raft in the backyard pool,  “… the only person more narcissistic and egotistical than a writer who’s found a modicum of success is an eighteen year old who’s never done a damn thing,” 

The boy was cursed with his father’s good looks, she reflected, “cursed” because they made life so much easier for the boy than it would have been otherwise without him having to do anything to earn his way.  Except, perhaps, flash a smile or maybe give a coy side glance or a wink.  That’s generally all it took for Perry to make clear his path, where lesser boys his age had to actually employ ingenuity and hard work to overcome the twists and turns and other road hazards they encountered in their lives.

Of course, the wealth Perry was born into did what even good looks and a great smile couldn’t.  Despite his mother’s best efforts, he was about to graduate from Jim Bowie High School a handsome but spoiled young man facing an easy, effortless future marked by a complete lack of direction. Mrs. Silverman’s son was, she was sure, headed for a rudderless life devoid of any sense of striving or accomplishment. Obviously, this was not the result she had desired for her boy.

The graduation gift she had chosen for Perry was easy enough to obtain for a woman of her substantial means, but the preparation and planning for its actual presentation to the boy was anything but conventional or straightforward.

The only hint of what he’d receive was being told he’d receive a ‘top-of-the-line’ Packard for having completed his studies and matriculating with minimal effort.  He’d assumed that meant he’d be driving a new Caribbean, the ultra-exclusive convertible “sports car” from Packard.  He’d originally wanted one of those new Corvettes, but the thought of the Caribbean grew on him.  More room for friends.  More prestige.  After all, a Corvette was a Chevrolet.  With a Caribbean, he’d be one of those to be asked when people “ask the man who owns one”.

Of course, the Packard was but one small part of the gift his mother had put together for young  Perry; the only part he’d been told of.  Mrs. Silverman had spent the better part of a year constructing Perry’s present.  The Packard was the easiest part of the entire process.  It had been special-ordered at Panhandle Packard far enough in advance to make sure the truck could get it delivered from Amarillo, where the dealership was located, to Fort Stockton in time for graduation day.

Mrs. Silverman had written a check for $4,650 for the Executive Sedan, plus shipping costs to Fort Stockton.  For that amount, the 240” long car was delivered in formal black with a tan interior, broadcloth for the areas that mattered.  The 327 cubic inch straight-eight was more than enough to propel the car down the highway, the Ultramatic transmission enough to make it smooth as butter as it went.  All the standard features were included in a car exclusive enough that only 100 were produced.  Purchasing the car was the easiest part of the gift.

Not too often does a gift require a lawyer, bankers, travel agents, and, most importantly, job interviews.  Meetings with the lawyers, bankers, and travel agents were easy enough to coordinate and conceal from young Perry.  The lad tended to not pay too much attention to anything that he wasn’t at the center of.  A lot of what happened took place while he was in school.  The job interviews required much more planning, and, as final candidates were identified, trips out of town became necessary. Indeed, that was the most important part of the gift and Mrs. Silverman could hardly afford to get that part wrong.   

The final applicant had to be completely trustworthy, as he would be entrusted with the individual most important to her, her son.   He had to be old enough to have accumulated the right amount of wisdom; young enough to be able to take care of himself and her son in any situation that might arise.  He had to be an educated man.  She was, after all, paying for her son to be tutored one on one for an extended period of time.  He had to commit to the job for a year.  While most teaching positions required a year long contract, this was not a typical teaching job.  Perhaps the most crucial, requirement?  The applicant had to be black.  

A black man could get into places a white one could not in 1953, Mrs. Silverman reasoned. He could teach Perry things most white teachers didn’t know themselves.  If called upon, the right applicant could also extricate her son from unforeseen situations that could come up.  It wasn’t until late April that Mrs. Silverman found the ideal candidate, a man not yet forty, but who was more than up to the task.  While the money stipulated in the contract was an unheard of sum for the time, the man to whom the job was eventually offered still harbored reservations late in the negotiations.  It took all the charm and persuasiveness Mrs. Silverman could summon to convince her selected candidate to agree to the complex terms.  

Just days before Perry’s graduation date, Calhoun Holden arrived in Fort Stockton behind the wheel of his 1946 Buick Super Sedanet. On this, his first trip to the Deep South, Mr. Holden was only able to obtain a room at the Cattle Baron Hotel with the intervention of Mrs. Silverman’s considerable influence. Not a total surprise to Cal, but enough of a situation to make him question whether he’d negotiated enough of a salary in the contract. Cal was well aware of the flip side of one of Mrs. Silverman’s stated “advantages” of his selection — that a black man could go places where a white man could not — and that was that there were also many places in 1953 where whites were quite welcome, but where blacks were flat out forbidden to go.

