Miss Daisey couldn’t do it any better.

Witnessing the unordinary.

Wife and I attended a nearby church in Inglewood California where we were living at that time. This was the mid-1960s and saw interesting things happen there. Some of which were meeting and greeting media celebrities. Pop singers and movie actors.

But the most amazing event that happened most Sunday mornings was the arrival and parking of a huge 1949 DeSoto car with the Spanish explorer’s chrome image on the hood. Expertly navigated by a near 90-year old white hair woman. The DeSoto car could not have been newer than 1949 or 1950. It was gray, long, bulky, and certainly without power steering. You could barely see the elderly woman’s head over the steering wheel. She drove in and always parked in the same space. Right near the main walkway into the church auditorium. That was her parking space and no one ever attempted to park there.

It was a parking area inside the U-shape church structure. An area surrounded by church classrooms and the auditorium. She drove in slower than most elderly folks could walk. Slowly and deliberately. Maneuvering the car like an aircraft carrier into the parking slot. It was about a ten minute process. Pulling in. Then backing out. Then pulling in again and straightening the whole vehicle for her final approach and easing up to the concrete car stop. Then getting out the driver side was another process. Stepping out of the driver seat, gathering her purse and books from the back seat, and securing the car’s door locks. Then a slow walk into the main front church door. I would have to admit for a woman her age she accomplished all this with great command of the oversized Desoto automobile. Other women her age were either riding with somebody else or driving something like a small two-seater Nash Metropolitan. She could have easily driven Miss Daisy into shame.

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to: Mr.writermelon@gmail.com

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