Memoir of a VW Van

One late spring day in 1976, my father called to ask if he could drop by my apartment for a visit. As it turned out, his sad intent was to allow me to say goodbye to a cherished family member—a red 1972 Volkswagen van, dubbed “The Thing.” Daddy had originally purchased The Thing new as a work car, but even so, the frequent repairs which the vehicle demanded forced Daddy to decide to trade it in for a more reliable vehicle.

My love for The Thing burned as red hot as the vehicle’s exterior color. Actually, I learned to drive in the family car, a 1961 Chevrolet station wagon with an automatic transmission. However, once I got the basics of driving down, I shifted to driving The four-speed Thing. I reveled in driving the vehicle, not having the vehicle drive me.

On 27 December 1971, my parents and my two younger siblings piled into The Thing and headed to the Louisiana DMV. On this grand occasion of my fifteenth birthday, the family headed out bright and early for me to apply for my driver’s license. In spite of the examiner’s initial skepticism, I passed my driver’s test in that van and proudly drove the family home.

The van was fun to drive, although it was not the safest vehicle. Their light weight and boxy construction rendered VW vans prone to roll-overs, but I never rolled The Thing, nor tried to! With the engine located in the back, the driver’s seat perched at the very front of the vehicle, affording a precipitous view of the road. I would freak out my friends by turning 360 degrees in intersections, an impossible feat in a sedan but easily doable in that machine of oppositions.

My brother’s favorite memory of The Thing occurred on a family trip. We were stopped on a hill at a red light. Once the light turned green, I struggled to orchestrate the clutch and gas only to keep stalling out the engine. Daddy kept yanking up on the emergency brake. I don’t remember how many tries it took for me to get the van rolling forward, but my brother still giggles at that story.

My favorite Thing story involves driving a group of kids from my church across Baton Rouge to a memorial service at a cemetery on the outskirts of town. Most of the drive was down Airline Highway, a major, four-lane road. On the way home, I got into an impromptu, informal drag race with an unknown driver in a Camaro. Even as an inexperienced driver, I had a knack for reading the traffic, looking ahead and changing lanes instead of sticking in one lane until I reached my destination. This driving strategy, performed by a teen-aged girl driving a VW van full of teenagers, angered the guy driving the muscle car when he realized what had just passed him. Ultimately, my skillful playing of traffic got us to our intersection to turn off of Airline Highway ahead of the guy in the Camaro. He followed us aggressively through the neighborhood, but when he saw us pull into the church parking lot, he cut a donut and sped away.

I had many other driving adventures in that van. In 1972, Governor-elect Edwin Edwards declared a school holiday for his inauguration. My best friend Charlene and I loaded our bicycles into The Thing and headed across the Mississippi River to Port Allen for an adventure. My mother gave birth on 17 June 1972 to my baby sister. As the family errand girl, I had more freedom to gad about than I would have had under different circumstances. While I frequently drove around friends and groups from church, I never had a wreck or got a ticket.

My father appreciated my bond with The Thing and thoughtfully allowed me to take that last drive and say my farewells. My own life had changed drastically since Daddy bought that vehicle. In January, 1976, I gave birth to my daughter, becoming a young mother much too soon. At that point in my life, I was not only saying goodbye to fond memories of youthful driving experiences, but saying goodbye to my carefree youth, as well.

Exciting Nights of Beer League Baseball

When my two siblings and I were growing up, Daddy worked shift work at Dow Chemical. All of us, especially Mama, looked forward to the evenings when Daddy worked days because after supper, Daddy and we young’uns would pile into Daddy’s “work car”—a used Ford Falcon—and head out somewhere so Mama could have a little quiet time. Of course, we jockeyed for shotgun, although as the oldest, I usually had first dibs on it. The Falcon had a three-speed transmission with the gear shift on the steering column. Daddy would let the kid riding shotgun shift while he worked the clutch. When I tired, or was gently encouraged, I let someone else take over shifting duties.

These after-dinner forays frequently started at the Brown’s Velvet Creamery on Plank Road. In these heady days of ice cream after supper, air conditioning was still a luxury, so we rode with the windows down and the warm breeze tickling our desire for ice cream. We each got a scoop. Predictably, I ordered my favorite flavor, chocolate-cherry-almond. Sadly for me, I never found that exact flavor combination in ice cream again. We could enjoy our ice cream in a leisurely fashion, soaking in the air conditioning of the Creamery.

