How it all started ...
copyrighted material
"In a Cream Packard"
Detroit, Michigan
May 31, 1954
A shiny new, vanilla cream Packard Patrician sat parked outside the Penobscot Building's Bank of Detroit. Underneath the long hood, a 327 cubic inch Straight Eight engine pulsed at idle, standing by and eager to break into a roar. Twenty-year-old Annie Dahl was seated on the front seat, legs crossed and waiting as patiently as she could for Alexander Throckmorton to exit the bank.
The dashboard Galvin vacuum tube radio was bubbling out Johnny Ray's “Cry”.
A soft easterly breeze brought a warm, muggy wisp of summer air across Lake St Clair.
Annie sighed, straightened and stretched her legs, and relaxed back on the seat. Her mind drifted for a brief moment and went away to last night's tryst on Belle Isle, Detroit River: moonlight, champagne, and love on a gingham blanket.
She sighed and brought her thoughts back to the present, and reassuringly thought, “This has to end well. I know it will. I’m knocking on the door of a brand new life with the man I love”
She recognized that the innocence of her life in Milwaukee was two days and four hundred miles ago. The promise of a dreamy future with Alexander was fueled by the excitement of the moment and the endless black ribbon of asphalt highways behind her.
Her taupe nylons whooshed as she moved and shifted a restless thigh on the soft leather front seat of the big car. Attempting to dampen her anxious jitters, she reached into her handbag, took out a fresh pack of Chesterfields, and lit one with her silver-plated Ronson. As the first puff left her crimson lips and swirled around her auburn locks, the smoke nipped at her eyes. She blinked, squinted, and brushed it away as a tear appeared.
Annie pressed open the glove compartment, grabbed the bottle of Gordon’s gin, and took a swallow from the green bottle. It tickled on the way down and once again gave her those goose-bumps on the nape of her neck. Alexander had told her that the juniper berries in gin can have that effect on some people.
Four minutes into her cigarette, she took a final draw and with a snap of her lacquered nails, flicked the spent butt to the concrete curb. Alexander was exiting the bank and quickly stepping down the seven granite steps with a distinct bounce to his gait. He approached the car with what appeared to be an illegal grin.
He handed his leather satchel to Annie and quickly settled in behind the wheel of the large automobile. From inside his breast pocket, Alexander pulled out his pack of Lucky Strike, handed it to Annie and asked her to light one for him.
He checked the mirrors, put the Packard into second gear, and lurched away from the curb and onto Griswald Street. Still wearing that grin, he looked at Annie and said, “Let's get back on the road, honey buns. And go ahead and take a good look inside the case."
She lit his cigarette and passed it to him. A curious nervousness came over her.
Carefully, gingerly she dared to open the leather flap and look inside the satchel. Inside, she discovered a Smith and Wesson 38 revolver snuggled between two canvas bank bags. She gazed over at Alexander.
He reached across the seat, and rested his right hand on her leg. She inched closer to him, and began to open one of the small canvas sacks inside the satchel. Both bank bags were stuffed with rolled bundles of hundred dollar bills. Annie’s eyes glistened in wonderment, her heart quickened and she realized that her life had suddenly changed.
She looked incredulously at Alexander, caught her breath and grabbed the bottle of Gordon's again. It went down easier this time. This time she felt a tingle course through her thighs.
Half an hour later, the satchel, the Packard, its driver and passenger were heading south on Telegraph Road. They were twenty miles from Detroit, heading for Cincinnati, further to Miami and eventually, Batista's Cuba. Driving down the road at fifteen miles an hour above the posted limit, Alexander had the big engine throbbing. He was confident that the new Packard could easily muscle away from any Michigan State Police black and white Ford.
Annie thought, “The road goes on forever, and the party never ends.” Several days and many miles later, she remembered that her great grandmother was a gypsy.
