LFS: The Storyteller

Do you remember when the car horn was a metal ring or half-ring inside the steering wheel of your dad’s car? If you do, you’re old like me. My dad’s car horn was in a 1957 Dodge Custom Lancer with a gold and white paint job. There was no shift on the steering column or on the floor. The automatic transmission was a series of big buttons on the dashboard to the left of the steering column. I borrowed that car late one Saturday night in 1962 – all 15 years old of me – and taught myself to drive. I was doing fine for about 20 minutes until I turned onto Elmont Road, just across the New York City line into Nassau County. After I made the legal right turn the light turned green and the next thing I see is a blue and orange Nassau County cop car right behind me. I panicked and with shaking hands immediately pulled over to park on the right. So did the cop. Yup That's Me  It was a costly misadventure. Besides the citation for driving...

Car Tales ©2010 by LeeZard Fans of LeeZard (Both of you) know well his love affair with The Blue Streak (sigh). Cars play a big part in our lives. We remember our first car, our first family car (infant seat won’t fit in a roadster, dammit) or our mid-life crisis car. I remember them all, from the lemons to the lemonade. I’m not quite a motorhead. Oh, I could change the oil but I choose not to. I remember my first best friend, Arnold Feldman. His dad owned a gas station (and bought Arnie a cream-colored 1960 Volvo for his 17 th birthday) and we used to help out on weekends. I tried working on the engines but hated the weird angles at which you had to twist your hands and wrists; hated the resultant scraped and bleeding knuckles. Nonetheless, I love anything on wheels or tracks and want to drive ‘em all. I read Motor Trend, Car & Driver, etc. to stay current on trends, styles, road tests and the like. As you all know, I dreamed of owning a Porsche since teenhood. Each...

Sometimes, words appear in my head in rhythm and/or rhyme. I'm not sure why; I'm not a big fan of poetry. Go figure. Someone told me a long time ago that a lot of my poems seemed like song lyrics. So, recently, I've been writing with that in mind. I have no musical talent whatsoever but, the following would probably make a good Rock & Roll tune. ©2007 by LeeZard Blue Streak, Blue Streak, I’m ridin’ in the Blue Streak. Flyin’ down the Interstate, Top down, feelin’ great. She’s a low slung mean machine, Drive ‘er fast, keep ‘er clean. Tap the brake, make the scene, Hit the curve, she won’t lean. She was on Ebay, That’s the way you buy today. Low miles, high style, Punch it down, eat the miles. Blue Streak, Blue Streak, I’m ridin’ in the Blue Streak. Flyin’ down the interstate, Top down, feelin’ great. Fat tires, leather seats, Jump on in, have a treat. Ain’t no Beemer, ain’t no ‘Vette, Ain’t no car that’s beat her yet. Never thought I’d own this ride, Ne...