The MacMobile

[Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967]

The MacMobile

 

Just about every fella in Kappa Phi Delta had an automobile.  Or at least had access to one – sometimes under suspicious conditions.  Like Ray “Fu-Man" Gee, the time he borrowed my 1962 Buick Skylark for a date – “Hey, Rocko… thanks for lending me your car this coming Saturday!  Uh… would ya mind running it through the car wash on your way home?  And maybe making sure there’s gas in the tank?  Uh… and by the way… can ya spot me a twenty?”

 

After that weekend my gas mileage went WAY down.  I’d have to fill up weekly, instead of twice a month; unknown to me, Ray had had his “own” key made the night he borrowed my car for that date with the future Missus.  And since I worked nights and had afternoon classes, that li’l Buick was just sitting lonely all those mornings.  So… good ol’ Ray made sure she got plenty of exercise. 

 

Then came the morning I had a midterm – and midterm schedules did not necessarily follow class schedules.  I leaped out of bed at 0800, brushed my teeth, and dashed down the stairs and out the front door only to find a vacant spot where Ol’ Paint had been bedded down.

 

Gone.

 

Stolen.

 

Darn!  I just LOVED that spritely li’l coupé!

 

Heartbroken, I decided that I’d have to report it stolen; but first, since I was gonna miss my test anyway, I might as well fortify myself with a bowl of corn flakes.

 

I was sitting in the kitchen munching away when I heard the front door open; a moment later, Ray wandered into the kitchen. 

 

“Hey, Rocko.”

 

“Hey, Ray.  Man, I got some mighty bad news – my poor li’l ol’ car’s done been stolen!  Prolly crashed or on it’s way to Mexico,” I said, undoubtedly sporting a terribly forlorn expression.

 

“Uh… naw, it ain’t stolen” Ray said.

 

Puzzled, I asked, “It wasn’t?  Uhhh… are ya sure?  It ain’t downstairs!”

 

“Um.  Yeah… I’m sure.  I borrowed it.”

 

Hm.

 

“You borrowed it?  But… Howinell did ya borrow it?  I have the key!”

 

“Well, ya see… I sorta made my own… and…”

 

“Oh hell!  We’ll talk about it later – I gotta get to school!  I can still make it for my Geology mid-term!” and jumped up and headed for the stairs.

 

“Uh… Rocko… It ain’t downstairs.”

 

“Not downstairs?  Whaddaya mean, it ain’t downstairs?  Wherinell IS it?”

 

“Well… it’s in the Safeway parking lot, three blocks away.”

 

“What the hell is it doing there?  You didn’t run outta gas, did you??”

 

“Oh, NO!  It has plenty of gas!  You just filled it up yesterday!  Nope.  It’s in the Safeway parking lot ‘cuz it don’t work no more.”

 

Fortunately, I was able to take a make-up exam, and still had a good final grade in the class.  And with Half-Breed Pete’s help I was able to revive Ol’ Paint.  It took us a while to figure it out, but it seems the condenser in the distributor had failed – a VERY unusual thing.

 

But this story isn’t about Ol’ Paint; I’ll tell you more about the speedy li’l Buick elsewhere.

 

This story is about the most iconic automachine in Kappa Phi Delta history:  This story is about the MacMobile!

 

Half-Breed Pete – his given name is Jim McDermott, hence the name “MacMobile” – was the owner/mechanic/navigator/driver of this mechanical marvel, a 1938 Chevrolet Master De Luxe Sedan.  I’ll refer to him as “Mac” for the remainder of this account.

 

Although the car was only thirty-one years old when I first met it (and Pete), from the time it had left Detroit there had been substantial inroads made in the field of personal transportation.  Automobiles had become much more streamlined, lower, sometimes wider, with remarkable advances in the mechanics of suspension, powertrains, and styling.  And the MacMobile was definitely “old school.”  However, from the time Mac had acquired the “beast” as a high school sophomore, it had been heavily “McDermott-ized.”