© 2011-2013 Edward R. HackemerIn a Cream Packard
"In a Cream Packard"
Detroit, Michigan
May 31, 1954
A shiny new, vanilla cream Packard Patrician sat parked outside the Penobscot Building's Bank of Detroit. Underneath the long hood, a 327 cubic inch Straight Eight engine pulsed at idle, standing by and eager to break into a roar. Twenty-year-old Annie Dahl was seated on the front seat, legs crossed and waiting as patiently as she could for Alexander Throckmorton to exit the bank.
The dashboard Galvin vacuum tube radio was bubbling out Johnny Ray's “Cry”.
A soft easterly breeze brought a warm, muggy wisp of summer air across Lake St Clair.
Annie sighed, straightened and stretched her legs, and relaxed back on the seat. Her mind drifted for a brief moment and went away to last night's tryst on Belle Isle, Detroit River: moonlight, champagne, and love on a gingham blanket.
She sighed and brought her thoughts back to the present, and reassuringly thought, “This has to end well. I know it will. I’m knocking on the door of a brand new life with the man I love”
She recognized that the innocence of her life in Milwaukee was two days and four hundred miles ago. The promise of a dreamy future with Alexander was fueled by the excitement of the moment and the endless black ribbon of asphalt highways behind her.
Her taupe nylons whooshed as she moved and shifted a restless thigh on the soft leather front seat of the big car. Attempting to dampen her anxious jitters, she reached into her handbag, took out a fresh pack of Chesterfields, and lit one with her silver-plated Ronson. As the first puff left her crimson lips and swirled around her auburn locks, the smoke nipped at her eyes. She blinked, squinted, and brushed it away as a tear appeared.
Annie pressed open the glove compartment, grabbed the bottle of Gordon’s gin, and took a swallow from the green bottle. It tickled on the way down and once again gave her those goose-bumps on the nape of her neck. Alexander had told her that the juniper berries in gin can have that effect on some people.
Four minutes into her cigarette, she took a final draw and with a snap of her lacquered nails, flicked the spent butt to the concrete curb. Alexander was exiting the bank and quickly stepping down the seven granite steps with a distinct bounce to his gait. He approached the car with what appeared to be an illegal grin.
He handed his leather satchel to Annie and quickly settled in behind the wheel of the large automobile. From inside his breast pocket, Alexander pulled out his pack of Lucky Strike, handed it to Annie and asked her to light one for him.
He checked the mirrors, put the Packard into second gear, and lurched away from the curb and onto Griswald Street. Still wearing that grin, he looked at Annie and said, “Let's get back on the road, honey buns. And go ahead and take a good look inside the case."
She lit his cigarette and passed it to him. A curious nervousness came over her.
Carefully, gingerly she dared to open the leather flap and look inside the satchel. Inside, she discovered a Smith and Wesson 38 revolver snuggled between two canvas bank bags. She gazed over at Alexander.
He reached across the seat, and rested his right hand on her leg. She inched closer to him, and began to open one of the small canvas sacks inside the satchel. Both bank bags were stuffed with rolled bundles of hundred dollar bills. Annie’s eyes glistened in wonderment, her heart quickened and she realized that her life had suddenly changed.
She looked incredulously at Alexander, caught her breath and grabbed the bottle of Gordon's again. It went down easier this time. This time she felt a tingle course through her thighs.
Half an hour later, the satchel, the Packard, its driver and passenger were heading south on Telegraph Road. They were twenty miles from Detroit, heading for Cincinnati, further to Miami and eventually, Batista's Cuba. Driving down the road at fifteen miles an hour above the posted limit, Alexander had the big engine throbbing. He was confident that the new Packard could easily muscle away from any Michigan State Police black and white Ford.
Annie thought, “The road goes on forever, and the party never ends.” Several days and many miles later, she remembered that her great grandmother was a gypsy.
© 2011-2013 Edward R. HackemerIn a Cream Packard
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message 1:
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Debra
(new)
Oct 21, 2020 05:42AM
Edward Thanks for the pictures and the memories!! What a nice surprise this Wednesday morning. Jave a great day. Debbi
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