June 5th- Finding Home by M H E Priest

1956

Bay City, California

A bored, lonely, and angry Dave Starsky sat on the front stoop of his new home. He’d been in Bay City — three thousand miles from his real home in Brooklyn, where his mom, baby brother, and friends lived — all of two days. Not for the first time, he was thinking about running away. To where, he didn’t know. After all, his mom didn’t want him anymore, so maybe that wasn’t his real home after all.

Maybe I should go to Arizona or New Mexico, become a cowboy. Home on the range. Ride horses, rope cows, eat beef jerky… Or maybe I could be a race car driver like Johnny Dark…

His aunt, who was a bookkeeper, rudely interrupted his plan-making with a kiss on top of his overgrown hair and a pat on his T-shirt-clad back. She had changed from her house dress to a flowery shirtwaist dress, thin white gloves, hose, low-heeled blue shoes, and a boxy pink hat that sat cock-eyed on her dark, wavy hair. If she kept the books here, she wouldn’t hafta get all dressed up.

“Davey, the number to your uncle’s store is by the phone in the kitchen if you need anything. I’ll be back as soon as I finish the books in, oh, about two hours. Then I’ll fix us a very nice lunch.”

So she keeps her books at Uncle Al’s car shop. And how many books can she balance in two hours? Must be short ones. And please let lunch be sandwiches and not that horrible soup we had for dinner last night. Soup’s ‘posed to be hot, not cold. And who eats soup in the summer anyways?

“Aunt Rose, I asked you to please not call me ‘Davey’ no more,” he grumbled. “I’m thirteen now. I had my bar mitzvah three months ago, ‘member? Call me ‘Dave,’ ‘kay?” He tugged on the legs of his cut-off jeans.

She sighed loudly. “Be patient, Dave. It’ll take me some time to get used to calling you that. And mercy! Where did you learn to speak such atrocious English?”

He didn’t answer because he knew she knew the answer. Asking questions they already knew the answer to was one of many stupid things adults did. And sending a son away to live with relatives he hardly knew was another stupid thing adults did when that son got in a little trouble. Well, to be honest, a lot of trouble. Especially when part of that trouble was his tantrums that his mother was already seeing the Greek baker when her husband had been in the ground less than a year. The only good thing about that was there was always baklava around to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Aunt Rose sat next to him, put her arm around his shoulders so firmly he couldn’t pull away. “I know it’s hard for you, Dave, but coming to live with your Uncle Al and me is for the best. My sister can’t afford to keep both of you boys and frankly, you’ve been a bit hard to handle since your father passed.”

You mean murdered. By sheer will, he didn’t say it out loud. But sheer will didn’t mellow the constant ache in his chest from his father’s absence and his mother’s abandonment.

“Your uncle and I are delighted to have you live with us. We can’t have children, but you’re our chance, and we hope to make this a wonderful home for you. We love you dearly, Dave. I hope you’ll love us, too.”

Dave couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt choked up and pissed all at the same time. He knew he had to say something because if he didn’t his aunt’s feelings would be hurt, and hurting family’s feelings was something Ma told him was very unacceptable. So, he told the truth, which was something both of his parents stressed. “I already love ya, Aunt Rose. Uncle Al, too.” But this just ain’t home. Never will be. I got no home anymore.

“Oh, Davey,” she sniffed as she wiped away the quickly formed tears with her free hand. She kissed his curls and squeezed him so tightly against her skinny body that he thought he was going to suffocate.

He hid the grimace from Aunt Rose at her calling him that baby name again, deciding it was more important to tell her he was in trouble. “Can’t br-” he gasped weakly.

Instantly, Rose released her strong grip on him. “Oh, my, I’m so sorry, Davey, uh, Dave. I just got caught up in the moment, you know.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Dave could see Aunt Rose had pulled out a frilly handkerchief and dabbed her eyes and cheeks daintily. Wonder if she can pull a rabbit outta that nutty hat of hers.

“Now, it’s okay to explore the neighborhood, but don’t go more than two blocks in any direction. Then after lunch, you can help me get things ready for the street party.”

That sounded interesting. He wondered if the party included stuff like stickball and cake. “Why a party, Aunt Rose? Is it somebody’s birthday or some California thing?”

“Oh, no, dear, nothing like that. It’s a tradition that everyone on this block gets together to eat and sing and play on the longest day of the year.”

“But ain’t every day twenty-four hours long?”

Rose laughed, a sweet, gentle sound that defrosted Dave a little. “You are absolutely right, honey. I suppose the more accurate way of describing this day is that it’s got more daylight than any other day of the year. It’s known as the summer solstice.”

“Oh.” Don’t think we got that in New York. Guess I got a lot to learn about California stuff.

