A12
VOICES
East Oregonian
The little red Mustang
By JULIE VIGELAND
Special to East Oregonian
T
here have been lots
of questions over the
years about the little
red Mustang. How could we
have aff orded it? Why didn’t
we save it? It’s time for the
full story of why we did what
we did.
The spring of 1966 I had
started graduate school, was
doing my student teaching
and most importantly, I was
job searching. We weren’t
in the “poor house” but we
certainly had limited funds.
We were living on loans.
Arranging for interviews
given my full schedule was
enough of a challenge but
determining where I might
want to teach was the key.
While we had no specifi c
thoughts about when, we did
know that at some point we
wanted to start a family. And,
as it turns out, that presented
a problem. In Portland Public
Schools, which would have
been my fi rst-choice distance
wise, a teacher was told she
could no longer teach once
she “showed” her pregnancy.
Even a bit. Contemplat-
ing adding a child without
an income. That wasn’t an
option.
The reality of the Portland
situation led me to inter-
view outside the district.
The distance was a concern.
Having an old hand-me-
down Opel from my parents,
we harbored some doubt
about the mileage needed
to get to other districts. The
car was in ok shape, but it
guzzled gas. But the situation
seemed safe enough. It was
time taken for travel that had
us thinking twice.
Interviews were calen-
dared and fi rst up was David
Douglas High School. I had
never been to the area so
allowed plenty of travel time
to get to SE 135th. Luckily,
I-84 had just opened so at
least there was a freeway.
Although we wondered how
safe that was for our old car,
off I went. The interview
went well, and I could hardly
wait to tell Dad. I was think-
ing about the future. And
then it happened.
My brakes gave out!
I was close to home and
off the freeway. A light
turned red. I pressed the
brake. Nothing! I tried again.
Nothing. I pulled the hand-
brake and managed to pull
into a driveway. Luckily, it
was a foreign car repair spot.
The serviceman had seen
the whole thing and ran out to
help. And help was needed.
I was terrifi ed. One minute
I was over the moon and the
next I almost plowed into a
line of cars. I received assur-
ance and was asked who to
call. My husband was on
call at the hospital and there
was no one. So, the nice man
drove me up the hill to the
apartment. Not being able to
relay the story immediately,
I called my parents. They
were appalled and shaken. Of
course, they had no idea that
the brakes were worn that
much. They, I’m sure, felt
guilt as well as terror.
My husband came home
late that evening to fi nd me
in quite a mess. Fixing the
brakes, I had already learned,
was going to cost money we
didn’t really have. Would we
be able to get another loan?
We were loath to borrow
from our parents. I needed a
car for my student teaching,
school and more interviews.
The world seemed to be
coming apart.
It was a restless night, and
I arose early. I had arranged
to borrow a car to get to the
high school the next Monday,
but the reality of the situation
had set in big time.
Then the phone rang. It
was still early, and I couldn’t
imagine who would be call-
ing.
It was my paternal
grandma saying “hi” in
a tremulous voice. She
broke down as she shared
the astonishing news. My
grandma, who had few
resources of her own, was
telling me that she wanted
me to be safe. She didn’t trust
the car. She was sure that
the next problem was on the
horizon. I can hear her words
to this day:
“Julie, I am giving you
and Ted $2,000 to buy a new
car. Get what you can with
the money but just be sure it
is a safe car. I love you and
want you out of harm’s way.”
While I remember her
words exactly, I have no
idea what I responded back.
In one phone call the world
seemed back in kilter. Our
future seemed secure. There
was no way to thank my
grandma enough.
As luck would have it, my
husband was off call, so we
arranged to go car shopping
that afternoon. Could we
fi nd a car in time for Monday
morning?
Never having car shopped
we probably weren’t the
savviest consumers, but we
made the rounds of the vari-
ous dealers. It wasn’t long,
though, before we fell in love.
It was a little red Mustang
with a black vinyl top that
caught our eyes.
We returned to the Ford
dealer knowing full well
that we didn’t have enough
money for the purchase. But
we had to take another look.
We were smitten. Of course,
the salesman could tell we
had fallen hard, which wasn’t
the best psychology on our
part.
Then, I started to relay
what had happened the previ-
ous day. I was still agitated
so the story was highly
emotional. And that did it.
“Let’s make a deal, for the
little lady,” was the comment.
“Let’s start the paperwork.”
We didn’t even have the
money in hand. I told him
about my grandma’s gift and
the amount. We didn’t have a
penny more, I shared.
I really have no idea how
it all was pulled off . But my
grandma got the money into
our account that afternoon,
the papers were signed, and
we could get the car the next
day.
Directly from the car
lot we drove to the Salem
retirement home to pick up
grandma for a ride. A bigger
smile you’ve never seen.
We rode for miles with her
in the front seat. It wasn’t
the last trip in the car for her
but it certainly was the most
memorable.
From that day on the car
did yeoman work. More
interviews. A job accepted
in Gresham because I had
the “wheels.” A trip to San
Francisco with friends all
scrunched together. The car
that held the carrier for your
sister and a proud trip to
Gresham to introduce her to
the students and faculty. It
seemed this would be a car
for many years to come.
Then the news from the
U.S. Army. My husband was
going to be sent to Germany.
Tons of decisions to be made.
And the most diffi cult? We
needed to sell the Mustang.
Yes, the army would have
shipped it. But it wasn’t the
right car for the autobahn.
Service for it would have
been diffi cult and expensive.
We held on to the last
possible moment and sold it
to another intern. We felt as
though part of us went with
that car.
Each car from then on had
a part of grandma in it.
Would we? Could we?
