“Sock-in-the-Wash”

Sergy. (Long-ago photo by BobbaLew.)

—The September issue of my Hemmings Classic Car magazine has a cover-feature of a 1954 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible.
It immediately reminded me of my sister’s first boyfriend, Sergei Serochnikov (“sir-gay”). My sister called him “Sergy.”
Sergei had a 1954 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible, powder-blue with a navy insert.
My sister died of pancreatic cancer almost eight years ago. She was slightly younger than me; I’m first-born of seven. Four of us remain.
My sister had a very hard life. She married four times. I’m only once despite being “heathen” and a “bleeding-heart Liberal” (her words; “heathen” is my wife’s aunt).
My parents were hyper-religious. My wife’s relatives were too, although not as judgmental.
Thankfully the last time my sister married she got it right. Her last husband seemed able to deal with her, or her with him. My wife was always the BEST friend I ever had, and she’s gone too.
“Sergy” was a really nice guy, a child of Russian immigrants. He was Class of ’61, I think, at Brandywine High-School. My sister was Class of ’64; I’m ’62.
My sister was madly smitten with “Sergy.” I used to criticize her, like it was all an act.
My father, probably angry my sister dated anyone, called him “Sock-in-the-Wash.”
Sergy took my sister to the Senior Prom, after a screaming Mexican standoff between my sister and my hyper-religious father, who considered dancing Of-the-Devil.
My mother settled it: “Oh Tom, I don’t think it will hurt.” So ended my father’s position as head-of-household.
Prom for me? Are you kidding? I never went to no prom. My wife didn’t either, but not for the same reasons.
At that time our family car was a 1953 Chevy, the infamous “Blue-Bomb” (it was navy-blue). It was the car in which I learned to drive. But a year late because at age-16 I was “too immature” — that is, I couldn’t worship my father.
Sergy let me drive his car. Top-down, but it was more a pig than the Blue-Bomb. It was probably better maintained — my father never did any such thing — but was a PowerGlide Six. (The Blue Bomb was also PowerGlide.)
PowerGlide was Chevrolet’s introductory two-speed automatic transmission. “Slip-and-Slide with PowerGlide.”
The engine was a 235.5 cubic-inch version of their venerable “Cast-iron Wonder” introduced in 1937. It was also called the “Stovebolt-Six,” because it could be overhauled with stuff from your hardware-store, e.g. stove-bolts.
The fact Sergy’s car was a convertible made it overly attractive to my sister. The guy who became my sister’s first husband bought a brand-new Pontiac convertible while I was in college.’64 or ’65 I think.
A ’54 Chevy was a turkey compared to Chevrolets for 1955.
Top-down is attractive, but would I consider such a car?
That magazine-car’s owner gets to relive his youth, but no way would I drive such a thing.
And convertibles were skonked by air-conditioning. Beyond 10 miles, no top-down for this kid.

“See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet”
(Long-ago photo by Bobbalew)

• “ See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet ” was Dinah Shore in the ‘50s.
• The Blue Bomb was the only car our family had that made an entire vacation-trip without breaking down — at least while I was growing up. It went all the way to Minneapolis/St.Paul and then back. 1960. (I coulda been driving then, but was “immature.” “Thomas, you gotta let him drive.”) It failed inspection just after 100,000 miles. (No lining on the brake-shoes.)
• The picture is just before my accident, which punched in the front. No bodywork; “just make it drivable.”