In 1970, I was sixteen years old. I lived in a town where everybody thought they knew everybody. I had just bought a 1963 Galaxie 500 Ford. It was two tone...maroon bottom and white top. Parked out on the street...I was installing my new eight track player.
I was laid back on the seat hooking the final speaker wires up when I felt a tapping on my leg.
I heard a quivering voice say,"Excuse me young man, I need help." I bumped my head under the dash as I raised up and saw it was old Mrs. Lanehart. She had an ornery grin on her face and her eyes were a fascinating bright blue.
She had on more mascara and purple lipstick than a TV hooker. She looked like a prune dressed in a black, stringy 1940s Hollywood dress that was partly covered with a Raider's football jacket, draped on her shoulders.....topped off with a Green Bay Packer's cap.
As she popped out a small cigar from her gold cigar compact like case, she said,"My car....my damned car went dead...as dead as this stupid, bloody town."
She went on,"Oh...I'm sorry young man...My name is Thankful...Thankful Lanehart."
She reached out to shake my hand as I told her my name was, Tommy Kaylin. She shook my hand....reached in her purse and pulled out an ivory cigarette holder. stuck the little cigar in it and lit it with a Zippo lighter. She coughed and said,"I've been smoking these bloody things for 72 years...one would think I'd quit by now."
She puffed on the cigar and pointed down the street at her car. It was a mint condition, candy apple red 1957 Thunderbird convertible. I got out, shut my door and walked with her to her car. She got in...turned the key and it just made a loud, fast clicking sound. I was far from being a mechanic but I knew it was a low battery from helping my dad work on his old cars.
I went around front and told her to pop the hood. As I heard the hood latch pop...she laughed and said,"It opens up here by the windshield!" While feeling dumb....I walked to the side of the car and lifted the hood.
I could instantly see that the positive battery cable was popped up and loose. I twisted it back down and told her to try starting the car. It started right up.
As I shut the hood, she tried to hand me a five dollar bill and I refused to take it. I told her that I would stop by her house in an hour or so with a wrench and tighten the clamp for her.
I had always been curious about her old Victorian house at the end of Berry Street. There were lots of townsfolk rumors about the goings on at her place back in the 50s. This was my chance to check it out.
Mrs. Lanehart agreed and invited me to have some tea and cakes with her when I came. I thought how strange it was that she never thanked me when she left. She actually sped away in her old car and I went back to installing my Craig eight track player.
