20 The Float, the Flip, and the Return of the VW

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks


Week 20 – May 13, 2025


Prompt: Wheels


Ancestor: Myself


My family moved to Bentonville, Arkansas (population about 6,000) in the summer of 1968. I was 14 and very upset about the move. That fall, I’d be starting 9th grade—high school—and I didn’t know a soul.

One of the first things we did after arriving was meet with the high school guidance counselor. She suggested I take Driver’s Education over the summer so I could start meeting classmates. My mom would take me to the unpaved roads in Bella Vista to practice driving her Volkswagen Beetle. By the end of the summer, I’d completed Driver’s Ed, and the instructor told us we could take the driving test at the local fire station and get our licenses.

Technically, the license wasn’t valid until we turned 16—but it looked exactly like a regular license, with no restrictions printed on it. I made sure my parents knew that. They let me drive Mom’s car around town, including short trips to the downtown shops less than a mile away.

The Float and the Flip

A big annual event was building our class float for the Homecoming Parade, inside the National Guard Armory. Many of my classmates were from farms and rural areas, and someone’s dad always loaned a hay trailer. We’d build the structure with chicken wire, then stuff each hole with colored paper napkins. Our school colors were black and gold, so we always needed a mountain of yellow napkins and plenty of black spray paint. And we weren’t the only ones—each of the four classes built a float.

While working on our sophomore class float, we ran out of yellow napkins. The town’s Walmart and both grocery stores were completely out. Brenda Shores said her parents’ store in nearby Cave Springs still had some. I had driven Mom’s VW to the armory, so I offered to take Brenda and two others to get them.

I was 15. But my license didn’t say I couldn’t drive. My parents knew I had the car. No problem.

We made it to the store, loaded up on napkins, and headed back to Bentonville. Then—on a curve—the left rear tire blew out. I lost control of the car, and we flipped. The driver’s side window scraped along the pavement as I watched the road seemingly slide past my face. We came to a stop in the grass. I reached up and turned the key to stop the engine. The windshield had popped out, and we all crawled out, dazed but unharmed.

Officer Couch, a well-known Highway Patrolman, was on the scene in no time. He drove us back to the armory. As we neared it, I saw my parents coming toward us in Dad’s car. He probably heard about the accident on his police scanner. We were taken to the hospital to be checked out—no major injuries, though we were sore all over the next day.

Mom was furious about her VW—she had bought it with her own money—and gave me the silent treatment for weeks. Dad learned that VWs were known to flip with a blowout and vowed never to own another. I got a ticket for driving with a restricted license. Apparently, it was “understood” that it wasn’t valid until age 16.

The good news? Our sophomore class float won first place in the Homecoming Parade. The theme: Beat the Mounties!

My First Car

After that, I didn’t want to drive. Even as a passenger, curves made me panic. By the time I turned 16 later that year, I was recovering—and asking for a car. Many of my classmates had one, some brand new, but most used. My dad made me a deal: if I ever made all A’s, he’d buy me a car. He figured it was a bet he couldn’t lose. I was a consistent A-B honor roll student, active in Rainbow Girls, the church youth group, dating a football player, and eventually editor of the school yearbook. But I didn’t have time—or enough motivation—to make all A’s. I worked summer jobs for minimum wage, not enough to buy a car on my own.

I spent my freshman year of college at Drury College in Springfield, Missouri. Without a car, my parents had to drive me when I moved into the dorm. I had a boyfriend back home in Bentonville and occasionally took the bus back. Springfield had a good local bus system, so I could get to Battlefield Mall to stock up on necessities.

I pledged Tri Delta, and they took scholarship seriously. As pledges, we had to spend two hours each evening in the library. Once again, I was on the A-B honor roll. Toward the end of my second semester, I realized I might actually make all A’s. The only class in question was bowling—my average had slipped each week. I told the instructor that if I got an A, I might get a car. She said if I aced the written final, it would offset my average.

I called my dad and asked, “Do you remember telling me you’d buy me a car if I made all A’s?”

His reply: “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

I told him bowling was the only worry—but I planned to ace the final.

A week later, my parents called and told me to take the bus to the Volkswagen dealership to look at colors. I said, “I already know. I want yellow.” They replied, “Go look at the colors—especially the light blue ones.”

The car my dad swore he would never buy again. 

When they picked me up at the end of the semester, they were driving a brand-new 1973 baby blue Volkswagen Super Beetle. I guess once Dad started pricing cars, VW was the most economical. He had to break his vow—never another VW.

On the Road Again

I drove that VW all through college and into my first job with the FAA as an Air Traffic Controller in Houston in 1979. It didn’t have air conditioning, and even though my commute was short, I’d arrive at work a sweaty mess. I eventually bought a Toyota Corona, but after a few weeks of power steering, the VW felt like driving a tank.

I had a co-worker repair the dents and repaint it, and I sold it for almost what my parents paid for it. That little blue VW carried me through college, my first career steps, and a story I’ll never forget.