The (occasional) Friday Nite Read

DANDY RANDY & The Bored Ford

Can’t say I was enjoying the ride home with Randy...my short life had flashed in front of my eyes several times already on our sure-fast-as-hell 35 mile trip from Omaha. I was holding on to the bottom of the dash so hard...yeah, the proverbial white-knuckle ride..but I tried to be cool about it!

Randy liked to live dangerously...hold on, let me qualify that...he liked to intimidate his passengers...me, especially! Found that out the hard way...he didn’t much like me...put up with me...he was always on my case about something I hadn’t done, to his satisfaction, at the supermarket we both worked at in Fremont in 1963. Apparently I didn’t live up to his expectation of what a stock-clerk should be...don’t know why tho, Randy (not the same Randy the owned the blak ’58 Bel Air in a recent story) was the Produce Manager and didn’t have anything to do with the grocery department.

I took Dandy Randy’s invites to go cruisin’ and lookin’ for girls as a gesture of friendship...whoa, did I get a surprise!

He owned a ’55 Ford, two door, cheap model...nothing very special for the day...nosed, decked, the Ford Turquoise spotted with gray primer...lowered, whitewalls, Olds Fiestas...and a six cylinder/three on the column. The engine didn’t make any difference to Randy...it was his going-to-work car...economical...the mild kustom look was secondary...something he’d picked up from working with us gearheads in the grocery store...hence his name for the car: “Bored Ford”...it WAS nothing exciting for the day.

We’d gone to Omaha -- King’s Drive-in...looking for females...didn’t have a bit of luck with the chippies (females) down there and Randy had to “beg” off about racing his Ford (the six did have splits, but they didn’t sound near as good as Chevy splits) after he’d opened his mouth...the boys at Taylor’s Drive-in on Dodge Street hurled a few insults toward his Ford...and Randy. Randy got a bit angry at the whole thing...he didn’t say much on the trip home, ‘course, after he’d downed a six-pak, Randy became an “angry drunk”, didn’t take much to set him off...got mad at everyone. Didn’t really like him that way, but right now, what choice did I have? Me, on the other hand, was always a “funny drunk,” nothing anyone said would make me mad, Randy especially. I’d quit after drinking six...just didn’t taste good anymore...poured the last one out the window, carefully, not wanting to get it on his car...or have him see me do it. Besides, I didn’t want Randy to think I wasn’t keeping up with him...peer pressure, ya know?

Approaching the Bell Street viaduct in Fremont at about 1:30 AM, Randy put the pedal to the floor and started picking up speed. Up and over the viaduct, on the down side the Ford was flying about 90...going north...thru the residential stretch of Bell...even tho the street was four lanes wide, and there were only two stop lites between the viaduct and Hiway 30...90 mph was just too extreme for my comfort level...and we were gaining speed.

“Let’s see if I can get this old car to 100 before Military,” Randy said loudly, looking directly at me, grinning. Military Avenue was the first controlled street north of the viaduct (it had a traffic lite) and several blox from the bottom of the viaduct. I wasn’t positive he could do it...and you know how long it takes to get a six cylinder to the century mark, but he was drunk enuff. I was becoming more afraid by the second. Light poles flew by, so did intersections...Military came and went just that fast (he’d missed his magical 100 mph, fortunately the light was green as we went thru)...and there was no traffic...for as far as we could see up Bell. The next light, several blox ahead was red, glaring red, you’d-better-stop red.

“Will it change to green before we get there?” Randy asked. Then proudly announced-“100 miles per hour on Bell Street...I own the bragging rights to this one...you’re my witness.”

“Yeah,” I said. “If we live to tell anyone about it.”

“Not to worry,” Randy offered, “there’s no traffic and there ain’t any cops. Besides, I’ll bet I can get this old Ford to 110 before the next lite.”

No way...my ’57 Chevy six would do 110 on the flat...but it took a long run to get there...Randy didn’t have that much room...and I knew there was no way he’d get that Ford hauled down to a stop if the light didn’t change to green...not that it made any difference to Randy...he’s already breaking about two dozen laws...one more wouldn’t make any difference...to the cops or the judge. The only way he’d stop is if he nailed something...a car, a tree, a building...anything bigger and more solid than his two-door. The Ford gained speed, the red light loomed and...and...a short few blox after that, the hard corner, right or left, onto Hiway 30 was coming.

“C’mon,” Randy shouted. “Put your money up. You don’t believe I can do it, do you?”

“I’m a believer right now...if you say you can, that’s good enuff for me.”