“I’m so excited for you to meet everyone,” she said at a mile a minute. “The Blaines, the Caldwells and their twin daughters, the Aldwins and their three children–one of the boys is your age, Dave–and that’s just the start. We even have a matriarch of the block, Miss Lula June. She’s almost ninety years old! And she gives dance lessons. I think you should take them. [Dance lessons? Oh, hell no!] Every young man should know how to dance. You’ll love her. Hopefully her young cousin several times removed will be here, too. Wants everyone to call him Huggy Bear, of all things. Can you imagine that?” She stopped abruptly, sucked in a deep breath, checked her watch. “Oh, my, I’m running behind.”

Rose kissed his curls again [All this kissin’ has gotta stop], jumped up, and flew away in a swirl of fabric flowers. “Love you!” she shouted as she cranked up her Plymouth Plaza and pulled out of the driveway in a squeal of tires.

Dave grinned. Aunt Rose may not be a stick in the mud after all.

With a sigh, he stood, then trudged into the small yard. After tugging his damp T-shirt off, he lay down on the grass, which was refreshingly cool despite the sun beating down on it. He loved the color of the sky and sea here, so like his aquamarine birthstone on his baby ring. It was almost like the blue that sparkled like fireflies that thrilled him on a short visit to an uncle’s farm in Virginia. And he loved the golden light, especially when it made the ocean flicker a lighter blue that he saw yesterday when Uncle Al took him to the beach, so different here than back in New York. So fresh, so safe, so… comfy.

He closed his eyes, and instead of blackness, the gold stayed with him for a while until it changed to pinks and reds. With a deep breath, he returned to plotting his search for a home, until the friendly, warm glow of the sun eased him into sleep.

Duluth, Minnesota

“Kenneth! Why aren’t you dressed yet?” scolded Elaine Hutchinson.

Ken looked down at his neatly pressed plaid camp shirt, cargo shorts, tennis socks, and sneakers. “What’s wrong with this, Mother?” He ran his fingers from the collar of his shirt to the hem of his shorts, annoyed that the calluses caught on the material a few times.

Elaine huffed with impatience. “We have guests coming very soon, and Hutchinson men do not wear short pants in front of guests. Now, go change into your tan slacks. I guess the shirt and shoes will do. And please tell Kathryn to hurry changing her clothes. I swear, I don’t know how you two turned out to be such… ruffians.”

Ken’s shoulders slumped a little. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly to hide how peeved he was in having to follow such a stupid rule. He’d be thirteen in two months and should be able to dress how he wanted at a picnic in the heat. Well, at least she did call me a ‘man.’

He used to like the annual summer solstice picnics, but now that he was almost a teenager, playing lawn games and go-fish with a few other kids no longer held any appeal for him. If he had his druthers, he’d run away, probably to sea on a freighter or a battleship like the Dreadnought. Or head for New York where he could be a street musician like he’d read about in a magazine. His teacher said he was a very talented guitar and piano player, and that he’d probably have a beautiful singing voice once he went through puberty, his untrained, young-boy tenor being a bit squeaky but still pleasing, whatever the heck puberty was.

Ken clambered up the stairs two at a time even though it was a stretch, to the third floor of his overgrown house where his room was. He stopped at his sister’s room on the way to his.

“Hey, sis,” he said, leaning against the jamb. “I see Mother made you change, too.”

Katie shook her head. “It’s a picnic, Ken, not church!” She spread out the full skirt of her sleeveless dress. “How can I have fun wearing this?”

“It’s the solstice picnic, stupid. We’re not supposed to have fun.” He sighed. “You do look nice” — she smiled at the compliment — ”for a bratty tomboy.” He successfully dodged the appropriately named throw pillow.

“I hate you, Kenny!” she screeched. A second later, she laughed maniacally.

Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. He went to his room, changed his clothes in record time, and fled down the stairs.

That evening, after stuffing himself with steak sandwiches, cole slaw, potato salad, and cake, Ken retreated to a quiet spot of the expansive backyard. Ignoring all the people — some friends of his parents’, but mostly clients and city leaders whose support Bertram Hutchinson, Attorney-at-Law, wanted for his city council bid — he studied the huge house where he lived.

It’s so big, it’s like I’m all alone, he thought. Don’t know why we can’t live in a smaller place. He sighed. This one doesn’t feel like a home to me, even with Katie close by.

Ken began to define what a home would be to him. Small, cozy, with lots of windows and plants, but enough walls so he could hang Katie’s paintings. He smiled when seeing in his mind’s eye that gorgeous still life she’d painted for him for his last birthday. She was really talented.

Then it occurred to him that that would just be a house, like the house where he lived now only smaller, without someone living with him.

