I am a '55 model myself.
Yeah, same year as classic Chevy's and T birds.
Greasers? Yeah, remember, didn't see any racing them T birds, now them '55 Chevy's were eating Ford's lunch!
I must have caught the tail end of this Greaser Era, but I remember enough. It was interesting , to a kid. I guess being a kid my age and size must have been a special niche, ask one why everybody put cigs folded under the left T shirt sleeve and "Hey Tony, how come the left , not the right, the kid wants to know".
Tony shrugged, meaning "always been left, so left it is".
If I had been older, I would probably been "thumped".
Mentors knew some of these Greasers, and these Greasers respected the Mentors. Good enough for kid like me to drop a handkerchief for a race on a private road, I'd even get to pour the bleach for tires ...*cough* *cough* *GRIN*.
Don't matter if the hair is greased, gray or missing, turning a wrench and messing with engines is a common thing to do. Gals are gals, aprons and baking cookies, or smacking gum and "Tony, you know this old lady used to race that guy in her daddy's car when they were dating?"
I was the right size to get a dropped bolt or wrench or both from under a Greaser's car, a Mentor was having as much fun messing with and giving a few pointer's from his day.
Some stuff always been , always will be, no matter the names attached ...
I was out getting coke bottles , these brought 2 cents each, and I had quite a few. I wanted the money to get some .22 shells. Some guys I didn't know showed up and yelled at me, then they broke all my bottles, and laughed. One tried to hit me, and I hit him with a stick, I hit him hard in the knee, he screamed at me and I outran the one that took off after me.
All my bottles broken and all that mess and no money. I was mad and then I got sad.
I was trying to be careful but I cut myself. Greasers passed by, then came back. "What's wrong kid?" I told them, and then they saw I cut myself, we used some napkins to help with the bleeding, one used his knife to get a piece of glass out.
"Who did it?" They asked and I all could tell them what the car looked like.
The beat them up, and said I had really hurt that knee.
One of them ones that broke my bottles had a brother that went to my school, he was bigger and said he was going to beat me up.after school one day. Made me mad. He waited until we got off school property one day and then he ran out from behind some bushes. He ran out and I went down low , I tripped him, he knocked me down and kicked me hard. Then I stabbed him with a pencil in the leg, he hobbled off with my pencil in his leg.
I didn't know anyone else was watching, but the Greasers had shown up and seen this. "You okay kid?"
"No, yeah, I don't know, my sides hurt, I'll be okay?"
I was walking with a few kids, nothing being said, mad about the whole thing, and my homework I started at school and had to finish had gotten torn. Darn, I was going to have to write all that over again...
Greasers stayed back, followed me home, driving real slow, they rev'd the engine sometimes, but I knew they were close.
Bully had to go see a doctor, he didn't tell what happened, but word was I stabbed him so it was serious.
"Not a full box kid, we only shot a few, but if you want 'em you can have 'em"
Greasers gave me a box of .22 shells.
I learned real young how to open a stapler and use it to hold stuff on bullentin boards. Seems all the thumbtacks would disappear and end up in the heel of tennis shoes, 3, 4 , 5 of them in each heel of each shoe sometimes. They would come out during recess, and I have no idea how come that big hardwood floor got scratched up at school...
"click" "click" "click" "click" ...
*wink*