Kenneth is a rural citizen of Hamilton, Ala., and has begun to observe life and certain things and people helping him to write about them.
Writer's note: this piece is late. I know that. And I'm sorry. This is in honor of the late Dr Hunter S. Thompson's death on Feb. 20, 2005. His death is definitely a huge loss. I also admit that the .'57 Chevy Balair in this hub talks about it being a convertible, but reality gave me the car below. Fact: I could not find a '57 Chevy in convertible style. Sorry. Kenneth.
What You Have Read in My Headline
is the cold, hard truth. Sorry, but I can shock with the best of 'em.. I have two main dreams that has haunted me for many years. Maybe 'haunt' is not appropriate, so I will use, 'remind.' Sometimes a day might go by and only a smidgen of the actual daylight hours are visible to me. (Note: smidgen is southern slag for small). I do have two dreams, and by the way, these dreams, not visions, are mine. All mine. And I am not going to put them on an auction block. No one would have the money to buy them. Not Bill Gates. Not the oil sheiks from Arabia. Or Dak Smith, the Dallas Cowboys quarterback who just scored a new contract
"My bay-bee does the han-kee, pan-kee" is what Tommy James and the Shondells released in 1967 and the more that I've listened to this real rocker, the song has a subliminal message, for me, but not for everyone. James' hot ditty, (with then-guru guitarist, Rick Derringer), put it into just the right context. If I had one, just one, a shiny, waxed, detailed '57 Chevy Belair convertible with twin exhaust and Cherry Bomb glass packs, and a blueprinted, balanced 327 cubic inch mill, I would be fifty-percent happy. The second part of my two dreams would be a voluptuous, smiling blonde with blood-red, full poutty lips sitting near me "Jessie," I mean.. This completes my two very-important dreams of dreams.
I'll let that settle down, then move on.
The Weather Would Have to be Near-Perfect
or close, because a gorgeous '57 candy apple colored with metal flake, and the gorgeous blonde, my much-appreciated passenger, would have to have a spacious sun-shiny day. Oh, bring on the Beatles and their LP, Revolver, playing "Good Day-Sunshine," to go along with Tommy James' "Han-kee pan-kee," songs and I would be grinning like a wild mountain goat eating loco weed. For sure. Plus, I'd need my gorge-preventing book whom no one bothered to read or publish.
Nothing beats an Alabama summer night in any Friday night during the month of June. I know what I'm talking about. I live there. I should know. And if you want to challenge my statement, just come on to Alabama during June and I promise to meet you there in Hamilton, our country seat and we will see how many cherry '57 Chevy Belair convertibles with a candy apple color color and to make things interesting, you can count how many pretty blondes who are riding in these classic beauties.
The late, great President of The United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy's famous line in the speech where he promotes NASA and the space race between the U.S. and Russia. He boldly said, we don't take on these missions because they are hard, but because they are hard. And that sums-up just how strong of patience a young guy, 22, has on these hot, single summer nights. I can tell you. A lot. I know that just by sitting in a strategic spot and watching the '57 Chevies roll by with their driver and gorgeous blondes dressed in Daisy Duke cut-off's, wearing a powerful perfume that is almost odorless, but yet so disarming. This is how our Friday nights are defined.
as it should be in such pieces, I am prone to talk about my very pretty blond who rides in my passenger seat and looks as if she loves it. I love it. Her name is, "Jessie," and no, she is not a member of any bad girl gang--those who fight, steal, and talk about eye shadow. "Jessie" was born in Phoenix, grew-up there and graduated her high school a few years ago. Oh, who could forget how she dressed when she would attend one of her ballgames. Yea, Devils! And such loud chants fill her side of the school, Phoenix Universal Studies of Life. The student body numbered around 3,200. Mostly high-thinkers who study less due to their wealthy parents who literally "buy" the children's education with a tax-fee receipt.
And just think. The State of Arizona did not have a shady name, schools as well, but the old guard is either dead or committed into one of several sanatoriums. So live and let bribe. "Jessie" was an exemplary student. "Jessie's" strengths did not come from just a bullet from her eyes that would travel 300 miles. And a brain that would go toe-to-toe with any of those C.I.A. recruits. I know. These are reasons why I begged me to go for a ride with me. And this was not in sexual way
Before I met "Jessie," I was not what you call a well-traveled tourist. Arizona was one place on my "No Tourist List" and I held true that list. A few mealy-mouthed people with no life to speak of, told me that Arizona was the place for me to go if I wanted to meet immigrant Indians, paroled prisoners, rattlesnakes and Gila monsters. I guess it was the last two, the rattler and Jeweled Monster that I did like. I will not comment on the immigrant Indians or prisoners because I feel that they have enough burdens to bear and they do not need my concerns to pile on them. I do have compassion.