Maybe Katie would live with me until one of us gets married, once I’m done being a street musician or I’m done with my adventures on the high seas. Then she could live next door and our kids could grow up together. And we’d live far away from Duluth. Maybe California. Or Australia.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied. His image of home continued to elude him. All he knew was he wanted a home, away from the formality and starchiness and love he had to earn every day that was life with his parents, and he’d recognize it once he found it.

Ken looked up at the clear, twilight sky, his vision unhampered by the canopy of trees that blotted out the sky in so much of the yard. It was the best time of day, soon after sunset, when the sky was his favorite shade of blue, the color of that sapphire gemstone on his morfar’s wedding ring — darkish, friendly, and mysterious. And it signaled that the stars would be visible soon, when he could look for Ursa Minor and the North Star, the first constellation his beloved farfar had taught him.

“See that star, Kenny, at the top of the Little Dipper?” his grandfather had said as he, a seven-year-old filled with the excitement of discovery and being up after bedtime, looked through the telescope. “That’s the North Star; it’s also known as Polaris. It’s right there all the time, no matter the time of year. Sailors use it to find their way home.”

He knew he wouldn’t see many stars tonight because of the city lights, but he would see more in a few days, when he would start his six-week “vacation” with his grandparents. He would love to live with Granddad and Grandma all the time because he felt cherished by them and he adored them, and the farm felt more like home than this stupid mansion. But his parents wouldn’t hear of it and besides, it still didn’t feel like what he thought home should feel like.

So for now, he would use the North Star to guide him to his almost-home.

As the Little Dipper became increasingly visible while the sky darkened further, he wondered if the North Star itself could be his home. Maybe that’s why he was so fascinated with it. Maybe someday, people, like the satellite his grandfather had told him about last year, would go into space. Then I could sail the sky instead of the sea and touch that star. And I’d be home.

Ken fell asleep, dreaming of glittering stars and ships that sailed the skies and a new home.

Bay City, California, 1968

It was barely seven PM and Dave was already exhausted. He’d been pulling long hours for weeks as a cabbie, a fill-in bouncer at Huggy’s new bar, and a detailer and mechanic at Uncle Al’s car business, in an effort to put away as much cash as he could. The pittance he’d earn as a cadet wouldn’t be enough to keep him in candy bars, much less beer.

Making matters worse, it was a Friday night. Too many drunks, too many chances to clean out his cab between fares. And tonight would be no exception. At least he wasn’t in the ‘Nam, which was thousands of times worse. That thought greatly eased his current disgust at what would happen in the very near future. And working tonight did have another benefit of sorts: he was missing the annual block solstice party tonight. He was still uncomfortable in groups of more than four people, the size of a fire team or a small squad. More than that made him hypervigilant, his head on a swivel as he scouted Bay City for bomb-throwing sappers and snipers…

Not a good thing when I go to that reception tomorrow afternoon at the police academy. What if I lose it in front of the instructors and other prospects? He buried his face in his hands. “I’ll keep it together,” he said, barely hearing the muffled words.

Dave removed his snap-brim hat and ran his hand through his newly-shorn hair. He really disliked it this short. He thought those days were over when he’d mustered out of the army, but deciding to become a recruit in cop school meant he’d have to wear a cop’s version of a regulation haircut, and probably indefinitely.

Still beats being in-country, he thought, putting his hat back on as the radio squawked at him.

“Cab Three-Six-Niner, this is Dispatch. You back from your potty break, Starsky? Over.” Despite the static-y transmission, Dave clearly heard the disdainful snarl in the voice with its distinctive Texas accent.

He rolled his eyes as he took his time picking up the handset. “Yeah, Dispatch, just got back,” he lied. Vern was a jerk who didn’t hide his hatred of Jews and New Yorkers. Cradling the handset between his cheek and his shoulder, Dave took up his pencil and clipboard. “Go.”

“Got a call for you, Hebrew.” Starsky sneered at the word that wasn’t technically a slur but was certainly said as it was intended to be one. “You still near Amherst, on, uh, Xerxes, right? Over.”

“Yeah, Dispatch, haven’t moved since I called in for a break, over.”

“Pick-up is one-four-six-three Amherst, apartment one-sixty-two. Destination is eight-six-six Beaumont Avenue. Read back, over.”

Dave did as he was instructed, then said, “On my way. Three-six-niner out.” Geez, sometimes I feel like I’m back in the friggin’ army.

“Don’t get lost, Hebrew. Dispatch out.”

Dave was sorely tempted to shoot back with some sort of insult but decided he wouldn’t, just in case he flunked out of the police academy and needed to get this lousy job back.

As he drove to the address of the pick-up, he found himself hoping that maybe being a cop would give him a home of sorts, or at least a brotherhood. He, despite the disillusionment, had stayed in the army for almost seven years because he had nowhere else to go. The injury had ended that, which was fine by him; the war was such a major SNAFU that he was actually glad the last wound was bad enough to get him discharged. He definitely didn’t mind the scars and the trick ankle.

