First Love

I knew the minute I set eyes upon my first love that it was true and forever love. It would be months before we could really be together, but that didn’t quell my desire for the object of my affection.

We were first introduced the day after Thanksgiving in 1980. I gazed at him longingly, my heart beat faster, and I knew he was the one. In my mind, I compared him to a Greek God. At barely 17 years of age, I wasn’t really up on my Greek mythology and decided his codename would be Spartacus. I read that in my journal from 1980 recently and shook my head in dismay. I should have at least picked a more fun Greek God, such as Dionysus who traveled the world learning the secrets of winemaking.

Although we were kept apart for many reasons — chief among them, finances — I would often borrow my parent’s car and sneak off to observe him from a distance. I parked in the dark and watched and waited, biding my time until he would be mine. And he would indeed be mine; I was determined and would not take no for an answer.

December was a long and grueling month for me that year. I saved my pennies in a special account, knowing that I needed every cent to make my heart’s desire come fully into my life. Christmas finally came, and although it was a nice holiday, I could barely stand to wait for 1981 to arrive. I worked, ate, slept and dreamed about Spartacus. I knew that once we were together I’d be the envy of my friends and coworkers. He was truly a handsome specimen.

Finally it was January. I’d proved that I could hold a full-time job and go to college at night, which were two of the prerequisites my parents had settled on. My bank account had just enough money. I knew I could do this alone, but I was still very young and needed some guidance. I was ready; a down payment on my future relationship had been made discreetly back in December. My parents knew, a few close friends knew too, but mostly it was a secret love.

One day I approached my father about going to the bank. I’d need his signature to help me out, after all, I was going to need a loan and I had not yet established any credit beyond a Sears charge card and one of the small clothing stores named Cummings at the .

Dad was perfectly willing to sign the loan with me. Then he voiced the thought of something that really hadn’t occurred to me — insurance. I can imagine my face falling so far that my chin hit my knees. Looking back, I should most certainly have thought of insurance because I was working for Prudential Insurance! This was when Prudential was located upstairs in what was the Bursaw Oil building at 27 Cherry St. Granted, Prudential didn’t sell auto insurance at the time, but still, I should have taken the expense into account. It’s with a touch of irony that I remember that from our home on Hobart Street, I could easily walk to work at Prudential in less than four minutes.

By now, you’ve obviously figured out that my first love was my first car. It was a red 1980 Mercury Capri with black trim and an AM/FM cassette deck. I bought it from Danvers Ford (AKA Danvers Motor Company) and Mr. Timothy Guinee, Jr., the owner, was so very kind to hold it for me until January when I would have enough of a real down payment to qualify for an auto loan. The cash I gave him to hold the car was a mere $100. I can’t imagine that any car dealership would accept such a deal today.

Two weeks after I got the car, I had my first flat tire. I had no idea how to change a tire, was stuck in traffic and near tears. We didn’t have cell phones back then so I walked to a pay phone while trying to figure out who to call. My glove compartment had held documents from Danvers Motor Company, including Mr. Guinee’s business card. He listened to me, hesitated briefly and was on the scene with his sleeves rolled up and ready to help within 15 minutes. I was very sad to hear of . He was a true gentleman and I’ll never forget his kindness.

Somewhere along the way, Spartacus evidently underwent a gender change and was renamed first as Ladybug (due to the color scheme), and then as the Rush Mobile because I had bumper stickers for the Canadian rock band Rush all over the car.

In trying to recall who amongst my peers had cars back then, it occurs to me that almost all of them were guys. Most of these guys knew how to change tires and tinker with engines. The same guys who drove their girlfriends around town causing many a father and mother to go prematurely grey. Perhaps this was the motivation for my parents to allow me to buy a car at such a tender age. They put me in the driver’s seat for myself as well as teaching me financial responsibility.

I had a lot of fun in that little car. I cruised all over Danvers with my friends. We parked at the Mill Pond like all the other kids our age and older. Back then Peabody Avenue was still a two-way street. We’d take our late night food from McDonald’s or Supreme’s there, mostly to see who was about and to be seen. OK, and to show off my Rush Mobile since I was very proud of it.

I really did love that car, paid for every single cent of it myself, and although it was totaled in an accident way back in 1986 or 1987, when I look back I miss it still. It was my first true love and my favorite car ever.