Dad gave me this photo he’d scanned from a slide. It epitomizes my childhood; mop of blonde hair, patched knees on pants, messing about with some old car. But this 1957 Dodge didn’t belong to our family, it belonged to Cliff, one of our neighbors and another influential figure in my automotive education.
We got a new neighbor on our rural road when I was about eight when a young man named Cliff and his wife moved in three houses down. He had a ready, gap-toothed grin and settled into our little neighborhood well. When my Dad was struggling to make the lights work on our camping trailer, Cliff grabbed some tools and rode his bicycle over to help. He cut up blocks of wood for us kids to make boats out of and float in the creek. A really good guy, and I began following him around to see what he was doing.
He was doing quite a bit, because Cliff was incredibly industrious. He immediately set to work on his little house, jacked it up on cribs to put a proper basement underneath, then added a second story. He did all the work himself, which I found amazing: I’d never seen a jacked up house before.
Even more interesting to me were his vehicles. He had arrived with the Dodge in the lead photo, or more accurately a Plodge, since as a Canadian-market car it was mostly a Plymouth from the cowl back.
It eventually got scrapped, and Cliff saved me the fabulous instrument cluster (which I ruined by taking apart) and the ownership paper (which I lost).
Next I recall a pair of ’63 Pontiacs in his driveway, I think one was a parts car, but I never rode in either one. Of course, they had the (in)famous narrow-track chassis.
For errands, Cliff drove a teal green ’55 Fargo pickup and I tagged along on dump runs and trips to the hardware store. It was a great little bouncy, noisy thing, all you really needed for small jobs.
For big jobs, Cliff had a 1960 GMC one-ton dually flatbed. To me, it looked as menacing as the Fargo looked friendly.
Cliff tolerated my following him around pretty well, but I was a persistent kid, and I think some days he would tire of me and gently but firmly send me home. He got mad at me only once, and that was when I tried to change a tire on the Dodge without asking permission.
He came around the house just in time to see the car fall off the jack and (from his vantage point) onto me. Luckily, it didn’t actually fall on me; the jack knocked me down, but I was unhurt. I sure got the lecture I rightfully deserved.
He also gave me a little lawn mower powered by a Clinton gas engine. I was thrilled, as this was the first engine I had ever owned. What an incredible learning experience, although it was a temperamental thing and I never could keep it running long enough to mow our entire quarter-acre lot.
There were unforgettable lessons learned from the Clinton–such as, don’t pick up a hot engine by the exhaust pipe or you will severely burn your hand. I still remember pulling my hand back and it not really hurting. For about two seconds, anyway…
Once the bandages came off and my hand was healed, I also learned that if you disassemble an engine using only a hammer you won’t be able to put it back together, but you probably already knew that.
I was seeing less of Cliff by this point, I guess because he was spending less time outside doing interesting things. The house was done, his small business was doing well and he now had his own children to follow him around too.
The Pontiacs were replaced by a pair of Mercedes-Benzes: A late ’60s sedan, and an old 190SL convertible.
This was exotic stuff, the only imported cars on our country road; but me being me, I still preferred the Fargo.
In 1979, we moved to a new subdivision on the edge of the city, a move that I still regard as not having been the best for me. My new neighbors were mostly steelworkers who drove new cars and kept the lawns neat in front of their new houses. They did not do interesting things like jack their homes up on cribs or drive old pickup trucks to the dump. There was no one to follow around, so I made my own fun with slot cars and balsa wood model airplanes. I never saw Cliff again.
I haven’t noticed any inquisitive kids following me around while I’m working outside. Hopefully, the ones that are out there have managed to find their own Cliff, and picked up a few lessons in how to be industrious and have interesting vehicles. It sure worked for me.
Further DougD Reading:
Thank you, I enjoyed this. Can’t wait to get outside and start messing around again, though I won’t be nearly as productive as Cliff. 🙂
Doug, this is a terrific story. A sure-fire reminder that spring is here and there is a lot of work I must attend to in the near future.
Thanks for this. It’s too easy to forget the innate goodness of people, especially in a time of anger and mistrust. You made my morning.
Out of fear, not many parents today would allow their kid to hang out with another adult. Kids don’t walk to school much, either, which makes the morning commute more crowded here & there.
I never know if this fear is justified, or only because it gets reported more on TV. In the past, kids were warned about taking candy from strangers, etc.
As my wise (ass) uncle once told me: “Never take candy from a stranger unless he offers you a ride too”.
I Had my own Cliff. Good ol’times when I started my love for motorized things.
Have you tried to look him or his family up? Bet he would love to see you.
An excellent piece of work, DougD! This hit home on several levels. A month or so ago I attended the funeral of my own sort-of-Cliff. I started writing something about my experiences, but bogged down and walked away for awhile to let my head and emotions clear. I must get back to it.
You also remind me that as many adults as I got to spend time around as they did small (and not-so-small) outside jobs, my own neighborhood has never afforded me the opportunity to mentor kids other than my own. But you never know who might eventually move in next door.
The speedometer cluster is interesting. Was this the actual one from the Plodge? Curious as to why it’s labeled Plymouth. As it goes to 150, I’m assuming these are kilos?
I recall that American Plymouths of ’57 & ’58 had a clock where the oil pressure gauge is on this one and oil and amp idiot lights where the amps gauge is here. Wonder where the clock would be on this one?
I wonder if the cluster in the high performance Fury differed from the rest of the line? Or perhaps a special cluster for police service? Chrysler was a strange cost-no-object world in the late 50s, and was not averse to special low-volume jobs for different purposes.
Hmm. The Fury indeed had a speedometer that went to 150 mph, but it also had the clock where the oil pressure gauge is, as well as the amp and oil idiot lights. This could very well be a police package cluster with the 150 speedo and gauges instead of lights.
