The Way Back

It was finally decided that we should have a new car, not just for the trips but in general, and mom really wanted a station wagon, in fact she insisted upon it. We looked around for what seemed like forever and finally got a Ford Falcon station wagon. It wasn't at all like Uncle Bob's Country Squire with wood paneling on the outside and seats in the way back, our car was about as plain as it got, a car reserved for military bases or factory businesses carting stuff around. The car was an olive green and a black plastic interior, no carpet just plastic matting, manual crank windows, no AC, AM radio only, it didn't have a roof rack (which would've been useful) and the way back was a bare metal surface, which with instead of folding seats like Uncle Bob's wagon had a locked compartment underneath that acted as a trunk. This was certainly the most inexpensive station wagon available in the world, but it was new and it was ours. Thinking back it probably was a really good car, very practical. That car went on about a dozen of the trips and always ran like a top (for the most part). As far as my mom was concerned she was resigned but happy to have it, always wanting a Country Squire with wood paneling and seats in the way back for the kids, but dad just wasn't going to afford a car like that.

The car was intended for my mom, but immediately my dad took it over and it became his car. He called it the "F-Con" short for Falcon, which was reminiscent of the "T-Bird" short for his '55 Thunderbird. He even went as far as to try and call the Mustang the "M-Stang" which was kind of a stretch and never caught on. But as far as the "F-Con" was concerned, the original idea was that my mom would have the station wagon and my dad would have his '55 Thunderbird, the only problem with that plan was that the '55 T-bird didn't run, I remember it running only a handful of times in my life, and even then it was a tad sketchy. So the theory of my dad having his own vehicle amounted to it sitting in the garage deteriorating with lofty plans of getting it going again and having it win drag races like it did in the old days. But dad required a car for his activities and now we had a new one. The first thing dad did was to remove the dashboard, the reason was that he had bought from the JC Whitney catalog a set of racing gauges and dials, never intended for this station wagon but was thought every car should have (since the '55 T-Bird had them). He always complained about the "idiot lights" and thought it was a better idea to have dial gauges like an rpm tachometer, a temperature gauge and some other gadgets. But these instruments were no way going to fit into the existing dashboard arrangement, and to integrate these into the car system, the dashboard needed to be removed completely, and all the gauges, even the pre-existing factory installed speedometer and gas gauge, just layed out on the empty interior beneath where the dashboard once covered. It was incredibly ugly and immediately made the car look 30 years older, and for the most part unnecessary since the gauges were overly complicated and never really worked anyway. The exposed interior was made of a light colored particle board which caused an annoying reflective glare on the inside of the windshield, which if the sun was just right, glare caused the driver not to be able to see out the front of the windshield. To solve this, dad found an old navy blue t-shirt of mine and draped it over the offending parts, covering a patch of the reflecting parts and making a section of dark on the window letting the driver see without distraction. This dashboard arrangement stayed with the car for many years, and everyone became used to it and eventually took it for granted. Even when reasoned with or threatened, dad refused to put the dashboard back on and even got angry at the suggestion.

But the best part of that car, the thing that make all the other annoyances insignificant, was the way back. The way back was the whole reason for getting a station wagon in the first place, and for us kids was a privilege tailor made for us. As far as the trip was concerned the way back was more than a luxury, it was a necessity that made the trips all those years with multiple kids possible, the trips would've been impractical and miserable without the way back. Now, I mentioned before that the way back was nothing more than bare industrial black metal, in fact everything in the interior of the car (except for what was underneath the dashboard) was black and hard, which made things uncomfortable and hot, hot because the black plastic and metal absorbed outside light like a solar panel causing any surface in the car exposed to direct sunlight to become hot enough to inflict serious burns. So to provide comfort in the way back we dedicated a special sleeping bag, unzipped and spread out to allow some cushion, and shield from the sun. The sleeping bag was adequate but difficult to keep under control, constantly sliding and bunching up in corners of the back, but we all fell into a way back routine and adjusted to the difficulties, making the best out of this compromised situation.

There was also a back window that could be rolled down, but because of the lack of modern conveniences on the car had to be rolled down manually from the outside. This meant during the driving we had two choices, either the window was up, which meant the way back ran the risk of becoming a greenhouse, or it was down, which provided ventilation in the form of a noisy and sometime fume filled wind. So we had to choose carefully the status of the window because dad was always reluctant to stop and roll the window up or down according to our whims. The window being down could be a source of amusement, waving to truckers and making them blow their horns, or we often threw stuff out the back and joyfully watched the items bounce and break on the speeding pavement. I think we even attempted to fly a kite out of the way back window once with disappointing results, accomplishing a lesson in aerodynamics showing us that the wind created by the wake of the car actually blew in, not out like we suspected. Throwing the kite out to catch the wake a few feet behind the car resulted in the kite slamming onto the pavement and dragging it back at 60 mph, ripping the string through our hands and causing a nasty friction burn. Dad was either unaware of our potentially dangerous experiments or glad we were suitable occupied. More than likely he enjoyed watching us struggle with these vain attempts at amusement.

The way back served many purposes, it was a place to nap during the long days driving, it was a refuge and escape from the other occupants of the car when they inevitably got on your nerves, it was a place to play and keep busy with projects meant to fight constant boredom, and it was a holding cell used as punishment and confinement when discipline was deemed necessary.

The way back was a home away from home in the car.