When Unc’ Bennie bought a ‘hooptie‘, my world began to change. We all ran out to the street to see his new set of wheels.

 “It’s a fitty-nine duece ‘n’ ’uh quartuh  wit' the brains blowed-out. It got boom wit' a push-in, stomp, and twist. It starts every time. Spection’s good for three  mo’ months, and it don‘t burn much oil, neither. I might even get me a license!” It was Unc’ Bennie's first car. He was 32, and he was beaming.

 It had cost him $200 and a leather jacket that Pop had left behind. It was a 1959 Buick Electra 225 4-door with a cut-out sunroof, a stereo eight track, power brakes, and power steering. It was thirteen years old, 19 ft long (225 inches to be exact, hence the name), was all beat to hell, but it was his. It was, at one time, a beautiful black sedan, but it had been a rough thirteen years. One of those years had included a hail storm. That’s what a hooptie is, a wreck that runs.

“That cars been hit mo’ times than Joe Frazier ”, Momma declared, giggling.

“Beats walkin’ !”

“That it do…”

 Chaunce and I undid the bungee cord that held the less dented back door shut. We all piled in this gigantic land yacht for our maiden voyage. We talked about all the trips we’d make when money got better, as Bennie toured all the neighborhood hot spots to allow everyone to catch a glimpse and glory at his new purchase. We went up and got us some orange push-up ice cream and HoHos at the A&A grocery, and made a mess while Unc’ Bennie drove around looking for anybody he knew.

 “It’s smoove, BB”, Momma said, grinning and sucking on her 'pushy'. Bennie was leaning being cool, delighting in his HoHo and his new 'ride'. He was trying not to smile too much, but every few seconds that grin would pop back up. Everybody Plays the Fool by the Main Ingredient blasted out the windows from two distorting speakers. Bennie hinted that he might even get the ’air’ fixed. That’s the happiest I ever saw my uncle, the happiest I’d seen him, by far. We were living large.

 The bus was a thing of the past, now, and Unc’ Bennie dropped us at school on his way to his job making re-tread tires. Our neighbor, Slippy, got Bennie the job. Bennie hated that job all week, but when Friday came around he was a happy man with his ride and his bottle of Henny. I missed the closeness of Madelyn on the bus, but I sure was cooler in the 'Duece'.

 Everyday, as we cruised down J Street on the way to school, we always passed this dude strutting down the road on the shoulder. He was always decked out in the coolest outfits. He had some purple and white stacks, elephant bell slacks, silky shirts, a puka shell choker, loud colored vests. You name it. If it was groovy, he wore it.

 “Look like a Soul Train reject”, Bennie slowed one day to get a better look. The dude turned and flashed us a peace sign. “Some kinda funky peacock“ , Bennie muttered. Unc' Bennie was in his work Dickies, and we knew he was just jealous.

 It became a part of our morning ritual to see what this fellow was wearing. One morning, as we gawked in passing at his lime green ensemble, he turned, smiled, and gave us the ‘black power’ fist. Bennie gave it back. This cat was cool.

 On an especially icy, cold morning, we were passing the dude, and he stuck out his thumb. He wanted a ride.

 “Stop !”,Chaunce hollered, “The cool guy wants a lift!” Unc’ pulled the Duece to the curb, and the cat jumped in the back.

 “Thanks, blood, I was freezing my balls off out there”, he was rubbing his hands together to warm them. He had  a few days beard growth.

 “Willy B”, he said, as he reached forward and ‘slid’ Unc’ Bennie some ‘skin‘.

 “I’s BB, that’s T, Chaunce, and Doodoo, where you headin’ every mornin’ ?”

 “School”

 “Damn, man, the high schools gotta be five miles from here!”

 “No, bro', I’m in sixth grade, I go to Cleveland.” He was the biggest sixth grader we’d ever seen. 6 foot, 200, the ‘son of a gun’ had a mustache and  beard, and he went to our school. “You got any Chi-lites?”, he asked Unc’ Bennie, without hesitation.

 “Nope. Main Ingredient, is it.” Bennie had yet to buy any new eight tracks .

 “That's cool, brother.” He ran his thick fingers through his shaggy, long hair to sweep it out of his face. He looked just like Joe Namath ,of football fame, with his hound-dog eyes, big nose, and overgrown sideburns. He had an immediate rogue-ish charm and confidence that allowed him to call Unc' Bennie "brother", without fear of a racial altercation. 

 Willy B  became one of my best friends, and that‘s still true, today. 

 (might as well check out parts 1  and 2 while your here)