She took me with her to Mr. Floy's lumber yard, and Mr. Floy was standing at his desk dropping cards into a blue hat. He was very skillful, because he had to stay in the office two hours a day… it was in his father's will…
“Hello, John,” said Mama. “I'm such a ninny. Mr. L. wants a car and I don't know how to begin…”
Mr. Floy clicked his tongue. “You just take off the brake and push… haha… eh, Stevie?”
I agreed, and sat down to read a book of lumber prices…
Mr. Floy and Mama talked gayly (for what passed for Noel Coward talk in those days), and we trooped down to Bennie Godoff's garage.
Bennie was polishing a high, dark car with a seat so high you could see Sandy Hook lighthouse from it on any clear day.
Mama looked at it and said, “It's big.”
Bennie admitted it, and punched a rubber ball that moaned like a cow. “And listen to this, Mrs. Longstreet… ain't that a pip? Scare the bacon out of any road pig you meet. Now the enjine…”
“What color is the leather?”
“Subdued Chinese red. Now this steering wheel…”
“I love those coach lamps.”
“Yep, real erl burners. Here is the motor!”
“Close that hood. I feel like a dentist looking into a mouth. What do you think, Stevie…?”
“Does it make smoke when it goes?”
Bennie closed his eyes. “Stinks like a Stanley Steamer, gives off a fog like a Stutz Bearcat… But about the gears…”
Mr. Floy yawned. “Mrs. Longstreet will take this one, Bennie.”
“Just,” said Mama, trying the horn with two small hands, “just send Mr. L. the bill.”
Bennie nodded. “Some day a lady is going to buy a car and let me finish the sales talk… but I doubt it.”
All the way home Mama told Mr. Floy what a wonder he was and would he take us and Fran for a drive around the country. Stevie had a weak chest and the country air would do him good…
Mr. Floy was pleased, and that night when Fran came home from her job Mama told her the news. Fran was the telephone girl at the local exchange… because by then a lady could work and still be a lady. She had red hair an a habit of carrying pencils in it during business hours.
“A car?” she said, removing her business pencils from her hair. “A real car?”
“A new Model T.”
Fran smiled. “You lucky girl,” and kissed Mama in front of Papa to show how lucky he was to have Mama…
“And Mr. Floy will take us driving soon to see the country.”
Next day the car came an Mama learned to drive… in a way.
Only millionaires had self-starters on their cars. Mama had a novel way of starting our Model T. She would pull on her driving gloves and lean out of the window of the house and yell. She yelled for two people.
One was Papa. She would yell, “Henry! Henry!”
She was not very big and had a small voice, although she liked to talk a great deal. Her calls to Papa were often not answered. Papa would be busy someplace else growing richer every day (but at the end of the month we always got a new bank loan to see us through a period of tightness).
Then Mama would lift her driving veil and say, “Professor!”
She would then call again, “Professor…” because Professor Moe never answered the first three times he was called. The Professor lived in our alley. He was a remarkable black man we got from Gramp. He read law and cleaned our woodshed, and when we had a horse called Ned, he curried Ned and polished his harness. Professor Moe spoke better English than anyone on the block.
The Professor would appear, an Mama would say she was ready to go for a drive. Then they put their heads together to get the Model T started.
Mama would switch on the ignition… then turn it off (only fools an children started a Model T with the ignition on). The Professor would pull a wire loop up front called the choke, an turn the crank twice. There would be a stink of old-fashioned gasoline (before it was doctored and colored), and the Professor would nod to Mama.
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