Writer Erin O'Brien comments on all things human.
Carling Black Label. Badass.Driving those cars in those days took stones. The only upside was the gasoline had lotsa lead, easy on valve seats.
Welp, your uncle may not have dressed for the party, but at least someone gave him a cocktail. Those were the days.
Pretty kicky rides for '61. How would you like to still have that great scooter, lovingly preserved, that your Pop and Gramps are standing in front of? Ah, the dreams, the dreams...MR
No idea why Mike isn't dressed. I have to ask Mom what the occasion was. Methinks Dad's college graduation.To be honest, MR, I'd just like to have Dad back, if only for the time it takes to tip back a can of Carling's.
...or two, Erin...If ever you feel a bit low, reflect on the fact that you are gifted with the ability to make him live on, even for people who never knew him in life.MR
Your father was a college graduate? For some reason, I thought you had a working-class background. What was his profession?
I think his degree was in business. Dad worked in sales for Lakeshore Electric for some years before diving into some rough waters. He eventually founded William O'Brien Machinery, which was a pretty small operation (but bigger than the Offices of Erin O'Brien).
Upon further perusal, I have determined that Mike's attire reflected his position that day as "Starter Of Notorious British Cars Which Are About To Be Relied Upon For An Auspicious Occasion". A more than half-century-old honorific by 1961. At his right knee is a gas can and a screwdriver. Behind him and to his left are engines shod with Skinner's Union carburetors and Lucas electrical systems. After firing up said engines, he would then dash through the shower and meet up with everyone later. As for the cognitive dissonance engendered by degreed machinists, read "Shop Class as Soulcraft" by Matthew Crawford.
My buddy picked up an MG-A (correct terminology?)from a fella who completely restored it only to find out his wife refused to learn how to drive a stick. I swear Thom had to put oil in the carbs with a medicine dropper before each start-up.Before he bought it he foolishly thought the motorcycle was a chick-magnet. In the MG the ladies looked at him like it was Sean Connery pulling up.MRPS-a thousand grateful thanks that the numeric word-verification is gone. I swear sometimes Blogger threw in blank ones just to fuck with me.
love old photos. wish i had more of my parents.and those cars!
Thanks for all the nice comments, gang.
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