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I don’t think it was just my family that made a habit of documenting with Kodachrome everything they felt important.  And few things were more important than the holidays we celebrated and the cars we drove.  Often these went hand in hand.

In fact, I mentioned this at the Grounds for Divorce the other day and found it was something that those of us of a certain generation all had in common.  We chuckled as we thought back on some of the gatherings around the table and the cars out front in the driveway from occasions long, long ago.  It didn’t take long for Lucinda to catch on to the vibe.

“Tell you what,” she said.  “For the next week, everyone who brings in a favorite picture of a Thanksgiving celebrated in the past along with a snapshot of what was in the driveway that year, will get a free piece of pie to go with their morning Folgers.”

Well, we are a group who appreciates our pie.  We appreciate it even more if it is free, regardless of what the true cost may be.  In this case, the true cost was hours spent in attics and garages all over Fort Stockton looking for shots from the past that would meet Lucinda’s challenge.  In the course of the days that followed, smiles were known to have broken out on faces all over town. A few tears were shed.  Memories were recalled.  And the cork board hanging next to the old wall phone by the register at the GFD was quickly filled with snapshots of The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past.

The requirement to get the pie was that the photo of the celebration and the car parked out front had to be from the same occasion.  Because “Every car is a story,” whomever submitted the photos also had to put a quick synopsis of the story on an index card.  I’m passing along some of the best ones as kind of an early holiday gift to those of you who can’t make it by the cafe to see them for yourself.

Rex Hall brought a snapshot of Missy Murdock standing in front of her parents’ Mercury Monterey Breezeway sedan.  Her folks, Marv and Mona Murdock are seated nearest the camera at the Thanksgiving feast.  “They bought the breezeway because of the intestinal issues Uncle Marv dealt with.  Within 30 minutes of a meal Uncle Marv would be passing gas like the Exxon Valdez.  Aunt Mona insisted they get a sedan that could keep her eyes from watering.  The ventilation in the Breezeway sedan was second to none.  Missy never married.”

New Guy brought in a couple of pictures, and it’s always a little dicey seeing what he might offer up.  “I’m the cute little guy at the end of the table,” he said when he handed the pictures to Lucinda for the cork board. “Thanksgiving was at Mom’s folks that year.  They never liked Dad. Grandpa didn’t do much to hide the fact that he thought Mom could have done better.”

Lucinda added his pictures to the board and nodded. “Your mother looks like she was a beautiful young woman,” she said.

“Dad thought maybe her father would respect him when he showed up for Thanksgiving in a newish Cadillac that year.  Grandpa just said something about Dad wasting his money.  He said a Chevrolet would do everything a Cadillac did.”  New Guy seemed a little melancholy.  “Dad couldn’t sit through the whole meal.  He went out and washed the car on the driveway while everyone else ate.  He said he’d have pie with everyone later.  He did, but it was tense.”

Sister Thelma brought her pictures in and slid them across the table to Lucinda.  It was a slow morning and the two of them were having a cup of coffee together.  It’s hardly ever just the two women by themselves.

“This is a significant Thanksgiving from my youth,” Sister Thelma said.  “I’m the little one in the blue dress on the right.  That’s my mother next to me.”  The two of them looked at the picture and smiled.  “My aunt took the picture.  She’s also the one in the new 1959 Impala in the driveway.  I still remember how that car smelled inside. I’ve never smelled anything else exactly like it.  I bet if I was blindfolded and put in a hundred cars, I could pick out the ’59 Impala just by the smell.”

Lucinda looked at the photo and had memories of her own.

“She took me for a ride after we ate.”  Sister Thelma was still looking at the photos.  “That Impala was huge.  She said it was a gift from her husband, Del.  She said it was to make up for something.  I didn’t understand it at the time, of course.  Del didn’t come with her to Thanksgiving. We drove over to the park.  On the way home she looked at me and said, ‘Men are shit, Honey. You’re better off without them.’  That may have had a bigger impact than I realized.”

Pastor Peterson was reluctant to bring in his photos, but free pie is free pie.  He handed them to Lucinda.  She took a look and said, “There’s gotta be a story.  Every car is a story.  That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.  What’s the story that goes with these two snapshots?”

“Every family has two sides.  The in-laws and the out-laws.  There was one Thanksgiving when both sides got together.  After the feast, the in-laws gathered around the TV and watched football and holiday movies.  The outlaws went to the basement, made hi-balls, and gambled.”  Pastor Peterson seemed almost embarrassed telling the story.

“The second picture is Cousin Dale.  He was actually one of the in-laws.  He was a good kid.  Had a decent job.  He was about three years out of college at Thanksgiving in ’67.  He’d only had the GTO for about a year.”  Pastor Peterson seemed to be looking for the right words to go on.

“Anyway, despite the warnings, he asked if he could go down to the basement and get in on the card game.  Aunt Darla, the one in the black polka-dot dress, could spot a mark a mile away.  She told him to pull up a chair.  Made him feel at home.  Even mixed him a Tom Collins from the bar.  Several, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh my,” Lucinda said.

“Yeah.”  Pastor Peterson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  “Anyway, Aunt Darla had the title to Cousin Dale’s GTO by the time they were halfway through White Christmas in the living room upstairs.  While Bing Crosby was singing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas, the only thing Cousin Dale was dreaming about how he was going to get to work from then on.  It was something.”

“He actually lost his car to a relative in a poker game on Thanksgiving?”  Lucinda couldn’t believe the story.

“Well, they were only related by marriage.”  It’s as though the Pastor was trying to make it seem less severe than it was.  “She said she would have given it back if he’d been a blood relative.”

Lucinda and Pastor Peterson looked at both photos for a while and then she tacked them up to the board with the others.

“She did let him win it back at Christmas, if that makes the situation any better.”  Pastor Peterson said.  “Of course by then it needed a valve job and all new rubber.  Aunt Darla was as hard on cars as she was on men.”

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I’m sure there will be more photos and stories pinned up before the end of the holiday week.  I’ve asked Lucinda to keep them up till Buttercup and I get back.  We’re in Santa Fe for Thanksgiving this week and I don’t want to miss any of the good ones.

In the meantime, I hope your travels are all safe, your families are all healthy, and over the course of the next week you are able to compile an endless list of things to be truly thankful for. Thank you for supporting the blog and playing along.

All the best,

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