Frank, during this time, was busy spiritual his girlfriend's father's Harley out of his garage and taking it for 100 mile an hour cruises to nowhere at 3 a.m. with his girlfriend on the back. Calm as you please, quiet Frank. Nobody suspected a thing.
Thanks for the memories. I was the fifth kid to drive my dad’s ’52 Chevy (the Black Beauty) in high school. By 1977, not very cool. As the tall, painfully thin Class Brain with enormous glasses perched on my sunburnt nose, my saving grace being a mantle of straight auburn hair (thank you, Mom!), I didn’t exude your male swagger but I wasn’t the completely helpless female either. I would park on whatever incline I could find in Corpus Christi to pop the clutch, usually in reverse, as the battery was unreliable.
Great coming of age tale—wonderfully vivid!
Frank, during this time, was busy spiritual his girlfriend's father's Harley out of his garage and taking it for 100 mile an hour cruises to nowhere at 3 a.m. with his girlfriend on the back. Calm as you please, quiet Frank. Nobody suspected a thing.
Spiriting for spiritual
Truscott boys.
Love this tidbit. Frank had a weakness for motorcycles and had several over the years.
Thanks for the memories. I was the fifth kid to drive my dad’s ’52 Chevy (the Black Beauty) in high school. By 1977, not very cool. As the tall, painfully thin Class Brain with enormous glasses perched on my sunburnt nose, my saving grace being a mantle of straight auburn hair (thank you, Mom!), I didn’t exude your male swagger but I wasn’t the completely helpless female either. I would park on whatever incline I could find in Corpus Christi to pop the clutch, usually in reverse, as the battery was unreliable.
I love this tale. 51-52 Chevys were not doing too well with their batteries, that's for sure.