 

First, by way of description, as unkindly as it may sound, I have to say that the vehicle was… well… kinda ugly.  Maybe a bit more than “kinda.”  Mac couldn’t leave it parked more than three days in any one spot in The City, or it could be towed off as a derelict.  Indeed, the only things original on the car were the paint and the interior linings.

 

The car was tall and had lines that could have once been called “Regal.”  From the front, it had real wing-type fenders.  Tear-drop headlight nacelles sprouted from just aft of the graceful, bow-shaped grille.  The louvered hood folded upward from each side.  It had real and sometimes handy running boards, and “suicide” back doors.

 

Originally a stylish green, the thick layers of paint had long since faded to a thick coat of “poop-dunkel” oxidation. On one of the front doors, Mac had scraped or sanded a skull and crossbones.  The other door bore a similarly engraved racing numeral, “6 9,” borrowed from race driver Johnny Allen.

 

Yup, the MacMobile was not exactly eye-pleasing.  When you opened a door, you were greeted by the musty fragrance of the tattered headliner.  That and the back seat ended the “original.”  

 

The front seat had been transplanted from an early vintage Chevrolet Corvair; when present, the back seat was original – but oftimes was temporarily removed, sometimes replaced with a pile of blankets.

 

Mechanically, she was a platypus!

 

Mac had replaced the original “knee-action” front suspension by transplanting the king-pin front end from an early 50’s Chevy pickup truck.  It worked fairly well, but one side effect was that the steering wheel was kinda “bent” to the right.

 

The dashboard had been “modernized” with all Stuart-Warner gauges.

 

Beneath the bonnet (under the hood), amazing things had happened: 

 

Mac had modified a large-capacity Buick radiator to fit behind the grille.  Behind the radiator, the original 85 horsepower inline-six cylinder engine had been replaced by a Chevrolet 327 with special camshaft, a Holley 4-barrel carburetor, and headers, all of which made 350 horsepower.  Behind that engine was some sort of truck transmission controlled by a Fenton shifter (cheaper than the Hurst, but functional!).  A beefy driveshaft transferred power to a low-geared differential.  The machine didn’t have a high top speed, but it could get there in a hurry.  It could smoke the rear tires and take off from a standstill like a jackrabbit!

 

But on those take-offs, the driver had to input a bit of starboard rudder, as the combination of engine torque and front-end geometry would cause her to pull to port – that’d be “left.” Toward oncoming traffic.

 

Speaking of tires – the beast was shod with chromed reverse wheels wearing Kimball Orbitread retreads.  Conveniently available from the Kimball Tire Company for probably less than twenty bucks apiece.

 

Amazingly, an entire generation of Kappa Phi Delta men survived the MacMobile.  We had some adventures in her, ranging from double dates to stealing kegs of beer from the Burgermeister Brewery. 

 

Even more remarkable was the fact that Mac himself survived the MacMobile.

 

Personally, I was always amazed at the young ladies who were willing to go on dates with Mac in his chariot.  It might’ve been a great drive-in movie car, but getting there was likely to be an adventure in itself. 

 

For example, there was the time Mac decided to “spice up” a date night by giving Miss Sally a tour of the city – San Francisco.  Evidently this went well, until right up to the drive down Little Lombard Street – billed as “the crookedest street in the world.”  On a balmy summer evening with its spectacular view of the bay, this can be a most romantic component of a date-night drive.

 

Except for having to give a wide-eyed Miss Sally a quick lesson in driving the beast.  As she muscled that crooked steering wheel and stomped on the brake pedal, Mac ran alongside.  While she drove, his job was to keep kicking the left rear axle back in, as the wheel, tire, and axle attempted to depart and go off on their own.

 

But somehow the MacMobile looked downright appropriate the night Mac and his date arrived for the Halloween party, he dressed as Paul Bunyan and she as Babe, the Blue Ox.  When Miss Sally stepped out of the car by way of the starboard running board, all eyes were on her in her blue leotard, tail, horns, and carrying “Paul’s” axe.  Somehow, that seemed just right.

