George Perry was a year older than I. Discovering his recent obituary [Nardone Funeral Home] by a search on Google, I was saddened by his death. His obituary claims that he was Mr. Fix-it. It must have been in his genes because he was Mr. Fix-it when I knew him. At age 19 he could drive a farm tractor and a car, and he was a competent mechanic on both. What really impressed me about George was his personality. Boys and girls would seek his companionship for the fun he almost always provided. If help was requested, he would always oblige. I never heard him complain or say anything disrespectful about anybody.
I was introduced to George at his home and I will never forget the unusual introduction. When Billy and I showed up at the front door, Mrs. Perry sent us to the family garage where George was working on an old Model T Ford. George had the car hood up, and he said he was setting the time on the ignition. After a short chat he gave me a disconnected spark plug wire to hold to test the spark between the cable and the spark plug. I had never done this before. I knew nothing about car engines. When he started the engine, I got a shock that made me drop the wire and fall backward. Either the insulation on that wire was inadequate or I was a superconductor. He and Billy were laughing. I found out Billy had qualified as a member of George's "spark squad" a few weeks before I got my initiation by shock. Apparently this was George's electrifying way of saying howdy. I wasn't hurt and I laughed too. As I recall, Mr. Perry had played the trick on George and George later played the trick on Billy and me. Perhaps his early fascination with electricity and gadgets provided the incentive for George to make a career with the telephone company.
The three of us became good friends that summer. Billy and George had their driver's licenses but, in addition, George had a job and a car of his own. On weekends George would take us in his car on drives to Lake Peekskill, Peekskill and Lake Oscawana. Cliff Holmes joined us, as did some girls that George knew. George paid for the gas. It cost less than 25 cents per gallon in 1957. On clear summer nights he would take us to Beacon, and we would cross the Hudson River by ferryboat. The ferry ran every half hour before the bridge was built. The novelty of the sights and sounds on the river, especially the ferryboat horn, was impressive. When we reached Newburg on the other side of the river, we stopped and ate pizza. Sometimes we got beer. George was a conscientious driver and he never drank the beer. He bought an ice cream soda. We all chipped in with the money. George drove his car along the Storm King Highway and re-crossed the Hudson on the Bear Mountain Bridge, to Anthony's Nose, and then he followed Rt. 202 and Rt. 6. Often he would stop at Custard's Last Stand, the name we gave to Mr. Truett's Carvel Ice Cream and Frozen Custard Stand. The custard stand was located on the north side of the old South Street Bridge at the intersection of Rt. 9. The view of the Hudson shorelines at night, with all the lights and shapes and imaginative things, was beautiful and unforgettable.
As for the 1934 Dodge Bros. sedan I sold to George, I will start with my purchase. The car cost me $10. It had a minor oil leak in the oil pan, and some dents in the heavy framework. Very little rust, as I remember. The car had a device called free-wheeling, which was turned on or off by a knob on the dashboard. Engaged, free-wheeling pulled in the clutch and allowed shifting without use of the driver's foot. It was also very dangerous when engaged going downhill. The driver had to rely on drum brakes, which were not reliable.
I registered the car in New York State but I did not have a driver's license. My mother kept the key in the kitchen. I was not supposed to drive the car until I got a license. I practiced driving with Billy Wert and with my step-father. Before I had scheduled a driving test and exam, I took the 1934 Dodge Bros. sedan on a joyride to Lake Peekskill. In a short time my mother discovered that the car was not in its usual parking place on the old tractor road near the Salt Box house and that the keys were missing. Also missing, coincidentally, was her son Gene. She phoned Mrs. Wert, who volunteered her son Billy to help my mother find me and the missing car.
I was intercepted and stopped on Locust Ave. in the town of Cortlandt. My mother was driving the family car and Billy was with her. I remember that my mother yelled at me and she said I was lucky that the police did not stop me first. Billy got in the driver's seat of the Dodge, and I slid across to the passenger seat. Billy drove back to my house and parked the hijacked Dodge on the old tractor road, which connected Sprout Brook Road and Putnam Road. My mother followed us. She then took Billy home. After a short conversation between his mother and my mother, my mother and I returned to our house. During the ride she encouraged me to sell the Dodge or get rid of it.
FOR SALE: 1934 Dodge Bros. black sedan in fair condition. Minor oil leak in oil pan. Must have tractor to pull vehicle off rock wall on which it is firmly suspended—$5.
If I had to write an advertisement today, this is how it would appear. Permit me to explain.
Within a week or two I took the Dodge for another joyride. This time it was to George Perry's house and to the tractor road which led from his house into the woods nearby. It was a simple dirt road consisting of two parallel paths. Billy, George and I were all involved in this escapade. I was driving the car off-road, so to speak. Billy rode in the passenger seat and George rode in the back seat. George was familiar with the tractor road but had not been on it for several weeks. I drove as far as an old rock wall which had partly collapsed across the tractor road. Small boulders were strewn about, and rather than stop the car and remove them, I was encouraged by Billy to drive over or through them. George cautioned us, but Billy and I wanted to try. I gassed the car and drove into the pile. More rocks fell or were displaced and soon we were perched on the highest rocks with rear wheels spinning. We got out carefully. The Dodge was tilted to one side. We tried for half an hour to rock or push the car off the rock pile. Finally we gave up and abandoned the Dodge on the rock wall in the woods behind George Perry's house.
We did a lot of talking as we walked back to George's house. George asked me if I wanted to sell the car. I said he could have it for $5. He gave me the five dollars when we reached his house. The next day I gave him the signed registration/transfer paper. I asked him how he would get the car off the rock pile.
"I pulled it off the rock pile yesterday," he told me. "I used dad's tractor and two chains. Luckily the car did not fall on its side. I drove it this morning. It runs fine."
Later I saw the Dodge in his garage. It had another small dent on one side. I lost five dollars in the transaction but gained peace of mind. During the following week, George replaced the oil pan gasket, all six spark plugs, changed the oil and tinkered with the engine timing. For better or worse, he had another vehicle to use for the Perry hand-me-down ritual involving "spark squad" membership.
Goodbye, George. You were one of the best.
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