More Genoa Tales

There is an old joke about a group of elderly, decrepit men who got together to have lunch at a local restaurant. One guy held the menu out at arm's length complaining about the size of the print, another grouched that the waitress who came to take their drink orders needed to speak up. Why do all these young people nowadays mumble? Another complained that the chairs were too uncomfortable. Why do they keep the air conditioner turned down so damned low? And how can they charge so much for a cup of coffee? I remember when coffee cost a dime. Every complaint received encouraging acceptance. Finally, one of the old men said, "Listen to us. We've become the kind of old people we used to make fun of...nothing but complaints and negativity. Sure, we can't hear like we used to, we can't see like we used to, we can't get around as quickly as we used to, and times have changed but, hey, look on the bright side. We've still got our drivers licenses."

 

The Dr. Willliams from a couple of posts earlier was in his eighties but he still drove in 1960s Genoa, Nebraska. What harm could it do? right?  Well he found a way. 

 

My friend Bob Peterson, like other kids who lived in the country but were not old enough for a drivers' license, had a school permit. Kids only needed to be 14 years old to get a school permit and, no doubt, live a minimum number of miles away from the school.  It is curious that kids could get school permits before they were old enough to get learners' permits, when they turned 15. The single most important limitation was that these were permits to drive directly to and from school, no cruising main street to impress one's fellow students.

 

Of course all rules are made to be broken, and one afternoon after school I was riding around town with Bob Peterson in his car on one of the side streets when, crash, Dr. Williams had backed out of his parking space into the side of Bob's car. I don't remember what was said right then, but there was probably a swear word or two along with that instant realization of being in trouble, for Bob, not me. I don't remember at this remove why everything didn't stop at that point, cars in place, but Bob must have moved his car. Probably he made a quick decision that there was no need to get the local police involved since he was driving illegally at the time.. As soon as Bob moved his car, to our surprise Dr. Williams just continued backing out onto the street and drove the two or three blocks to his house, with us following.

 

When Dr. Williams got out of his car in his driveway, Bob was all over him. Probably it was a very short conversation, but even so there was likely more to it than the part that I remember. "Why don't you look before you back out?" "I did look...before I got in the car."

 

I think a lot of small town indiscretions in that era involved cars. It was also the era when people sometimes gave names to their cars. I have the vague idea this practice started with some television show, but I don't know if that's true. Even then, I thought it was both funny and a little déclassé, not done by the better people.  Leo Koziol, an attendant at the local Co-op gas station had an old work car, probably about a 1940 Plymouth, black with it's name hand painted in white letters on the left rear fender, B.O.

 

Leo liked his beer on a Sunday and was usually ready for a nap by early afternoon. One Sunday I still recall the spirit of his last words to his son Ken on his way upstairs to lie down.  "Don't you take BO." It shouldn't have been necessary for him to say this, because Ken was only 15 and didn't have a license, but that was a small matter. I'm sure Leo hardly had time to lie down when Ken and I were in BO driving out into the country.  We hadn't been out very long when we were on a road that must have been freshly graveled. Ken drove into a pile of loose gravel, lost control and we rolled into the ditch, BO landing on its top. It was almost a slow-motion accident and neither of us were injured.

 

The accident happened practically in front of a farmers house, to which we walked and asked to use the phone.  I have no memory of what road we were on, who the farmer was or anything else about the day, but the scene that followed is burned into my memory because it was so like a sitcom scene. Ken dialed the number and woke up Leo. He said "Dad, I wrecked BO." Then without waiting even an instant, he held the telephone straight out at arms length and the farmer, the farmer's wife, Ken and I stood in the kitchen listening to Leo Koziol swear quite a long blue streak.

 

Probably the best car stories about my classmates should involve Marc Baue, with always-innocent little me (have you noticed?) in the passenger seat on more than one occasion, outrunning state highway patrolmen. Unfortunately I can't recall many details, and I'm quite sure there are two or three incidents mixed up in my mind. I do know on one occasion we were on a country road driving at high speed with our lights off and we whipped into a farmers yard (without touching the breaks, of course) and watched as the patrol car raced past. Marc also knew how to make a high speed 180 degree turn using the hand break; I remember being with him once when he did this while being chased. This should be a good story because, at least in theory, we would have then met whoever was chasing us...but I just don't recall.  I'm think every highway patrolmen in the area knew Marc Baue's car and I think he knew them all by name...and probably by their driving skill. I don't believe he was ever caught, and I don't know that he ever did anything more serious than drive fast. Probably there was frequently underage beer drinking involved, but that would have been all.

I guess Marc did more than drive fast and drink a little beer while he was still underage. He also got expelled from school in his Junior year for punching the music teacher. He finished high school down the road in Fullerton, and he probably became their best football running back instead of Genoa's. The Baue's lived outside of town on a farm, and Fullerton was probably about 18 or 19 miles from their place...probably about a 15-minute commute for Marc.

I thank everyone who gave me permission to use their name (Bob).