Here’s a pic
The cluster photo is just a generic one (as are all the photos except for the lead one) and I think it shows the optional Fury 150mph speedometer. Canada didn’t go metric until 1977. No photos exist of mine, it was quickly turned into bits of bent metal and broken glass, because I was very curious about the strength of materials…
Good feature which reminds me of a neighbour across the alley who washed his big early fifties Mercury on a regular basis during the summer. Billy Lipsey must have been in his late teens or early twenties and by example showed me the proper way to wash a car. He took real good care of the Merc and if I was playing with my toys behind the garage he would sometimes engage me in conversation. A nice guy from a nice family.
My oldest grandson is coming four years old and since he could walk always shadows me when visiting our house. Thanks to me he knows more about cars and mechanics than most boys his age. Helping me wash the car on a warm summer day is one of his favourite outdoor activities. Time spent teaching young men or young women about vehicles and how to maintain those vehicles will benefit them down the road. God bless the Cliffs and Billys and others who give of themselves to pass on knowledge to the younger generation.
And DougD it was nice to see a picture of a basic Laurentian sedan.
A great story here .
I am lucky that I was young long enough ago to have known many ‘ Cliff’s ‘ .
These days one has to be very careful with other people’s Children .
I am constantly told to back away from our Teenaged Foster boys , they have little interest in cars & such but do like to talk to me and ask why and what about the World they’re growing up in .
They tell me no one ever take the time to actually talk _to_ them instead of talking _at_ them .
-Nate
Boys nowadays do have less interest in cars. I just can’t get over many mechanical engineering students concentration on automotive driving aero Taurus and Impala as the only vehicle.
Slot cars. Around ’70s or ’80s, anyway in a decade well before kids migrated to video games, boys really played the toy cars, RCs in a larger percentage instead of Need for Speed ( ’90s or early ’00s.). Now it’s almost a minority ( and NFS, traditional racing games are showing the age too.) And I am sure Mattel isn’t happy about it, but their video games remain some of my worst memories of childhood game experience.
When my niece and nephew were growing up, we often went for long bicycle rides, (with the promise to stop for ice cream or Taco Bell). Long walks with our dog “Boomer”, a 75 lb. Dingo and Chow mix that we got when he was a couple of months old. I still remember the last walk (with niece and nephew) about 10 years ago, and some times these walks would be 6 or 7 kids strong with their friends tagging along. Finally, the 13 year nephew’s statement about how these walks would soon be coming to an end as they were growing up. That was the last walk with the kids, but many were still to come with Boomer. Boomer loved the kids, and they loved him. They would hang off the swing set in the back yard, and Boomer would gently pull them down and drag them around the yard by the foot, with the kid giggling and the next kid impatiently waiting for their turn. Sadly, Boomer at age 14 passed away 2 day’s ago. Time marches on.
Time marches on yes but you have provided those Kids with lifetime memories .
-Nate
Sorry to hear about Boomer. It sounds like he made a lot of happy memories for you and those kids.
Sorry to hear about Boomer. If he made it 14 years then he must have had a good life. For me the best things in life are people, cars, and dogs…not necessarily in that order.
Thanks Nate, JP, and Mongosdad. Niece and nephew, now 18 and 23 were able to say goodbye to Boomer, a sad day but with lots of good memories. He had a long and happy life, really was a member of the family.
Now, that’s a great story. (Kind of a tear-jerker, in the good sense of the word. Cliff sound like a wonderful guy.) You’re reminding me of how lucky I am to have grown up in a very small town out in the middle of nowhere.
+1. Not quite the middle of nowhere, but our kids are so glad they grew up in the country. Our twenty-something daughter even views city kids as “underprivileged”, because they miss out on so much that she enjoyed.
A great story…and a great reminder that friends/neighbors can often deeply influence children–not just family.
–My “Cliff” was named Doc. He wasn’t a doctor, just nicknamed Doc. Doc had a 1934 Ford 5-window coupe project in the garage, then built a second garage for his ’37 Ford 5-window coupe project. A ’63 split window Vette project lived in the side yard. His workshop was a shrine to V8 engines. He loved the flatheads for their smoothness and exhaust note, and the Chevies for their power.
Doc tolerated me hanging around quite nicely. He had sympathy for me…a child of divorce, and didn’t mind being a dad when it was the week I was to spend with my Mom. Doc was a good man, and I will never forget his kindness. I will never forget how to set the points on a flathead either.
They say when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
My Cliff was a retired machinist in his late 70’s named Gene, and I was in my early 20’s when he started letting me hang around in the late ’80s. He had restored many Model T’s since the ’60s and I helped him work on a 1921 Depot Hack.
The man was a mechanical genius. He had a machine shop in his basement where he rebuilt the engine, and then he built the entire wooden body from blue-prints. When he died at age 84, I bought the Model T from his family and still own it to this day.
I often find myself with questions that I would like to ask him, but can’t. At least we have the internet today to find the answers we need. Not only was he a great friend and mentor, but he was my Search Engine before there was Google.
It is stories (and the comments with them) like this that make Curbside Classic a must read for me. One can find numbers about cars in many places but it is the people that makes life interesting. I am glad I grew up when I did (born 1951) and where I did (small town in Kentucky); a time and place where people still mattered. That era was not perfect, by a long shot, but I’m glad I was there. I am sure that the people who came along later feel the same way about their era as well.
A belated thank you for sharing this wonderful story. I looked and looked for my Cliff, but never really found him. The closest I got was a mechanic at the Ford dealership, who let me watch and hang out while he worked. There was so much I wanted to know and be shown, but it had to wait until I (sort of) figured it out myself. But it’s better when there’s a Cliff around at the right age.