Should we have saved the
car for the future? How nice
that would have been. But it
wasn’t an option. We needed
the money for our German
car.
That’s the story of the
little red Mustang that
couldn’t wait for us to return.
Saturday, March 19, 2022
A long drive and learning experience
By VICTORIA CROSS
Special to East Oregonian
hen most
immigrants
picture the
United States, they think
of Manhattan, Las Vegas
and Hollywood. Few
consider Scappoose, where
I eventually landed when I
arrived from Russia. When
my father visited me, he
asked: “Where is Amer-
ica?”
I told him: “This is it.”
Like most immigrants
who come to the United
States, I did not drive and
relied on public transpor-
tation. When I got a job
in downtown Portland, I
had to fi nd a way to make
the 20-mile trip each day.
Eventually, someone
suggested I join a carpool.
It was a new concept.
When my American
friends asked me if we had
carpools in Russia, I said
we did, but called them
trains.
The carpool I joined
had been founded 10 years
earlier. After a phone call, I
was invited to join, and on
the fi rst day, I stood with
my husband on St. Helens
Road to wait for a red Ford
to arrive and pick me up.
I was nervous when
I thought about the
40-minute drive to the city.
What would I talk about
with these strangers? What
if they didn’t like me?
And then the red car
stopped, and the door
opened.
“Hi,” the driver said, “I
am Anne.”
My husband suspi-
ciously looked inside the
car, kissed me goodbye and
let me go. On the fi rst day,
it was just the driver and
me. Anne was very talk-
ative. Relieved, I just sat
and listened. But the next
day the whole team went to
work, and I met the rest of
my carpool.
I knew I was on proba-
tion.
The rules were simple:
No smoking and you could
sleep.
In this little bubble, I
W
ANYONE CAN WRITE
Nearly 40 years in the business have taught me that read-
ers are bombarded and overwhelmed with facts. What
we long for, though, is meaning and a connection at a
deeper and more universal level.
And that’s why the East Oregonian will be running, from
time to time, stories from students who are in my writing
class, which I’ve been teaching for the past 10 years in
Portland.
I take great satisfaction in helping so-called nonwriters
fi nd and write stories from their lives and experiences.
They walk into my room believing they don’t have what
it takes to be a writer. I remind them if they follow their
hearts, they will discover they are storytellers.
As we all are at our core.
Some of these stories have nothing to do with Pendleton
or Umatilla County. They do, however, have everything to
do with life.
If you are interested in contacting me to tell me your
story, I’d like to hear from you.
Tom Hallman Jr., tbhbook@aol.com
Tom Hallman Jr. is a Pulitzer Prize-winning feature writer for
The Oregonian newspaper. He’s also a writing coach and
has an affi nity for Umatilla County.
learned how to communi-
cate, discovered what was
appropriate to discuss and
how to dress so people at
work wouldn’t take a look
at my outfi t and ask me
if I planned to go to the
opera that night.
Each day I worked
on my language skills.
I’d studied English in
school, but it was a Brit-
ish version of the English
language.
At fi rst, it was diffi cult
to communicate. I’d heard
just some of the words,
and because it was not my
native language, I had to
assume what conversa-
tion was about. But as I
grew more comfortable,
I started to relax. All of
the carpool members were
Oregonians, and some of
them didn’t travel much
outside the state. They
were curious about what
I ate and where I shopped
for groceries. Through
these conversations we
learned about each other.
In time, I learned the
American version of
small talk.
My buddies traveled
with coff ee mugs. Travel
mugs were absolutely new
for me. It was cool to see
people working on the
streets with cups of coff ee.
I bought those travel mugs
for my Russian friends
and family as souvenirs.
This carpool was a
vehicle that brought me
to American culture. You
can read American liter-
ature; watch movies and
TV shows, but only when
you can acquaint your-
self with ordinary people
on a regular basis does it
become real.
By communicating
about everyday life, you
learn about the culture. I
found more similarities
than diff erences. People
have the same family
values and work ethics
even though communica-
tion styles are diff erent.
This carpool was a gift.
I learned just by observ-
ing of my fellow carpool
members. Through listen-
ing, observing and trying
to adapt the new culture I
learned about myself.
And then the carpool
ended.
My husband and I
moved, and I no longer
needed a ride to the city.
I moved on and started a
new chapter in my life and
journey.
March
26-27
Saturday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Sunday
9:00 am–3:00 pm
DESCHUTES COUNT Y
FAIR & EXPO CENTER
REDMOND
•
OREGON
PRESENTED BY
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SAT. MORNING 8–10
While supplies last
Sponsored by McDonalds
All proceeds to benefit Perfect Balance
Join us for a night of comedy with
KIDS’ ZONE
good eats and great laughs
PROJECTS AND FUN ACTIVITIES
ALL THINGS AGRICULTURE
Fundraiser benefi ting Altrusa of Pendleton.
Clint Johnson Working
Dog Demonstrations
Friday, April 1
SAT. 11–NOON • SUN. 10–11
First Show
5pm • $49
Early Day Gas Engine
and Tractor Display
with Demonstrations
Doors open at 4:30pm
Buff et-style appetizers,
no-host bar and silent auction.
Second Show
8:30pm • $59
Doors open at 8pm
Buff et-style dinner,
no-host bar and silent auction.
SUSAN RICE
Travis nels
on
General admission tickets on sale at
wildhorseresort.com
CASINO • HOTEL • GOLF • CINEPLEX • RV
MUSEUM • DINING • TRAVEL PLAZA • FUNPLEX
Presented by
®
800.654.9453 • PENDLETON, OR • I-84, EXIT 216
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