The night of graduation, a party was held at the Silverman Estate for the graduates and their families as well as the faculty and staff of Jim Bowie High School. Also in attendance were the dignitaries and noteworthy townspeople who were customarily invited to significant civic or social events in Fort Stockton. Mayor Goodman put in an appearance, making sure a photo was taken with Mrs. Silverman and young Perry so he could include it in the letter that would follow in the fall seeking campaign contributions.  Pastor Peterson from Almost United Methodist and Brother Bob from Second Baptist were both there, Brother Bob never straying far from the punch bowl that Perry and a couple friends had generously spiked with vodka.  

Sister Thelma was there representing Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern, shaking hands with a steady stream of graduates, their proud parents as well as with town dignitaries from all levels of Pecos County society. The previous week, at a far more modest ceremony, she had presided over the graduation exercises at her own high school. Even Lucinda made a brief appearance, mostly as a favor to Mrs. Silverman.  The bolder boys of the Class of ’53, most of them smitten with the ageless, comely entrepreneur and waitress since their early teens, asked to have their picture taken with her.  She accommodated almost all of the requests, with few illusions about how the resulting photos might be used.

With the hors d’oeuvres devoured, the congratulatory cake cut and eaten, and with even the burly Coach Dunwoody tipsy from the potent punch, it was time for Mrs. Silverman to make a short toast, present Perry with his gift and bring the evening to a close. Tapping on a crystal champagne glass lightly with a silver spoon to gather the attention of the assembled crowd, she began her toast.

“Congratulations to the class of 1953.  It is your time to be honored for your efforts and your accomplishments. It’s also time to take stock of yourselves, determine your path ahead and embark on a new journey,” she said.  “Many thanks to all of you gathered here who have helped our graduates get this far.”  She raised her glass to the crowd.  “Here’s to those at Jim Bowie High School for their professional, persistent and sometimes heroic efforts.”  She paused and smiled, drawing out those last words for humorous emphasis and took a sip of wine, as did those in the crowd. She waited for the scattered laughter and polite applause to fade before continuing.

“Some of you are going on to college. Some of you will join family businesses.  Others of you will take the next steps in directions neither planned nor imagined.  So goes the journey.  Best of luck to each and every one of you.”  As she was saying this, the gleaming new Packard Executive Sedan was being driven out onto the grass next to the pool. The car came to a rest and Cal stepped out, smartly dressed in full chauffeur’s regalia, right down to the small cap atop his head.  After Cal exited, he closed the driver’s door gently and stood beside the magnificent automobile, hands clasped behind him in a relaxed, yet almost military “at ease” stance. Along with a nearly unanimous appreciation for the automotive excellence represented by the Packard among the onlookers, there was an undercurrent of confusion and uncertainty surrounding its presence before them. An elegant car, almost limousine-like, complete with uniformed driver. Was there a surprise VIP inside waiting to be introduced?

No one was more confused than Perry at seeing the impressive sedan.  He figured that the Caribbean he so urgently desired must have become delayed in transit, but was surely on its way. The look of puzzlement on his face was almost priceless to Mrs. Silverman.  And most things had a price with Mrs. Silverman.

The formidable woman was preparing to conclude her remarks. “While this is a celebration meant for all graduates here tonight, it’s also one meant to honor and reward one in particular.  Join me, please, as I present to my beloved son, Perry, not only his graduation gift, but — in a sense — a going away gift as well.” With those words, Cal moved to the rear of the Packard and silently opened the trunk, revealing a set of superbly stitched top grain leather luggage, the finest available. The matched set fit inside the car’s cavernous trunk like an intricate mosaic.  

“Perry will be leaving tomorrow morning in this, his graduation gift, accompanied by Mr. Holden.”  Upon hearing his name, Cal acknowledged his presence by lightly touching his hand to the bill of his cap, a gesture midway between a tip of the cap and an abbreviated salute.  Without further explanation or elaboration, Mrs. Silverman brought her remarks to an end by announcing “Perry will be on the road on an extensive journey for the next year, and we shall all look forward to his return next June to hear all the tales he will have to tell of his travels, experiences and adventures along the way! Goodnight, everyone, and thank you all again for attending this very special occasion this evening!”

A brief round of applause rippled throughout the assembled crowd following the somewhat anticlimactic announcement. The reactions of Perry’s friends — among all those in attendance, really — ranged from nervous laughter and uncertain murmurs to tinges of jealousy and complete confusion, especially at the brief, specifics-free mention of the year-long journey upon which the young man would soon be embarking.  No one, however, was more confused than Perry himself.