Vague Memories of an Old Grunt

ALL ABOUT ME...WELL NOT ALL

Hello people and fellow quillmasters. I am Le Marquis (don’t ask), but you may call me Stephen.

I was born at a very young age in Detroit, Michigan. Those were the days when kids could roam for blocks and no one was worried. Doesn’t sound true does it? Well it is. I know, it’s even hard for me to imagine.

My third grade teacher was a hottie. I was head over heals in lust with her. You heard me right…LUST! Amazing since I didn’t know what the difference was between boys and girls. I did real well in her class trying to impress her, hoping in my young way she would approach me and ask me to join her in my basement. We would get naked and…and what? I didn’t even know what a woman looked like. I just knew that she had just below the shoulder dark brown hair, red lipstick (The only color available in the early fifties), and wore high heels. Oh yeah…she also had big balloons under her sweater and she smelled wonderful. Another sad case of unrequited lust you see. There goes any chance of an E rating.

My father was really interested in drag racing. No, I don’t mean men in corsets and high heels sprinting down the street, but rather souped up cars facing off on the old ¼ mile track. In fact he wrote a poem about it. I can’t remember the name but it goes:


High speed heads, triple pots, and a full race grind on the cam,

Three quarter stroke Mallory spark, and a driver without a damn.

She’ll burn rubber in every gear this hopped up speedy V-8,

She’ll hug a curve, and take a Caddy on a half mile straight.

But wary be of the horses you hold, keep a firm hand on the reign,

For once she flips, with the driver beneath, she’ll not drag that Caddy again.


One day, my father bought a 1931 Ford. In those days, they were a nickel a carload. Try buying one now. Anyway, he chopped and channeled it, dropped an Olds flathead in it and made a great roadster. To get his oldest son, myself, to develop an interest in dragsters, he had me sit and watch him work on it. The plan may not have worked well. I still don’t know what the hell “channeling” means, and abhor working on cars. No offense meant to those that do it and/or like it.

Dad must have done a great job. He used it for a hefty down payment on a house in the suburbs. He had grown up in Detroit but he wanted something better for his kids.

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