 

The night Mac and Jim Borton (“Hank”) ferried a couple of nursing students back to their dorm at St Joseph Hospital, they were thrilled just short of terrified.  But they arrived safely; fortunately, it wasn’t until the return drive down the hill that a shackle snapped, the rear end twisted about 20°, and the driveshaft fell off.  Fortunately, it was cradled by the spider web of electric and baling wire under the car.  Fortunately, I was able to later convince the cops that only Mac’s superior wheelmanship had saved the day and avoided tremendous property and bodily damage.  And fortunately, no mention was made of any high-speed spinouts while screeching down the curves of Buena Vista Avenue with flames from the opened headers flickering through the hood louvers. 

 

And when Mac in his tuxedo and Miss Louanne in her formal gown arrived at the Founders Banquet in the MacMobile, well, that too just looked right.  The old buggy somehow managed to look proud under her shabby paint

 

The next night, however, she was back in true form.  Mac, Bill “Wynuts” W., Freddie “Bird Legs” G., John “JJ” Jarvis, and yours truly decided to go out for dinner.  And we were to take the MacMobile!  But with a whimsical twist.  We all still had our rented tuxedos, and using a bit of imagination managed to convert them into a sort of “zoot suit” look.  Thusly attired, wearing sunglasses and wide brimmed hats, we sauntered into the Front Room Pizza Parlour on California Street.  No one spoke.  Freddie took the lead, and Doug the manager, who was also a Kappa Phi man, seated us at a large table.  Fred just nodded at Doug, and off he went to fill our “order.”  He knew what we wanted.

 

A waiter came along and delivered appetizers and two pitchers of beer.  Fred pointed to Bill and snapped his fingers; Bill poured beer.  Fred pointed to John and snapped; John distributed the snacks.  Fred snapped, and we all ate.  Next snap, we drank beer.  And so it went for the entire meal, while the rest of the patrons watched us with immense amusement.

 

When we were finally done, Fred pointed at Mac and snapped.  Mac left the restaurant.

 

About ten minutes later, with a huge roar of engine and screech of brakes, the MacMobile zoomed to a stop outside the restaurants picture window.

 

Fred pointed to all of us and snapped. 

 

We all stood and filed out – never a word spoken; we mounted the running boards on both sides of the old Chevy and with another roar and smoking of tires, we were off.  Of course, a block later we stopped and piled inside, and laughed all the way home.

 

Doug later said that the rest of the customers were excited and delighted, and actively exchanged theories about what we were – ranging from real “gangsters” to a planned “Candid Camera” stunt.

 

One special Halloween, as the men of Kappa Phi Delta and the ladies of Kappa Theta were in the midst of a conducting a celebration for the kids of the Shriner’s Hospital for Crippled Children, the kids were drawn to a window by the sound and sight of the MacMobile roaring up to the curb.  After it sat for a moment or two with the engine revving, the motor became silent and two large cowboy types bailed out – one carrying a whip and a six gun (loaded with blanks, of course), and the other a hangman’s noose.  Their attention was soon diverted, though, when the two men began chasing some sort of creature through the shrubs and across the lawns.  But they later got to see the two cowboys “saddle up” and roar off into the night.

 

One notable adventure in the MacMobile was a trip with Mac and Wynuts; an attempt at a fun springtime Saturday afternoon at Roaring Camp, near Felton, in the Santa Cruz Mountains. About a 75 mile drive.

 

On this particular trip, the back seat had been replaced with a mattress and ice chest, several boxes, and a pillow.  I drew the straw for the “back seat,” Wynuts had shotgun and Mac, of course, drove.

 

But there was a small problem.

 

That modified Buick radiator had sprung a leak.  About every 20 miles or so she’d start to overheat, and we had to pull over, let it cool off for a few minutes, then top off the radiator.  We’d had the foresight to bring along a water jug; unfortunately, it was only enough for one stop.  Second stop, there was enough to fill the radiator with a donation from melted ice from the ice chest.

 

By the third stop, however, we were out of water.  We’d pulled off the road somewhere in the mountains.  No water. 

 

Mac and Wynuts got out to stretch their legs for a while, while I just lounged in the back.  Until the car shook in an odd way.  Suddenly I realized what was happening and scrambled out the left suicide door.

