When I attended
Binghamton Central High School, getting there on a school bus was not an
option. The small fleet of yellow busses operated by the district were primarily
used to transport kids to junior high, from their neighborhood elementary school
(In my case, from Longfellow on the south side to West Junior). We could walk,
bike, hitch hike or find a car pool to get to high school, but not ride on a
school bus. I walked and hitched a few times
but wouldn't be caught dead on a bicycle. It would forever label me as a geek,
something I strived to avoid through all my high school years. Thankfully, I
was able to join two car pools during my high school tenure.
The
first car pool was operated by John Fish. He was the older brother of Steve (who
was one of the two 13-year old adventurers who rode with me to Gettysburg Pa. the
day I “borrowed” my father’s car and went for a joy ride (a story for another
day). Car pool is a misnomer in this case; we didn't use a pool of cars, just
John's 1952 - four-door, green Chevrolet sedan, affectionately known as
"The Turtle". None of us riders owned a car, nor would our parents
allow us to use theirs for such a mundane task as getting to school. John
charged us $1.00 a week. There were five paid riders; his cost of gas was less
than two bucks, netting him a $3 profit, not bad when you consider a soda only cost
ten cents, a pizza was a dollar and gas was twenty-six cents a gallon. Our
journey from the Fish residence (he didn’t pick us up) was generally a somber
event; we were still trying to wake up or groping with the prospects of a
taking a test we hadn’t studied for.
The
ride changed, actually got exciting, the day John decided we should try to make
the commute without using the brakes. It was a considerable challenge. The
route involved five traffic signals and roads that were busy with commuter
traffic. Day after day we tried; day after day we failed. But every so often we
reached a new milestone: making it across the South Washington Bridge, making
it over the Memorial Bridge, getting to the light at the corner of Oak and
Riverside Drive. We got closer and closer as he perfected a technique of using
the clutch and downshifting to slow down when a “red” light loomed ahead, hoping
it would turn green before we reached it.
Finally,
we did it! Made it all the way! We were coasting toward the last traffic light,
at the corner of Oak and Leroy Streets, when it unexpectedly turned red. We
jumped out of the car, even John, ran to the front and brought the “Turtle” to
a stop, just as it nosed into the cross walk. The light turned green, and while
whooping and hollering, we completed the trip to a parking space on Oak Street,
a block from the school. Even though we achieved our goal, we kept trying,
hoping to repeat it. The effort left me invigorated every morning instead of
half asleep when I dragged myself to the “prison” door.
I
joined my second car pool after John graduated, this time in a 1956? bland looking
Ford sedan that spent its early life as an unmarked State Police vehicle. It
was owned by John O'Neil, a classmate and friend who lived on Kendal Ave. The beast
was equipped with a 400 something horse power Thunderbird engine. We loved it
when John, with his grinning brother Jim riding shotgun, pulled up to a high
school hot shot in a souped up car. John would gun the engine and glance over
at the greaser to get his attention. The guy’s face always had a look that said,
“What? Are you crazy? Challenging me in that old lady car?" The light
would change, and the hot shot dragster would eat our dust as that “old lady” tore
down the street. The shocked look on his face was more than worth the weekly
price of the car pool. I bet John and especially Jim, still sport wide grins
whenever they think about the “good-old” car pool days. I know I do.
