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Musings from Moyieboy ... |
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A few tips on driving blind |
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April 20, 2017 |
By Ken Carpenter
In every family's history there are a few tales
that get told and retold so much, embellished
with every telling, that they actually seem to
breathe a life of their own.
This is not one of them.
Somehow the facts about the daring deeds I am
about to unfold escaped me until a measly 20
years ago.
Claiming the key performers as family may also
be a slight stretch for the in-laws of a cousin,
but I'm sure anyone would understand why I am
eager to do so. Connections to the truly
deranged should not be taken lightly, but
savored like a fine wine.
From the 1920s to the 1950s or so, there was an
amazing little family living in Southern Idaho.
The names must be changed to protect the
moronic, so I shall call them Uncle Arbuckle,
Aunt Maizie and Piehole, their slow of wit son.
Arbuckle had learned to drive a car when used
Model Ts first became affordable to the masses.
Driving became the second most pleasurable and
exciting experience of his life, although not
nearly as exciting as it would become later.
It is totally unimportant, but his first joy was
reputed to be women of all shapes and sizes,
especially other men's wives.
Arbuckle's vision started failing fast as the
Depression set in, reaching a point where he
might have recognized an elephant's rump pressed
up against the living room window. Then again,
he may have called out “Hi Mom!” and offered the
butt a cup of coffee.
Astoundingly, blindness did not deter the brave
Arbuckle from performing the act he loved second
most. He continued to drive the family car.
Maybe you did not hear what I just said.
HE CONTINUED TO DRIVE THE FAMILY CAR!
The same brave man who could mistake a milk cow
for his own Uncle Petey kept driving as if his
inability to see the road was a mere
inconvenience. Of course, he could not do so by
himself. The even braver Maizie would ride
shotgun, shouting frenzied directions as they
pinballed their way down the road.
Just having one terrified navigator did not seem
like a terribly fruitful situation, so the
partially demented Piehole was the co-navigator.
He would ride in the back seat, howling his
version of the road conditions facing them.
His favored position was to lean over the seat
until his head was closer to the windshield than
either of the front seat occupants. From this
vantage point he would holler such navigational
tidbits as "My Gawd, Daddy, look out for that
hay truck on the left!"
Surprisingly, the co-navigators did not always
agree on their directions. Slaps to the head
were not uncommon, accompanied by screams
debating the car's proximity to the nearest
ditch. It was left to the unflappable Arbuckle
to decipher whose shrieks were the most
convincing.
In this manner the little family happily, at
least some of the time, cruised the countryside
for three decades or more. Neither Maizie or
Piehole ever learned how to drive, probably
because Arbuckle had more faith in their
screeching ability than their learning ability.
One can only imagine what ran through the minds
of the neighbors who shared the roads with this
threesome. Ulcers and shredded vocal cords must
have run rampant in that neck of the woods.
A couple of times a year the family made the
60-mile drive to my grandparent's house. It was
only an 18 or 20 hour trip, probably depending
on if Piehole soiled himself from too many close
calls. Ten to 20 miles of this journey wound
along a narrow road 100 feet above the Snake
River, prime soiling grounds if I am any judge.
They would stay a couple of relaxing days, then
steer Arbuckle out to the car for the return
trip. This was bound to be full of even more
thrills and chills than usual, for they got the
cliff side on the drive home.
The Arbuckle clan made one epic journey that
should go down in history, shaming the exploits
of amateurs like Marco Polo. They headed to
Oklahoma one summer to visit some relatives whom
they must have thought very highly of indeed.
Their destination was roughly 1,000 miles as the
crow flies, unless the crow was blind and being
steered by two bickering, neurotic crow
relatives.
Their trip lasted most of the summer, but the
funniest thing about it was they only stayed in
Oklahoma for three days. I guess they just
didn't like to wear out their welcome.
I regret that I know nothing about the eventual
fates of Uncle Arbuckle, Aunt Maizie and Piehole.
It is known that they did not die in a car
crash.
One can only hope that Arbuckle died first so he
did not have to lead a funeral procession with
only one navigator. |
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