 

“NOOooo!” I shouted – just in the nick of time!

 

You see… that ice chest had been filled with beer.  Um… “Root” beer, of course, which we were drinking to keep cool as we meandered along that afternoon.  And I jumped out of the car just in time to stop those two from topping off the radiator with “recycled” [root] beer.

 

“Don’tcha do it, fellas!” I shouted at ‘em… “Not only will it ruin the radiator, we’ll gag to death on the drive home!”

 

Well, we figured out that we could actually shove enough crushed ice into the radiator to get us a little further up the road – which was all we needed; we were graciously surprised to find a business less than a half mile further.  It was closed, but there was a water hose.  We topped off the radiator, refilled the water jug, and filled the ice chest with water and we were set for the rest of the afternoon.

 

The last time I saw the grand old automobile in San Francico was the day Mac left for home after gradation, early summer of 1972.

 

There he was, zooming along the freeway, headed for San Luis Obispo, wearing a striped shirt, cigar clenched in his teeth, and rocking out with a pair of headphones clamped to his head.

 

But I would have one last opportunity for a ride in the MacMobile:

 

Friday, April 20, 1973 - the Friday before Easter.

 

I had been invited to spend the weekend with Mac and his family in San Luis Obispo, and to join them for an Easter Sunday afternoon outing, a “McDermott Fun In the Sun Day.” 

 

I had earlier packed my baggage into my white 1969 Volkswagen, and immediately after work, headed out.  The drive was pleasant and uneventful, even with Friday Bay Area traffic – which was much lighter than the congestion of today.  

 

About five miles north of San Juan Bautisto I had a mishap – the engine on that ol’ Bug blew and froze up.  I immediately stomped on the clutch and, trailing a plume of smoke, whipped across the right-hand lane in front of a horn-blaring semi-truck and, in a cloud of dust, rumbled to a stop on the shoulder.

 

Two hours later, around six-thirty in the evening and after the li’l Bug had been towed to San Juan, I called Mac from a pay phone:  “Mac!  I ain’t gonna make it!  I’m done broke down in San Juan, and you gotta come rescue me!” and told him about my misfortune.

 

“But Rod!  My car’s not runnin’!  I got the cylinder heads off the engine!”

 

“Well, dadgummit Mac, put ‘em back on and come git me!”

 

About two o’clock in the morning I heard a rumble, and walked out into the middle of the road and looked toward the growing sound.  In the distance, I saw two points of light bounce along, growing brighter and the barely subdued growl became louder as the MacMobile hove into sight.

 

I was rescued!

 

Well, Mac moved on to other vehicles, and eventually the old Chevy was pretty much abandoned on his new bride’s grandparent’s ranch.  Several years later, he decided the time had come to let it go. The old beast was “adopted” by a gentleman from the Central Valley, who said that he intended to restore her to near original appearance.

 

I truly hope he followed through; in my imagination, she still takes Sunday drives and makes appearances at car shows.  But probably without stolen kegs of beer in the trunk.

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

 

                                                     

 

 

 

 

 

[Wallaby Jack, SASS #44062]

 ...... another fantastic chapter for your book about your mis-spent youth .....   

[Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967]

On 6/23/2021 at 3:46 PM, Wallaby Jack, SASS #44062 said:

 ...... another fantastic chapter for your book about your mis-spent youth .....   

 

Whatchoo mean "Mis-Spent," Wallaby...?  

 

We had fun.  No one got kilt... and not too many of us went to jail.  

[Wallaby Jack, SASS #44062]

I'm surprised you can remember it 

 

  ..... you are remembering it, right ?   

[Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967]

1 hour ago, Wallaby Jack, SASS #44062 said:

I'm surprised you can remember it 

 

  ..... you are remembering it, right ?   

 

Absolutely!  

 

Actually, none other than Half-Breed Pete himself is visiting this weekend.  My jaw aches from laughing!  

 

Heck... it's only 108° today.  What better time to fire up the smoker and smoke up a mess o' ribs?  

 

 

                    

[Utah Bob #35998]

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Fun times that yout thingy.