After we finished our cool treats, we headed off into the warm evening to Howell Park to sit in on a beer-league baseball game. We did not know any of the players or other people there. However, it was a fun way to spend a little more time out of the house on a hot Baton Rouge summer night with Daddy. We had fun crawling over the bleachers and people-watching. Aliens could land on the baseball diamond and we would probably miss it.

However, one night, we actually witnessed a memorably clever play. A runner was on second. The batter hit a fly ball. The runner on second yelled, “I got it,” and everyone watched as the ball fell to the ground. Then, of course, the runner took off for third, leaving a red-faced and frantic second baseman and short stop.

These evenings of beer league baseball instilled in me a love of baseball that has extended throughout my life. Football, basketball, hockey, and other sports all have their fans. But if you want a companion for a baseball game, count me in.

Nine Reasons Baseball is Exciting

I have been a baseball fan most of my life, beginning when I was in elementary school and my Daddy would take us kids to watch beer leaguebaseball. Since we kids were too young to drink beer, we found excitement in the game itself. Later, we followed LSU baseball, even before the team built a new field. In grad school in Southern Illinois, I worked my spring schedule around afternoon televised Cubs games before Wrigley installed lights, as well as catching a few of the college baseball games. Without the excitement of baseball, I may never have made it through my doctoral program.

Therefore, I cannot understand those misguided souls who feel that baseball is boring, that nothing ever happens. For their edification, I have compiled a list of nine reasons—since a game has nine innings--that baseball is an exciting sport.

1) Pitching involves a lot of suspense.

If a pitcher throws the very minimum amount of pitches, meaning each batter gets out in one pitch, then fans get to predict 54 times in a game whether the pitcher will throw a curve ball, a slider, or an elevator pitch. Realistically, that scenario doesn’t happen. When batters face multiple pitches, fans get to predict before the call whether the umpire will call a ball, call a strike, or call out for pizza. Fans get to wonder if the pitch will hit the batter, and even if it will be a wild pitch or passed ball. (A wild pitch is one made with a ball that parties too much; a passed ball is one overlooked for promotion.) What does the pitcher do if he has to pee? (Does his cup run over?)

2) Base running is exciting.

When a runner is on base, the pitcher may throw to that base to discourage him from trying to steal the next base, so fans get to predict if the pitcher is going to throw to the batter, throw to the baseman, or throw the book at the base stealer. Fans can also predict if the runner will hold or attempt to steal. If the runner holds, then he could be bluffing--oh, never mind, that’s poker, not baseball! If the runner attempts to steal, will he slide? If so, will he come in hands first, cleats first, or bottoms up? (Although usually drinking is not allowed on the field.)

3) The commentators add color.

If you are watching the game on television or listening on radio, you get more exciting commentary than if you are at the ballpark. Fans will find excitement wondering what kind of interesting or inane things might the commentators say? Did they attend their wives at the birth of their children? “He’s out!” (I actually heard this exciting discussion during a real game!) How frequently will they visit the theatre of the obvious? (Yes, the batsman is writhing on the ground because that pitch really did hurt.)

 4) The mascots provide excitement.

Will the pitcher bean the mascot? Can you tempt the mascot to speak? Is the mascot wearing clothes underneath the costume? Will the team manager substitute the mascot into the game at some point?

5) The promotional games provide excitement.

How willing are people to make fools of themselves in order to win a prize? Will the games involve water balloons and wet clothes? Will someone shoot t-shirts from a cannon?

6) Food at the ballpark is exciting?

Fans can find excitement deciding what to eat at the ballpark—a hot dog, a hot dog, or a hot dog--and then standing in line for the various varieties of hot dog, listening to the announcer. If you are watching or listening to the game at home, substitute your refrigerator for the ballpark vendors in this exciting activity.

7) The 7^th Inning Stretch is fun.

Standing up and singing a song in the middle of the seventh inning of baseball is exciting! Fans might wonder how many other fans will sing along. If the team has chosen “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” will the fans substitute the name of the home team, for example “The Cubbies,” instead of singing “Root, root, root for the home team”? Fans can also find excitement if the team has chosen a song along the lines of “Sweet Caroline” or some other non-traditional 7^th Inning Stretch song, such as “The Chicken Dance.”

Ah, it’s the Seventh Inning Stretch! After seven innings of exciting baseball, I think I need a nap! (Wake me when the game is over.)

NOTE: I received no compensation from any organization involved with baseball at any level to write this piece (although I am open to offers!).