The year was 1981. I was taking Advanced Composition in my junior year of high school. Carolyn Callendar had the misfortune to be teaching the class that year.
Mrs. Callendar taught the class every year, so she bears some responsibility for what followed.
It was a great class. She gave us daily and weekly assignments. Mostly they were writing prompts that we could take in any direction. Such an open-ended invitation proved advantageous to our group of young writers.
Mrs. Callendar had her preferences. One of us had a knack for ethereal treatments that I will stereotypically describe as "butterflies, flowers, and rainbows". That student always got an A on their work. The rest of us had to work for it. Or so it seemed to us at the time. Young student writers have a tendency to be precious about their early work.
My personal favorite piece was an extended bit of poetry that I produced in collaboration with my best friend. It was a dark and moody piece that was inspired by the works of Stephen King, Edgar Allen Poe, and who knows what else. We had the "dark" knob turned up to eleven. Naturally, we both lost our copies so it exists now as a vague reminiscence of our clear literary genius.
As one might expect, the class went through phases. The band RUSH released their quintessential album, "Moving Pictures", that year. The second track was the science fiction inspired song "Red Barchetta". The titular automobile had been saved in an old white-haired uncle's barn. A relic from before the Motor Law being chased down by gleaming alloy air cars. The driver was subsequently saved by a one-lane bridge that the air cars could not cross.
We were largely unaware that RUSH's primary lyricist, Neil Peart, had found inspiration in a piece of fiction that was first published in the November 1973 issue of "Road and Track". That story, A Nice Morning Drive written by Richard S. Foster, told the story of an old MGB roadster. Rendered obsolete by wave after wave of modern automobile safety standards had made surviving car crashes not only likely but predictable. The drivers of the newly designed cars expected to walk away from accidents unscathed. As a result, drivers of these Modern Safety Vehicles began targeting older vehicles leaving them in mangled heaps. Those driving older cars were likely to be left in a similarly mangled condition. The price for driving a classic. And so the driver of the old MGB engages in a race for his life pursued by a pair of MSVs.
Courtesy of Neil Peart's retelling of A Nice Morning Drive in Red Barchetta, a series of automobiles entered our classroom zeitgeist. We subjected Mrs. Callendar to seemingly endless stories that involved red sports cars. The model of the car would shift to suit the moods and tastes of various authors. Sometimes it was only glimpsed under a protective tarp. Other times the car would tear along country roads kicking up a stream of fall leaves.
We began to perceive that Mrs. Callendar was dissatisfied with our seeming enchantment with red sports cars that appeared in our work. So we shifted to blue sports cars. She was not amused. I think she secretly was amused.
Our appreciations of the roadster (red, blue, or otherwise) lasted a few weeks before Mrs. Callendar put a kind but firm end to our vehicular ruminations. Automotively-inspired expositions were no longer acceptable subject matter for the course. A few essays later in the year reprised our earlier fascination with motorized conveyances. She accepted these brief automotive interludes with humor and grace while simultaneously assuring the class that she would throttle any attempt to return to those halcyon days of transportational bliss. The fuel gauge was on "E" where cars were involved.
Mrs. Callendar retired a few years later. She and her husband moved to Georgia where they enjoyed the company of their grandchildren. She also enjoyed playing bridge and reading books, naturally.
Carolyn Callendar passed away in 2022. While I don't know what comes next, I'd like to imagine that somewhere she is at the wheel of a red roadster from a better vanished time. Naturally, she would be gaily driving along with the top down, the wind whipping her hair, and stirring up a steady stream of autumnal yellow, red, gold, and brown.
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