It was 1950 and I had just started working as a clerk in the Accounting Department of Royalite Oil Company Limited.   I immediately decided, at the tender age of 20 years, that being an oil titan merited my owning a car.  Not any car, but one that was unique and, of course, attracted the attention of single young women.  I settled on a second-hand 1942 Chevrolet Fleetline two-door sedan.  It was a sleek two-toned brown and a vision of perfection.   Beautifully upholstered it also boasted   the luxury of a radio.  My Chevy purred like a kitten and could take off on a dime.  I was not an experienced driver having only driven my uncle Bob’s Model A Ford.  Our family car was not available for me to drive as my father also used it and a trailer for hauling produce and other non-essential items to and from our large market gardening operation.  But with Dad’s assistance, and that of my friends, I became reasonably adept at maneuvering my ‘42 Chevy over country roads and city streets.

My ‘42 Chevy and I experienced many adventures over the years, but one adventure will always remain in my memory bank.  It involved the three musketeers (Jack Fielder, Jack Miller and myself) and occurred a few weeks after my purchase of the vehicle.  I had discovered the excitement of city dance halls versus the lure of country dances, and *Penley’s  Dancing Academy was at the top of my list.  I wish to digress here and explain why Penley’s was such a special place.  Over the years Penley’s graced several locations and I remember two with fond memories.  Firstly there was a second-floor ballroom at 620 Eighth Avenue S.W. where the founders of Penley’s, John and Wahnita Penley, taught an awkward farm boy the proper way to waltz in 1947.  Besides that, my parents, Ralph and Flora Patton, quite often came into town to spend an enjoyable evening at the same site in the early 1930’s.   

It was now the 1950’s and Penley’s had moved their location to 609 Seventh Avenue S.W. – a grand venue.  I still remember an incredible dance band which included a drummer who did a superb imitation of Louis Armstrong, and songstress Grace, small and slim and with a magical voice.  Order was kept by two or three bouncers” who  were all gentlemanly and courteous unless called upon to quell an occasional ruckus. It should be noted that one of them was a former middleweight boxing champion. 

For all you lady readers, I must tell you that I was a dance hall dandy and could swirl across the dance floor like a reincarnated Gene Kelly.  However, when accompanied with an attractive partner, I grew two left feet and turned into Hopalong Cassidy.  However, diligent practice saw me become a very average dance hall “dandy” - much to the relief of potential partners.  Now let’s return to my ‘42 Chevy.  On a fateful occasion at Penley’s I had asked this attractive young lady for a dance.  We got along famously and she was even able to follow me in waltzes, two-steps, jiving etc.  I was truly smitten when she agreed to have coffee with me after the dance and to then drive her home.  Persuasively I must have mentioned that I had just purchased this streamlined auto, together with over-emphasizing my status in life.  She was suitably impressed as we settled into my car, and glowingly said so. Those were the last nice words she uttered.  As I turned on the ignition and stepped on the gas pedal, my pride and joy belched, sputtered and staggered out of its parking space.  Nothing changed once we were on to Fifth Avenue, as my car bucked and gasped on our way to George’s Restaurant across from Western Canada High School on 17th Avenue S.W.  We never arrived at George’s as my date abruptly ended our short friendship by stating that she could no longer stand this nonsense and wished to go straight home – if that was possible.  

Fortunately it was possible for my ‘42 Chevy and me to continue on our expletive-filled homeward journey, bucking and gasping along the Macleod Trail and approaching 50th Avenue S.W.    It was then my Chevy gave up the ghost and died, and I began my five mile trek home – on foot, of course.  Amazingly, out of nowhere appeared my two best friends, Jack Fielder and Jack Miller, who were returning home from the Wales Hotel beer parlour.  They immediately spotted my dilemma and we quickly returned to my disabled vehicle.  Under my car hood they went, working furiously for at least five minutes.  At last they came out from under the hood and one of them requested that “I give it a try”.  And try it I did, and immediately my ‘42 Chevy was once again purring like a kitten.  I thanked them profusely and offered to buy them steaks at the Skyline Restaurant located on part of what is now the Chinook Shopping Centre.  The Skyline was a classy eatery and Jack Fielder remembers the restaurant was famous for its steaks, and also the lure that if someone ate the sixteen ounce steak and all its trimmings within a certain time frame there would be no charge.  The two Jacks graciously declined my offer by saying that I looked haggard and tired (which I was) and suggested I go home and get some sleep.  Who could ask for better friends?

AND NOW FOR THE REST OF THE STORY:

A few weeks later they confessed to me that they had committed a heinous act.  Apparently my two buddies had followed me to Penley’s, and upon my leaving the car they had unloosened three of the six spark plugs.  They apologized profusely but defended their meanness by assuming that I should have been bright enough to figure out the problem on my own.  I countered sharply that they had compounded the problem by hiding under the hood pretending to help me.  Some days later cooler heads prevailed and we all had a good laugh.  The three musketeers were once again fast friends!