My 1956 Mercury

My 1956 Mercury 

By Joseph Parish 

            I stand as a firm supporter that some engineer in the heavens above must have fashioned the 1956 Mercury, as it was one of the superior cars of my time. I say this in all openness and with a slight hint of bias, as I was a proud owner of just such a vehicle. During my Millville High School years, my vehicle of choice was ironically the 1956 Mercury. I was raised and nurtured in an age hallowed from speed. It is as if the times associated with my youth as a teen-ager in the 60’s envisioned speed as a means of ushering in my moments of maturity. Speed was seen as everything.

            My Mercury magically appeared to me as a full-size automobile sporting a two-tone paint combination, mine ensuing a distinctive and different black and white pattern. My car was packed with chrome emerging everywhere you could fancy. In my youthful days, the chrome look was unquestionably in style and actually looked good on those larger and fancier cars of the time. Today, however, I am a matte black fan rather than chrome. My current KIA Soul is an olive drab shade of color trimmed entirely in flat black. Chrome trim arose as standard fixtures on my Mercury, as did the deep-dish steering wheel, designed with my safety in mind. My car highlighted safety door locks, breakaway rear-view mirrors, and a fully padded dashboard. To this day, I cannot recall if the Mercury had seat belts or not, however, they were introduced as an option on that year’s car.

            Although many of the Mercury’s at that time were equipped with a massive, powerful 368 cubic inch engine, mine hummed along nicely with its amazing 312 Police Interceptor powerhouse. These smaller engines merged the economy of a small engine with the speed and the power of its larger brother. They ultimately engendered an exceptionally fast automobile. To me it was a car of envy, one to be continually polished and the motor given a touch of love here and there until it was purring like a kitten in my hand.

            The high school had a policy in force, which allowed the senior class members to drive their cars to school and park them in the front of the building. This was categorically a noble thought, as it boosted the moral of the higher-grade students tremendously. Within me it fostered a feeling of value and conferred a measure of pleasure towards being a part of the school itself. We were set off from the rest of the student body by the element of privilege.

            Since I was a mere teen of only seventeen, my attitude of death was that it effectively did not exist. I deemed that I could defy death when it appeared and never have to be uneasy towards thoughts of dying. This sort of boldness would soon be a sentiment packed in the suitcases of my past. During my senior year, I understood how wrong I was in that respect. Yes, how terribly mistaken I was, although I confess this in the sense that I did not die, I abruptly viewed reality directly in the eyes, thus in that instance it sharply altered my attitude towards life and death. I suppose everyone needs to be shaken up every now and then just to be unexpectedly slapped back to reality. This was my reality wake-up call.

            Every morning I would awaken and prepare for school. I would engage in a quick shower, get dressed in clean clothing, and grab a hasty breakfast prior to departing my home. Following my usual procedure, I would bid goodbye to my parents, and wander outside to start up my car. I could allow it sufficiently to properly warm up and still have plenty of time to arrive at school ahead of my first period class. At the proper time, I would depart my yard and head south on Route 49 toward the school location on Wade Boulevard. As I conducted this short three-mile trip, it was not unusual for me to exceed the posted speed limit of 50 mph on the highway. On these occasions I would rapidly approach the ungodly rate of more than one hundred plus miles per hour.

            Although I know I should have known better I did not heed the writing on the wall. On that eventful day when I received my rude awakening about driving at such speeds, I had done everything according to my usual schedule. On this particular trip I again drove to the high school at the extremely higher than posted speed and arrived at my three-mile distance in record time. Normally, to drive the three miles to school took a mere three and a half minutes. That was not long at all. Now at 120 miles per hour that same three-mile trip took me only one and a half minutes. When I think back, I realize the savings in time was not worth the risk.

            Upon my arrival at the school, I proceeded to pull into the high school parking lot. No sooner had I turned my car into the lot, I perceived a loud clunking sound and had trouble in moving my car. Positioning the vehicle into a nearby parking space, I got out of my seat and looked around the car. Search around the wheel well of the car, I discovered that my “A” frame had broken off and was sitting on the ground. There was some sort of guardian angel watching over me that day, otherwise I would not be relating this tale to you today. Had the suspension part broken on my way to school with the high speeds involved, I likely would not be alive today. This changed my attitude completely towards speeding. Recently a similar situation took place with my KIA Soul, only this time it was the lower motor mount which broke. Had I been traveling at excessively high speed the results could have been disastrous. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks as I learned my lesson well about speed in the 60’s.

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