Sorry. If you have read my pieces over the past years you will see that I am the world's worst at starting a thought, then trail off into a barrel full of other ideas that I only mention, but know very little about. Back to my beautiful passenger, "Jessie," the "Blond Bomb Shell." I am so glad that I picked her up at the bus station in the center of Tuscon. Meeting her was weird. When I seen her, there was no other people with her to catch buses.
I may or not have "that" special spiritual gift of automatically-perceiving how a person's character is and what they aren't before they speak, but I knew that "Jessie" was a fine woman inside and out. She's cocky, but not to the point of hurting my feelings or even those of Arizona's mast amount of Diamond Back Rattlers. She even loves these dangerous reptiles.
At any rate, we are here grooving at 78 M.P.H., our hair blowing in the wind (not about Bob Dylan) and my right hand in "Jessi4e's" left hand. I mean, who could ask for anything this near-perfect? I supose that my hero, the late Dr. Hunter S Thompson could answer me because he had "that" gift of not only getting, but expanding a spiritually-motivated meditation fueled by his writing and after a few hours of working alone, he would stand against anyone, trouble, or slur.
I'm anxious about our journey ending. I am very sad, to tell you the truth. I don't know if "Jessie" will stay with me or just stay on the pavement. I am facing a complex dilemma. But we shall see as the miles go by.
About My Second Part of My Two Dreams:
my '57 Chevy Belair, Two-Door, Convertible, Candle Apple Color, With a 327 Under The Hood, Dual Exhaust and Cherry Bomb Glass packs . . .and 'Jessie."
I could have stopped right there and you gear-heads would know what I mean. Even comedian, Tim Allen, of Home Improvement, The Santa Clause, and his latest, Assembly Required co-starring Richard Karn. Allen is that sharp. So is Karn. I like both shows.
Upon sitting in "that" '57 Chevy the first time, I almost had to hit the head out of pure excitement. This cherry Chevy can be thought of as a "she," because only a powerful female can be seen as a woman, not a dirty-handed guy.
That '57 is so smooth that it's so hard to hear her motor rumble, even with glass packs, you have to strain to just hear her purr. Truthfully, when I ride with "Jessie," it is a tough contest between her and the '57's purring and I have to choose the winner. Tough job? You do not know how tough this is.
The '57's tires do not roll like conventional cars. She floats on clouds of supremacy in the Tire World. Her tires are a complement to her engine that was built and designed by a genius-of-a-man who no one knew at the garage when he would sneak into work each day. He was more like a loner. But knew cars and mechanical things like the back of his hand. It's still a mystery why the garage owner never bothered to hire him. Guess the loner loved working on cars more than pulling down the big scratch.
When we, ("Jessi" and me) are rolling down the interstate, we can both hear "her" particular sound which is so amazing to the human ear. It's hypnotic. But "Jessie" and I never fall asleep. Another mystery: how does my '57 Chevy Belair know where to stop at these "Mom and Pop" stores that sell the world's best coffee? I suppose that it is an unspoken fact between "Jessie" and my '57.
Uh, oh. I see the "Welcome to" sign of some other state that I hate. Actually I hate the fact that "Jessie" and I are finished riding. She knew it first. She looked so sad at me and didn't say a word. The tears on her cheeks said it all. Mine did too, come to speak of it. Truth be told, the '57 didn't run smoothly for a moment or so.
So . . .
Yep. Gimme my two all-important dreams before I die. I'll be driving one of my dreams and looking at the other.
Next time: All About Log trucks--a Monthly Slice of Society
March 26, 2021______________________________________________________
© 2021 Kenneth Avery
Ann Carr from SW England on March 27, 2021:
I love the chevy!
Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on March 26, 2021:
Hey, MG . . a sincere thanks for your nice words. that helped me sleep tonight. This one was more work that I had counted on. I do that and then get depressed. Anyway. Thanks so much for coming by and you are welcome to come in at any time.
MG Singh emge from Singapore on March 26, 2021:
This looks like an excellent dream it almost gels with mine. Great article.