No matter where we lived, my father had a PA (public address) system set up on the roof of our house. It was really neat! Every December, the neighborhood would be treated to albums of Christmas music and carols in the evening after dinner-time for a couple of hours. This was in the '50s, so it was a novelty and everyone appreciated it. We didn't decorate the house or the yard as much as our neighbors did, but we did provide the music. Usually, all we had were lights on the eaves, but one year Daddy went all out and put reindeer on the roof, too, along with a wooden Santa cut-out, waving a motorized arm at everyone.

The PA system, however, was up year-round. Which meant that Daddy could utilize it at a moment's notice to call me home if I was late... It's pretty mortifying to hear, "Linda Jean Olmstead, get your butt home NOW!" in a booming voice everyone else can hear, too, so you can bet I wasn't late that often. Summer evenings, had you lived in our neighborhood, you might have seen me running home, hell-bent to get there before the click! buzz of the PA system crackled into life.

Now and then, I'd pass a yard with an adult in it, who'd cheerily urge, "Better get home, Linda!" And these were people I didn't even know! But I guess they knew who I was, and if I didn't make it before The Command was issued, I'd get smiles of understanding or a shake of the head as I hustled even faster.

Of course, there was also a PA system in my dad's car.

Daddy could "moo" cows down from the hills with it. Trips to the country were always adventures. If he encountered a side road on which he hadn't driven yet, we'd take off to investigate. If there were cows in the fields alongside the road, it was yet another opportunity to mess with bovine minds. This occasionally annoyed a bull or two. They don't mill about, you know; they will lower their heads and chase a car... I loved my father's "sexy moo" but my mother got tired of the game, especially when he had to accellerate to get far enough ahead to escape some jealous bull thundering alongside us on the other side of a pretty flimsy looking fence.

But hey, he created the most maniacal laughter anybody ever heard as we drove though long tunnels. The one on northbound Highway 101 out of the San Fancisco area was the best! I don't have a PA on my car, but passengers have been treated to my witchy cackle, just in memorium in every tunnel, even to this day. Far better than any pedestrian horn-honking, trust me.

The PA was such a part of our lives that, as a little girl, I thought all cars had 'em. We did, cop-cars did... didn't everyone?

We summered every year at my maternal Grandmother's house in Oregon. In 1959, or maybe 1960, my dad and a couple of his buddies piled into the car to go do ... something... probably something to do with ham radio. I don't recall the original purpose of the trip, but I do remember exactly what happened on the way home. I'd gotten to go along because my mother was at the doctor's office, I think, and it wasn't that unusual for me to be included in ham radio adventures, anyway.

In any case, as we were returning, we encountered an Oregon State Police vehicle that had just been involved in an accident. It seems that the Trooper had pulled over to dispatch a deer hit by another car, and as he stepped out of his patrol unit, another passing vehicle took off the driver's door, right out of his hand. He wasn't injured; the driver immediately stopped and the winding two-lane road was blocked with the various involved vehicles and the still-thrashing, screaming deer.

I stayed in our car while my dad and his friends assisted at the accident scene with setting flares and various other helpful tasks. We were there quite some time -- at least until the wreckers arrived for the patrol unit and the car that had originally struck the deer. When we headed home again, the topic of discussion was, naturally, adult in nature and related to suggestions for reducing these sorts of accidents. Reflective tape on the inside of the patrol unit's doors was one fix mentioned, but everyone acknowledged that wouldn't work during daylight hours, such as this particular accident. I spoke up. "Daddy? I know what you could do!"

My father's eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror; he smiled and said, "What, Pooh?" Very seriously, and pleased to be included in the conversation, I continued: "Why don't you just get on the PA and say, 'Listen, you g*d-d*mned mother-f*cking sons of b*tches, don't hit my door!'"

One passenger said, "Out of the mouths of babes!" and after a somewhat choked, "That's nice, honey..." from my father, there was silence for the rest of the ride home. Mom, hearing his version of the entire story in sotto voice, simply responded, "Ed, you know you need to watch what you say around Linda!" Then she explained to me that some grown-up words weren't suitable for little girls' use. I wanted a list of them so I didn't commit that social error again, but she said she'd just let me know if I happened to pick up any more of them.