Cars Through The Years: They All Had Their Names Pt.8 Poem by Frank Avon

and replaced with a Grand Marquis -
a Mercury, mind you, Olympian.
You see, the Old Man and the Old Lady
were no longer Batman and Batwoman.
They had ascended the pinnacle
from Mommy and Daddy, to Mom & Dad;
then he was named Lord of the Manor
(academicians in their academese
called him Dean of the College,
but you see what I mean, don't you?)
and she, his First Lady.
Though they had no Executive Mansion,
or Guard of honor, or Major Domo,
at least they deserved a chariot d'or.
So gold it was: a new Marquis
painted lavishly with royal gold.
Chariot d'Or, he would be.

He squired the Lord and Lady
to Miami and Orlando and Tampa Bay,
Jacksonville and Tallahassee,
many times, to royal (i.e., deanly)
affairs: feasts, rituals, high teas,
visitations to the constabulary,
and, of course, to Ben Hill Griffin Stadium
where up in the President's box
they would see the Gators play -
(at least the dean would,
while glad-handing dignitaries)
to defeat Tennessee and 'Bama and FSU,
and win the National Title behind
DANNY WUERFEL - for which, of course,
the First Lady required a new gown
each time, though she watched the game
in the upholstered luxury of
a reception room, chatting with other
ladies of similar repute, cheering
the Gators on, only after each TD
(which they could see on a big TV) .
To Chariot d'Or it was all a charade,
and he, a carriage in the grand parade.

The rest of that story
is inscribed in glory
in the memories of all three:
the Dean, his Lady, and the Marquis.

You must realize (this will be no surprise)
that Chariot d'Or had his troubles, too.
On a bold adventure way up to Wisconsin,
then a nostalgic return to Ole Mizzou,
they were heading, late one night,
through the most desolate part of Ioway,
when the Grand Marquis - ran smack dab
into tragedy (well, nearly so) .
He was only a couple of years
off the lot, still asparkle,
and suddenly, in three minutes,
he hit a deer. ('NO, THE DEER HIT ME!)
Oh, I beg your pardon, the deer hit him.
His radiator was mutilated; his upper body
crunched, scrunched, punched, almost sqwunched.
It was the dead of night,
there were no lights - what a sight! -
until somebody called a sheriff nearby
(meaning, in Ioway, miles and miles) .
The wrecker came, and pulled him with chains
('IRON CHAINS! ') , yes, iron chains
to the closest clinic for automobiles
(meaning, in Ioway, miles and miles)
where he was turned over to a repair
squadron ('SQUADRON, HMPH! A ONE-MAN CREW')
for surgery that lasted longer than a week.
In the meantime, the sheriff conducted
the Lord and Lady to the only motel
(a ramshackle affair, ordinarily open
only in deer season, which this wasn't) :
the next day, the insurance company
had no car to supply as a loaner
so they were sent off in a Dodge Ram
('SAY IT AGAIN, SAM? A DODGE RAM?
SCREW YOU! ') So they spent the week
RAM-bling around in Ole Mizzou,

when, what d'ya know, they found
the perfect home they'd been looking
to retire into, bought on the spot,
so they had exactly two months to move.

Hence, Petunia the Purple Pick-Up Truck
(NOT a Dodge Ram) and a humbled Marquis
changed their place of residence:
she became the carry-all, the faithful
servant in Missouri summers and -
oh, yes, in Missouri winters, too,
huddled outside in the driveway
while Chariot d'Or cuddled inside
his own two-car garage - his very own.

Now, Paul Harvey, listen: here's
the rest of the story:
on their last day there, in Blues Creek,
the now ex-dean was bit on the haunch
by a neighbor's dog (indignity
of indignities) , and on their last night,
he and the Grand Marquis drove
to his office for some last-minute biz.
During the Lord's few minutes there
upstairs in the attic (his new quarters,
as ex-Dean) , out on the vacant (?)
parking lot, somebody bumped into
the fender of the Grand Marquis
(he was only a couple of months
out of the shop, still asparkle,
and suddenly, in three minutes...)
he was left scraped and dented,
driveable tho like a kid with a skinned knee.
The villain drove away, a hit-and-run chump,
leaving no note, no apology, no ID.
('INDIGNITY OF INDIGNITIES OF INDIGNITIES!) .

WAIT, THERE'S MORE.
DON't GO AWAY!