A Lifelong Love Affair with Cars

1951 Fleetwood

Cars have always been a big part of my father's life. George once bought a house on Upton Street- one half of a duplex actually, which featured nine tiny garages in the back. Nine! Even before George owned his own car, he would steal his father Pete's car which was a 1930 maroon Chevrolet with black fenders. Pete kept his car in a garage about a block away from where they lived on Macomb Street so George had to swipe two sets of keys- one for the garage and one for the car.  Papou never did find out why that car got such bad mileage on a tank of gas.  He even took it back to the dealer to complain.

the car with bad mileage

George remembered every car he has ever owned starting with the Model T Ford he bought on the sly with money he had earned from picking up golf balls and selling newspapers. His father thought he was too young to have a car, but that didn’t stop George. He lied about his age, forged his father’s name, and got a permit when he was only fifteen. Then his friend, Fred Brown hid the car at his house down the street until it was too late for my Papou to stop the deal.

After the Model T, George upgraded to a 1927 Chevrolet 2 door coupe convertible and from then on it was convertibles all the way. To modify the Chevy, he went up to the Friendship Depot and scrounged up a straw bench from a retired streetcar. He then cut the trunk lid, reversed the hinges, and made a rumble seat. From then on George drove his friends to school at Western High and charged them for gas money.

Rose Papadeis and George on Macomb Street 1934

The next set of wheels was a 1932 DeSoto with black fenders. George bought that one from a chef from Altoona who was working for Papou at Macomb Cafeteria at the time. By now Goerge was married and needed more reliable wheels. This car suited the little family, but just before WWII broke out, he was able to swing a brand new 1940 Hudson V8 with back windows that buttoned up when the top was down.

The Hudson parked in front of the Washington Monument.

His first new car would have to last a while. After this factories stopped making automobiles and started making war machines. Those were dark days for my father, but it didn't stop him from dreaming. George pre-ordered four cars,  and when they started rolling off the assembly line after the war, he was ready.

The first was a 1947 green convertible Studebaker. A beauty.

 

But he sold it as soon as the 1947 green convertible Buick came in.

But he sold it as soon as the 1947 green convertible Buick came in. They just don't make 'em like this anymore. This was when form and beauty were valued over mileage.

He kept that one until the 1947 emerald green Cadillac showed up.

And that was the beginning of a long love affair with Cadillacs. In 1951 a pink Cadillac caught his eye. My mother's favorite color.

Here's a picture of my brothers looking out from the back seat long before seat belts were a thing.

My brother Pete unwittingly followed in George's shoes. Not knowing of Dad’s former escapades, Pete would climb down the tree outside his bedroom window on Davenport Street and “borrow” the car at night. The big difference was my brother got caught because our father was no dope and always checked the mileage on his car.

Pete was undeterred.  With the money he earned from a temp job at the post office, he bought a 1939 Buick, shaped like a torpedo, with an antenna running up the middle of the windshield. What little paint it had was blue. No brakes, no insurance, and, as per family tradition, it was a forbidden purchase. Pete's plan, not unlike our father's, was to park discreetly on another block. He got away with it, too, until Dad found a traffic ticket in his wallet.

For George, it was Cadillacs and only Cadillacs right on up to the 1970s when Cadillac had the nerve to stop making convertibles.  My cousin, Pete Sclavounos, managed to find George one last custom red Eldorado with chrome spoke wheels and custom grill. You can see how he felt about it.

George eventually got the fever for a new car again, but it had to be a convertible. That’s when my all American Dad converted to foreign cars.  Also he got the bright idea of buying my mother Bebe a  bright red convertible for their 71st anniversary even though she has always hated the top down due to the unspeakable things that could happen to her hair. My mother was always a good sport about her "gift" and would "go along with the program. She said she liked the color, too.

Big Fat Greek Funeral

Greek funerals are not for the feint of heart.  I took my parents to one today for Jimmie George Deoudes which started at 10 a.m. and lasted most of the day. We kicked things off at St. George's with prayers, incense, a bit of weeping, and some pomp. My mother admired the big windows. She liked that the room was so much brighter than St Sophia's my family's usual church. She pondered having her own funeral here. Afterward, we got into cars tricked out with tiny flags to protect us as we took a hair-raising ride around the Beltway. When not crawling at a dignified pace, we were jack rabbiting and braking abruptly trying to stay together without crashing into another car.

Finally we arrived at the cemetery. The graveside service gave everyone a chance for a breather and a short walk. The ceremony involved more holy things, but it didn't last very long. It seemed a bit sadder than church as we had to leave Jimmie behind here.  Then it was a free form reverse commute back to church for what always feels like the main event: lunch.

By now it was well after 1 p.m. We stood politely milling about the foyer waiting for the priest and family to arrive. We could not sit until after the priest blessed the meal, but we were pleasantly surprised when the church ladies started passing out little squares of Ledo pizza. This took the edge off things, and my mother announced that she would like pizza handed around at her funeral. While we waited to be seated, my sister ordered us to take off our coats so she could drape them over multiple chairs. The exact number we needed was unknown, but my sister and mother liked to avoid sitting with anyone they might not know.  

We definitely needed places for my mother, my father George. my cousin George and two or three other people named Nick or George. And possibly a Pete. Cousins near and distant swirled by. The deceased, Jimmie Deoudes, was our cousin by marriage.  Here's your cousin, John, my sister told me brightly. John who? I said. "I'm the bad one," this John said. "That's all you need to know about me." Then he showed me his bad-ass, silver studded belt buckle which gave a certain credence to his claim.

Many of the old school Washington Greeks were bound together by the food business. Jimmie Deoudes was the commissioner at Union Market where the Pappas family sold tomatoes.

Charlie Poulos was the coffee guy.  Harry Magafan imported Greek and Italian goods and started a company called Alpha Foods. Blackie Auger had a restaurant empire which started with Blackie's House of Beef.

My father first worked for Quick Service Laundry, and much later started his own company with my Uncle Mimi called Modern Linen.

People got up to tell stories while we ate lunch. The first man had a very thick Greek accent. He told us once upon a time, his Cousin Jimmie couldn't get into some fancy joint because he didn't have a tie. "So Jimmie- Jimmie he took out a hundred dollar bill and ah-ah- how you say-- ah- ah paper clip-- and he put it there- there on his collar. So the manager looks around and says, Who IS this guy?? But of course, he got in."

Everybody laughed.

After lunch the church ladies come scurrying through taking plates and serving coffee. The church ladies rock. It was almost 3:00, but no one was in a hurry to leave. There were cookies on the table - the twisted buttery kind that my Yiya used to make for me. After dessert, it was finally time to go. The room was beginning to empty. We stood up to put on our coats, but then my father started circling the room, making his hearty goodbyes, we sat back down again. We weren't leaving anytime soon. Have another cookie, my mother aid. My sister put a couple in a paper napkin and lodged them in her purse. We might need a snack on the way home.