Mom, Bobby, Betty, Claudia
1959 • La Habra ~ My brother-in-law’s idea of a family outing was a Sunday drive in his 1956 two-door Mercury Monterey, a two-toned gray and salmon (“titty-pink,” my sister called it) hardtop with a 312 engine, white-walled tires, and big chrome bumpers. He didn’t take us to the local fair or Disneyland or Knott’s Berry Farm. Carleen took us those places. She went on the rides with us, bought us cotton candy and saltwater taffy, and ate snow cones and hot dogs and onion rings with us. Sometimes she even played hide-and-seek even though she was a mom. No, Chuck’s family outings were to places out in the middle of nowhere or to one of the California missions. He didn’t tell us where we were going so it was invariably a surprise, usually an hour or two away, always with the three of us kids trapped in the back seat, and all the windows up except when he rolled his down to huck one (I never sat behind him again after the first time), the car filled 
with cigar smoke so thick we could barely see outside. The radio was regularly tuned to the static of football or some talk show, and up so loud our brains ached, his right hand cradling his scotch and water, a half-empty pint tucked under the seat.
When we finally got there, did he let us get out and walk around? Not that there was all that much to see that would fascinate a ten, five, and three-year-old at an abandoned mission that was often surrounded only by cactus and tumbleweeds. No, we’d look at it through the rolled down windows, then turn back onto the El Camino Real and head home.
One Sunday we drove an hour to Mission San Juan Capistrano to see the swallows that had already gone. I threw up in my one and only paper bag on the way there. On the way back, l told Chuck I wasn’t going to make it home. He warned me I’d better not vomit all over his vinyl seats or clean carpets, ordered me to stick my head out the window, then yelled at me not to puke all over the side of his newly waxed door. I couldn’t get my window cranked down fast enough to get my head out far enough, and I barfed right into the opening of the window well, which then trickled down the inside of the door into the ashtray. Chuck’s beloved Mercury reeked as bad as when that forgotten half gallon of milk exploded in the back seat, particularly when parked in the driveway all day in the hot Southern California sun.
Mission San Juan Capistrano 1956
to be continued…
© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.
Susan Dalberg says
You warned him! Surprised he didn’t have the “we only go pee at gas stops” rule. We had that and CJ and I both had bladder problems 🙂 Adults ideas of fun are often different than the back seat riders!
Gerry Wisdom says
Sunday drives were the highlight of our lives. We lived in Hollywood, had a Packard, and after Sunday School, four kids in back, one up front and off we went. There was a new-fangled, cylindrical a/c in Mother’s window. We went to Vasquez Rocks and Red Rock Canyon to climb around while Mother got out the picnic, to Newport to swim in the back bay, to the Missions (Daddy gave history lessons everywhere), and sometimes to visit friends or relatives. Maybe the best part was Santa Monica pier where Daddy seemed to know everybody, so we got to meet barkers, etc., a sort of circus crowd. We often slept on the way home so we wouldn’t be too tired to go to school the next day. Gerry
P.S. I never got to live in Hawaii, though!!
Susan Price says
Your brother-in-law drinking and driving, smoking cigars in the car with windows up, and of course, those cars had no seat belts (before their time). You are lucky to be alive!
Jean McQuady says
You have such a way with words, makes me feel I am riding with you all.