In the early sixties our family car was a 1953 Chrysler Windsor Club Coupe. A big heavy good-looking car, with a flathead six engine and a Fluid Drive transmission. Although fast approaching its tenth year, it was still a very nice-looking car. My dad, who we ALWAYS called Pop, was very proud of that car, and took very good care of it. All the chrome and paintwork on the car looked nearly new, but the deep burgundy colour showed every speck of dust.
So from April to the end of September, Pop's evening ritual was to go out to the car, take the Nenette Brush out of the trunk, and give the car a thorough dusting. The way Pop would "Nenette" the car followed the same unhurried routine. Step one was to light up a Players Plain, and then pull the brush out of the tube. He'd give the brush a little shake to release any clumps of dust it might be holding from its last use. Open the driver's door and step up on the sill – Pop was about 5'-7" tall, so he needed to do that to reach the centre of the roof. After wiping down half the roof, he'd go round to the other side and repeat the open door, step on sill, wipe the roof process. He'd then move to the trunk and back bumper giving them a thorough wipe down. Both sides of the car were done next, including the hubcaps and tire sidewalls. He always saved the hood and front of the car for last. The hood got a thorough wiping, then he'd give the front and grille a good going-over. Just about then, his smoke would be done, which was convenient as often there were fresh bug splats on the front that needed attention. That part took two hands to do, Pop would hold the handle of the brush in one hand with the fringes over the bug spot, he'd loosely bunch a few strands of the fringe in his other hand and rub them gently on the spot until the bug was gone.
With the front of the car finished, the brush would be put back in the trunk. He'd lean comfortably on the fence and spend a moment to admire the car. As the last light in the sky faded, he might just finish off with another Players.
This is Rick's older brother, whom he mostly calls, "The Geez." The price of being ten years older, I guess. Even though I was out on my own by the time Pop owned this big, beautiful maroon 53 Chrysler, I remember it well. Especially as it always gleamed. Through example, Pop instilled in both Rick and I, an interest in, enjoyment of, and respect for great cars, and sometimes, even trucks and buses. Pop was a great man in a very normal way and has been missed ever since his sudden early passing at 60 years of age. Keep up the great stories, Rick.
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