“Riiiight...there. 110 miles per hour on Bell,” Randy announced. The car shook...vibrated. Don’t know why I just noticed that...didn’t feel it as we came down off the viaduct. I turned my head to look at his speedometer, then to Randy, sort of confirmation to him that he’d done it...the needle was hanging just past 105...not 110 as he claimed. Who am I to argue...he couldn’t see it anyway!

“Got it,” I said. “You win. Slow’er down or we’re not gonna make the corner.”

“Not to worry,” Randy said. “Which way you wanna go?”

“Home, that’s right.”

“Naw, not home, night’s young. We still haven’t scored.”

“Don’t care,” I said. “Just slow this thing down so maybe we can tomorrow nite.”

Hiway 30 was coming faster than I wanted it to but no matter what I said, it went in one ear and right out the other...Randy wasn’t going to slow...and I wasn’t sure if he was even conscious of his surroundings now. I’m almost positive he didn’t think we were that close.

Bam...the highway sign holding the right or left arrows went under the car...he hit it, dead center...didn’t even bother to try to turn...right about the same time he hit it...and we were airborne over the curb...I hit my head on the roof and came back down hard on the seat...the car bounced uncontrollably...tires screeched and squealed on hard concrete as we zinged across both straight-thru lanes...there was an open field on the north side of Hiway 30...and a shallow ditch that always gathered a lot of trash...we hit bumper first on the upside of the ditch, plowed out a lot of dirt...dust blew up in front of the car -- dirt, gravel, empty cans, bottles and weeds went flying. The front end again went into the air...and came down harder this time...exhausts roared and the engine knocked...something was knocking...the car came back down and turned left...Randy had enuff sense to glom his foot on the brake and stop the car before it hit the light pole.

He opened the door, vomited and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Well,” he mumbled, “that was exciting.”

The door on my side creaked loudly as I got out...the fender was jammed against the door...my head hurt but nothing else seemed to be damaged...at least on me...I could walk.

I scooted to the front of the car to scope out the damage...headlights were still on...I expected Randy to get out...but he’s cranking the Ford, trying to start it. The tires still held air and the front of the car was covered in dirt, but it started. About the time I stepped to the side of the car, Randy dropped the clutch and the car lurched past, almost got me. Brake lights came on, Randy mumbled, “Hurry up. Get in. I gotta get home.” I no more than got the door open, stepped foot into the car then he again dropped the clutch, almost losing me. I cussed him out and he flipped me off...back thru the ditch, sideways, out onto Hiway 30 in a hurricane of dust, dirt and squealing tires. Randy was holding one hand to his nose...and steering and shifting with the other...blood was running out of his hand like a faucet, onto his jeans and the seat. Looked like the steering wheel got him when we hit.

We drove to his place. He parked in the street, got out, told me to scoot over and take myself home...I asked if he was OK, said he would be and may not come to work in the morning. “Bring the car back tomorrow.”

I took his car back the next afternoon, after I’d looked it over and washed it...the damage was minimal. It didn’t make any difference to Randy if it was damaged...but I couldn’t stop laffing at his black and blue face when I handed him the keys...seems he took the brunt of all the damage last nite...I had the last laff and I chuckled about it...all the way home...I had to walk. After that ride, I swore I’d never again accept an invitation from Randy...

Copyright 03-04 Aden Rush/R.A. Jetter

 

Good short one, great read as always. Thanks.
-Jesse

 

I wish EVERY nite was Friday nite!
Thanks for the (occasional) read

 

Awesome story, thanks for the read.

 

I believe I had a ride with that very same Randy,but with a different car!

Great read Roger,please keep'm comin'!!

 

too many Randys out there LOL
great story again

 

Super read Roger! Readin it made me feel like I was in the back seat with you guys!WOW I am familiar with Fremont and know Bell Street like the back of my hand, that Ford had to be screamin to make 100 by Military!! Thanks for sharin that ride!! Bill

 

Hey Bill, didn't know you were still lurking around here...I'm sending you an e-mail...

Thanx to all for the comments.
R-

 

Another great FNR. We certainly need more of those around here. Thanks a bunch bud

 

Awesome read,thanks!

 

Roger, your Friday Nite Reads are the best.

Thanks

 

Thanx Gus & HRLC...glad you like these stories..

BTTT for the Saturday crew...

R-

 

another pleasant surprise this weekend! thanks man!

 

Yeah, we've ALL had a ride with "Randy" no doubt. A few of us have even been a drunk "Randy" to others as well!
Good one Dude!

Bill

 

Thanks for the great read!

 

hey stude thats another excellent story, thanks ALOT!! I really miss the weekly stories........................Briggs

 

Hey Brigss, did you miss the one last Friday? Not exactly a car story but it did center around an F-100 pickup...

Do a HAMB search...the title of the story was "The Song Is Over"...thanx to you and the rest for the good comments.

R-