c. 2025 Rod Ice
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(3-25)
After returning to Ohio in the 1980’s, I retained a personal habit of writing and recording demo tracks, on cassette tape. My guitar collection was unremarkable, and the skill I possessed in plucking out chord progressions did not dazzle anyone. Yet I had been inspired by the Folk Music fandom of my father. And, by my mentor and bandmate, Paul Race of Corning, New York. So, whenever events of consequence occurred, I was moved to document them in song.
Bidding farewell to the exhausted Chevette qualified as a reason to write.
Somewhere in my messy, household heap of boxes, crates, and crammed shelves, is the original take of that tuneful composition. Though for the moment, it exists only in memory. Despite my best efforts to sift through the rubble of past years, I have not located that work. But with a bit of historical revision in effect, on a recent afternoon, I sat at my desk and tried to recite it from memory. With numb digits, I strummed my Applause roundback, and wandered into that lost era of chronology.
“How did that go? Farewell, old soldier? Farewell, farewell? I know it was something like that! I did one take, in the bedroom on Wearsch Road, I think, while the house was empty. If anyone had been listening, I would’ve suffered a fit of embarrassment...”
The yield of this introspective moment was poignant, and bittersweet.
“Farewell, Old Soldier – Revisited”
GM did the best they could
To merchandise some fun
When my hatchback mule rolled off the line
In nineteen-eighty-one
With a four-speed stick, standard
And room for a dog or cat
That bland little rattlebox
Cast a shadow where it sat
Now it wasn’t long on looks
Though some thought it had appeal
A short hood in the front
And four doors between the wheels
Like riding in a little red wagon
With everything bouncing ‘round
Those 13-inch tires
Kept you close to the ground
Farewell, old soldier
I know you served us well
Spun your wheels through three years of
Heaven and hell
Your place in the driveway
Was always a certainty
But a tow-truck took you home to
Junkyard eternity
It had electrical gremlins
That I never did locate
And the pep from that one-point-six
Wasn’t really all that great
But it sipped gasoline
Like a miser at the bar
I didn’t have to fill the tank
To travel very far
I used it like a pickup truck
Living on a country road
That tiny rig went rolling
Carrying its load
And I never feared of woe
I knew it’d get me home
To my humble shack in the outback
On a trail of stones
Farewell, old soldier
I know you served us well
Spun your wheels through three years of
Heaven and hell
Your place in the driveway
Was always a certainty
But a tow-truck took you home to
Junkyard eternity
Now eventually rust took a toll
The springs, they broke apart
The shifter wouldn’t hold reverse
Bad bulbs left me in the dark
A cracked piston topped the list
With metal fatigue that failed
I wanted to trade it away
But that ship had sailed
So, after it sat in the yard
I decided on relief
I called about a tow truck
That would do the job for free
They hauled that beater up the road
With dust hanging, thick and gray
My old Chevette finally got
Its path to judgment day
Farewell, old soldier
I know you served us well
Spun your wheels through three years of
Heaven and hell
Your place in the driveway
Was always a certainty
But a tow-truck took you home to
Junkyard eternity
Many years have passed me by
Since that car expired
But I still think of it sometimes
A brave heart, retired
I might never drive again
Going so slow, down the street
But if I did it’d be with a grin
Over America’s little heartbeat
My brother called it a piece of tin
Cut from soda cans
He never liked my T-car
I knew he was a Ford man
But by the grace of God
I kept it going strong
And now that it has gone away
I remember it in song
Farewell, old soldier
I know you served us well
Spun your wheels through three years of
Heaven and hell
Your place in the driveway
Was always a certainty
But a tow-truck took you home to
Junkyard eternity
In 1987, I had recorded my tribute with a V.J. Rendano axe, a plain, flat-top acoustic distributed by a Cleveland wholesaler. There was irony in using such a budget instrument, probably made in the Orient, to croon about a bottom-of-the-line vehicle from Chevrolet. I had purchased it for around $10.00 at a thrift store in Mentor. Like my boxy, automotive beast, that guitar has also long ago left the household. But both remain embedded in my memory.
I do not recall if Betty ever listened to my amateur recording. Though she often attributed such deeds to an offbeat sense of humor, and my background in a family of educators and professionals.
“There’s something about your bloodline. I can’t put my finger on it, directly, but you’ve all got that quirky outlook on life! You laugh at the oddest things! I think it’s in your veins!”
Paul, who I had met at Channel 13 in Ithaca, was that sort of person. Someone who enjoyed the witty, observational humor projected by George Carlin. He often spun tales of his Riverside cohorts into melodic creations that were seedy and satirical. Yet always delivered with good humor. I did not have the talent to match his vibe, or that of entertainment celebrities from the artistic continuum. But their influence shaped my own intellectual journey. Their gift was one of insight, and hope. It made the lackluster experience of driving an economy sedan more palatable, by far.
The Chevette inhabited a space in my driveway for three years. Yet its enduring presence in heart and mind is likely to last for an eternity.
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