As Originally Published in Key West the Newspaper July 15, 2011
I grew up in the middle of the energy crisis back in the 70’s when gas skyrocketed from around thirty five cents per gallon to well over a buck. America was in a crisis.
I remember a conversation my Dad and I overheard while standing in line at the hardware store. It seems “Mr. Green” had found a solution to the high price of gas. Apparently the adjacent town had an Esso station that was selling gas for five cents less per gallon than the Shell station in our town. As we left the store I watched as Mr. Green drove off in his Chevy Impala the size of a barn.
I struggled to do the best math my seven year old head could muster. If the next town was ten miles away, and Mr. Green’s car got twelve miles per gallon, it would mean Mr. Green was burning a couple of bucks in gas to save maybe a buck. To me, something just didn’t add up. Maybe there was a great deal on smokes too, who knows? I was just a seven year old, and Mr. Green was an adult.
My parent’s solution was a ‘72 Toyota Corolla that got 34 miles per gallon. My folks had traded in the station wagon with the tailgate you could play volleyball in for the car we affectionately called the grapefruit. Supposedly for it’s color, but more for it’s size. I fondly remember the ten hour trips to visit grandma with two adults, five kids and a dog piled into that car. We did more with less and survived.
I remember a conversation my Dad and I overheard while standing in line at the hardware store. It seems “Mr. Green” had found a solution to the high price of gas. Apparently the adjacent town had an Esso station that was selling gas for five cents less per gallon than the Shell station in our town. As we left the store I watched as Mr. Green drove off in his Chevy Impala the size of a barn.
I struggled to do the best math my seven year old head could muster. If the next town was ten miles away, and Mr. Green’s car got twelve miles per gallon, it would mean Mr. Green was burning a couple of bucks in gas to save maybe a buck. To me, something just didn’t add up. Maybe there was a great deal on smokes too, who knows? I was just a seven year old, and Mr. Green was an adult.
My parent’s solution was a ‘72 Toyota Corolla that got 34 miles per gallon. My folks had traded in the station wagon with the tailgate you could play volleyball in for the car we affectionately called the grapefruit. Supposedly for it’s color, but more for it’s size. I fondly remember the ten hour trips to visit grandma with two adults, five kids and a dog piled into that car. We did more with less and survived.
