In search of who I am. I am on a continuing quest into understanding the nature of my being. Along the path, one finds clues, but never really see himself. Lately I noticed some clues. I have been described as a hot shot photographer, a rock star photographer, which I have never thought of myself in that way. I discover more history in this old photo of me and my Mom, she was saying goodbye to me as I was headed to the shore for party time in 1966. I started studying myself in my brand new 1966 Corvette, which I loved dearly, more on that later. Ok, the car was a head turner, Malibu blue with a white top and black interior, 350 cu in 350 hp Chevy engine with a 4 speed stick shift. I was decked out white shirt and tie that night complete with Â American Optical sunglasses for a totally cool look.
The image that I projected at 26 years old was that of a playboy, and I lived up to the part. This was my second Corvette which my father helped me own, I think he secretly liked my playboy image. I always pushed the limits with my car and my driving and also most important my dating. To second the record straight, I always bonded with my Corvette, the ritual started with sleeping in the car on the first night of ownership, not sure why I did it Â except that I loved my cars so much I had to show it to them somehow.
Dating was always the challenge, with double dating in a 2 seat Corvette, it caused my date to see how much pain she could endure, sitting on the console, and it also made it real personal every time I had to shift gears. My friend’s date, who doubled with me, would get his date to sit on his lap, which made for a special bond between the two. Â My feats including making love in the Corvette, which would put me in back pain for a day or two. One of my dates commented to me after a hot and heavy make out session, that blew fuses as my foot wedged the cigarette lighter and caused us to drive home from the drive in movie with no lights, that I should find out why they made motels.
I was always trying to make records on my personal playboy style. One of my records was the most dates in one night. My best record was seven dates on a Friday night. The last one was a special achievement for me. Well I thought I was done at six, but when I pulled into the Marina Bar in Cape May in my grand entrance style, with the convertible top down a girl spotted me and left here boyfriend and came running over to me and jumped into my car and said take me for a ride and I did and she rode me like a cowgirl after which I dove us down Beach drive at 120 mph only to get stopped by the police which turned out to be my friend and his only concerned that I and my date no. 7 were down on the beach that night, cause that was against the law, he-he. Now my only fear was that her boyfriend would see that her zipper was broken, but she assured me not to worry it was not a problem, that it happens all the time to her and that folks made number seven which was my lucky number.
So I guess I have always been a rock star and have the notches on my belt to prove it.
Lou, this really made me laugh. Not the picture, just your description of the night.