I had a wonderful serenade the other morning as I walked along Wildcat Boulevard. A scissor-tailed fly catcher sang as I walked along.

I had a wonderful serenade the other morning as I walked along Wildcat Boulevard. A scissor-tailed fly catcher sang as I walked along.
At first I was not sure what, who, or where he was. Soon I spotted him on some electric wires by the Neosho High School gymnasium. Maybe he had already gotten his fill of bugs and insects or something that pleased him, because he was happy and singing about his happiness. I’m glad he shared his songs with me early that morning.
My son and daughter-in-law were in St. Louis a few weekends back. When they returned, they brought me a Sunday St. Louis Post Dispatch, as they know I enjoy Sunday newspapers. There is something special about a big, fat Sunday newspaper from somewhere not near home that intrigues me.  
In the newspaper was the “Old Car Column,” which highlighted the 1956 Chevrolet. This vehicle is very special to me, as I owned one when I courted and married Kay.
I had always driven Ford cars when I was a kid. I guess my dad was a Ford man. I sold my car, a 1955 Ford, when I was drafted into the United States Army.
I went without a car until I got out of basic and advanced training and had a permanent duty station in Oklahoma City. Then a buddy and I went car shopping one Saturday.
Somewhere, we found this 1956 Chevrolet sports sedan. It was a four-door vehicle, but there was no post between the doors. The car was a metallic bronze and quite classy. The motor sounded good, it didn’t have a patch of oil under it, and it had a good set of tires. At first I did not think I could afford it, but for some reason I got a good deal and purchased the car.
It was equipped with an eight cylinder motor and dual exhaust pipes that rumbled a bit. If you pushed hard on the accelerator, it would “really go.” I was not much for speeding or racing, but did enjoy “rapping off the pipes” once in a while.
I never have been much into cars or trucks. I just want dependable transportation, but I knew I had a special car with my 1956 Chevy. It looked, drove, and ran good. In the year and a half I owned it, it required very little more than an oil change. I was lucky.
Eventually, I met and married Kay and the 1956 Chevy became the family car until I was sent to Germany. We were poor newlyweds and sold the car to be able to get an airplane ticket so Kay could come live in Germany with me for a year.
Having Kay there so I could be with her when our son was born was worth more than any car. Still that bronze-metallic 1956 Chevrolet Sports Sedan is deeply embedded in my memory as the classiest car I ever owned. All it took, was a good Sunday newspaper to make me remember.
Take a walk, remember sometimes a memory is worth more than anything, use those signal lights, enjoy the happy singing of birds, watch for pedestrians, and see what you notice while passing along Wildcat Boulevard.   
 
 


Russell Hively writes a weekly column for the Daily News.