Mickey Starling
reporter3.riverbendnews@gmail.com
As a teenager, I was proud of the various jalopies that miraculously got me to and from school. A jalopy was a wonderful sight for the parents of my generation because it meant they could put the kids in their first vehicle and have money left over for the insurance!
Sadly, the word "jalopy" has fallen from its lofty perch of words, signifying the less-than-pristine vehicles cruising (hopefully) the streets. Now, we are stuck with terms like "clunker" or "rust bucket," but these terms leave little to the imagination. A jalopy can be a complete eyesore or a beloved member of the family in need of a little tender loving care and a few quarts of oil each week.
"Jalopy" came into prominence in the early 20th century, replacing terms like "flivver" and "tin lizzy" as the preferred way to describe a vehicle whose best days could more easily be observed in the rearview mirror. In the 1920s, many scrapped vehicles were shipped to scrapyards in Jalapa, Mexico. In France, an old car was referred to as a "chaloupe," which, oddly, is a motorboat. The idea is that older car engines sound like motorboats taking off. I suppose that one could gently mix "chaloupe" with "Jalapa" and come up with "jalopy." However the word came about, the 1929 definition has stuck through the decades: "a cheap make of automobile: one that is fit only for junking."
Jalopies have not only served to preserve the wallets of grateful parents everywhere, but they have also likely saved the lives of many lead-footed, testosterone-driven males seeking to impress their friends. A proper jalopy can be "given the gas" often but will usually respond with only a gentle gasp and a plume of smoke for the effort.
My experience with one of my jalopies (yes, I had more than one) was different than expected. It was a 1972 Pontiac Catalina, otherwise known as a Sherman Tank. The metal on the hood was so thick that you could dance on it without causing a dent. I may have discovered this truth when the young lady I asked out consented. That sweet car was affectionately named Naomi, after her biblical counterpart (wherever thou goest, I will go). She needed a few accessories, such as a spare case of oil, a gallon or two of antifreeze, a quilt (so I wouldn't freeze in winter) and a few socks suitable for serving as defrosting agents for the windshield and side view mirror. A less endearing blanket was on hand to cover the windshield on freezing nights because who has time to haul water first thing in the morning?
Naomi was my faithful companion for several years, never stranding me or failing to be the brunt of numerous jokes because of her need for special care. I loved the old girl, jalopy or not. She was my "ride or die" soulmate. Plus, I could never die inside her protective care. Only a nuclear bomb could have gotten through that much metal.