PLYMOUTH — I remember the night clearly because it was typical of our weekend exploits back in the day.
It was summer, and for teenagers still trying to figure out what life was all about and what we were going to be when — and if — we ever grew up, we lived for the weekends.
At some point on Friday night, we would head to Harveys Lake — to Sandy Beach where Eddie Day would be playing in that two-story pavilion. We would dance until intermission and then jump in the lake to cool off. Then back for more dancing.
At night’s end, it was off to Elby’s on Route 11 for a Slim Jim or a Big Boy platter. Melba was our favorite waitress because she understood us and tolerated us. She knew we were harmless.
On this particular Friday night, as we were driving over the Narrows Highway, the oil light went on in my dark blue 1964 Plymouth Valiant. Classic, right?
As we turned the corner into Plymouth, Cheponis’ Gas Station — where a gallon of gas was less than 20 cents — was closed.
Uh-oh.
Understand that the Valiant had a persistent oil leak and, well, the oil light came on and there was nowhere to buy the needed temporary fix to an impending problem.
And I had only about a mile or so to go — I would park the car and go get oil in the morning and ask Gordy Lane if there was anything he could do to fix the leaky oil problem.
But as we continued past Cheponis’ Gas Station, past Glen Bottling Co., and just beyond the Lark Diner, the Valiant stopped — the engine had frozen.
The Valiant was a goner.
My buddies and I walked home — I was mourning the loss of a good friend who had served us all so well — Valiantly, you could say.
You see, for an 18-year-0ld kid in 1969, happiness actually was a 1964 Plymouth Valiant.
It was a smooth ride, man. Well, not really, but it was wheels for a kid who wanted to hang out with his pals and venture out of the friendly confines of Old Shawnee once in a while.
It’s what we did. We would hang out on East Main Street in front of C. Matus News — just standing there holding up the parking meters and watching the world go by.
We were always looking out to catch a glimpse or two of a carload of pretty girls in the hopes they would smile back and maybe even tell us where they were headed.
When we got tired of that, we would head into the pool hall and shoot some 9-ball or Harrigan and challenge each other with those finely chalked house cues that “Boikey” Matus offered. Maybe we would drop a few quarters in the 6-card pinball machine in hopes of hitting it big.
For kids just out of high school and still trying to figure out what the world had to offer, these really seemed to be the best of times.
Our night would often begin by heading to Joe’s Pizza for a large pie with extra cheese, maybe onions, and a coke.
After a Friday night of dancing, on Saturday we returned to Sandy Beach to soak up some rays. The beach was always packed — girls were everywhere. And if you had a decent transistor radio, man, you were really cool. Everybody was tuned into WARM-the Mighty 590.
After getting sunburned, we would head back to Plymouth to shower and get ready to go back out to Harveys Lake to Hanson’s and its second-story dance hall. Again we would dance all night — Joe Nardone & the All Stars were usually playing.
On the way home, we would sometimes stop at Dwyer’s Lunch on East Main Street, or the Lark Diner for a Cheeseburger Royale — oh, those greasy fries were so delicious. Dwyer’s featured “Sober Up Soup” — not that we under-aged people would ever need that.
We really did have fun back in the day. We were always well-behaved and we always had fun.
So that 1964 Valiant I spoke of earlier — dark blue, four-door sedan, push-button automatic transmission — was given to me by my dad when he got his new car — a 1969 dark green Plymouth Road Runner. Now that was a gorgeous vehicle — but not sharper than my previous car, a 1966 Pontiac GTO.
Now the GTO was beautiful to look at — powder blue metallic with a white convertible top and white leather interior. However, it had numerous mechanical issues.
When I started the GTO, I was never sure it would re-start when I was ready to return home. It happened so often, my dad finally said we had to get rid of it.
That’s when I took possession of the ‘64 Valiant and my dad became the driver of one of the coolest cars in Plymouth — the ‘69 Road Runner.
But the Valiant served me well, getting us everywhere we needed to go — until that fateful night.
Now I will tell you that this Valiant was on its last legs. It had gotten to the point where I would tell the gas station attendant at Cheponis Gas Station to check the gas and fill the oil. It was that bad.
I often drive past the Valiant’s final resting place and I remember that night, just like I remember so many other great days and nights back in the day.
My pals and I may have had minimum wage jobs — but we managed to maximize our memories.