So he’d come back to Bay City, the closest thing he had to a home, after he got out of rehab at the San Diego VA. It was there where he finally realized that all he wanted was to be a cop, and not just because his pop had been one. Brooklyn, he had discovered, was fine to visit for a few days, but too much reminded him of his dead father, of his mother packing his clothes so fast twelve years ago, like she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. In Bay City, he had a family of sorts — Al, Rose, Huggy, John and Maggie, Miss Lula June, and more. Good memories. But he still felt… ungrounded.

It dawned on him as he was turning onto Amherst that his fare’s destination was the police academy. Something goin’ on tonight I don’t know about? We ain’t supposed to move in ‘til Sunday.

He cleared his mind and concentrated on driving. He was still a block away when he spotted what was probably his fare–a tall, slender but well-built man, standing on the sidewalk with some baggage. The evening sun lit up the blond hair as if it were a secondary sun. As he drew closer, it seemed the entire man glowed golden.

Dave cut over to the curb at the last possible moment and stopped the cab with the front passenger door directly across from his fare. He threw the transmission into park and leaned over the front seat. “You the guy who called for a taxi?” he asked through the open window.

By then, the man had bent at the waist and placed a hand on the top of the door. “That’s me,” he said with a hesitancy that Dave read as shyness.

He saw bright blue eyes that reminded him of the California summer sky and sea he loved. Something indescribable, just beneath awareness, clicked within him. An unacknowledged inkling that this person was important.

“Great,” he said with more exuberance than was probably appropriate for the situation. “I’ll help ya load your stuff.”

“Nancy –”

“It’s Vanessa now, remember, Ken?” his wife said with equal parts sarcasm and petulance in her tone. “Two years, and you’re still calling me by that pathetic name.”

Ken sighed. “Sorry, Vanessa, but old habits, you know. I’ll try harder, promise. But you must admit I’m much better. It’s been, what, six months since I last tripped up?” He stepped into the beautiful woman’s space, smiled lovingly at her, softly kissed her pouting lips. A moment later, he felt those lips transform into a smile.

“Do we have time for…?” he asked as he held her close.

Vanessa sighed. “Your timing sucks, Ken. I’m late picking up Angela because I wanted us to talk. And you’ve already called for the cab.”

He frowned with disappointment and kissed her again. “In that case, can’t wait ‘til my first leave.”

She scowled. “If you had just stayed in law school, this wouldn’t be an issue. We’d be in bed by now. I still don’t understand why you have to go to the academy tonight.”

Ken released his hold and backed away. “We’ve been over this a hundred times, Van, including today. Being a policeman is what I want to do, more than anything. Modeling is what you want. And if I’m going to join you after the shoot in Monterey tomorrow night and most of Sunday, I need to move in tonight.”

She grabbed his left wrist and twisted, pulling out an “Oomph” from him.

He quickly seized her offending hand and squeezed just hard enough to make her let go. There she goes again, doing her best to turn a nice moment into a brawl. “Hurting me is not going to get you your way, Nancy.” His voice held promise and threat.

Vanessa snorted in derision. “I despise Luke Huntley. I hate you for doing that idiotic ride-along with him.” Her tone was as venomous as a snake’s bite. “We had our lives planned, Ken. You were going to be an entertainment lawyer. Then you wrecked them! And for what? A dangerous job that earns you pennies! Where’s the prestige in that?”

Ken looked up at the ceiling then back at his wife. “For the last time, Van, as far as I’m concerned, being a policeman is a noble profession. It speaks to me like nothing else ever has. I can really help people, which in itself is a kind of paycheck. I’m doing this, Mrs. Vanessa Scoville Hutchinson, whether you like it or not.” Though he said it gently, he could tell it fully ignited her anger. He seized her hand before she could slap him.

“Enough, Van.” When she quieted down, he released her hand and continued. “I love you, but I don’t have to put up with your… tantrums. Your car is gassed up and your luggage is in the trunk. I’m going to wait outside for the cab. Drive safely.” He paused as he reconsidered his plan for the weekend. “I’m going to skip the trip to Monterey. I don’t want to be tired for the first day. See you in a couple weeks.” Knowing Van would not help him, Ken picked one suitcase, then tucked a second under that arm. Finally he snagged his guitar case. “Could you at least open the door?” When she didn’t move, he added, “Please?”

Doing a spot-on impersonation of a spoiled child denied her dessert, Vanessa huffed and stomped over to the front door. She yanked it open and gave Ken a malignant stare as he passed through.

He barely cleared the threshold before the door was slammed behind him. He closed his eyes in misery when he heard the chain slide in place. She’ll come around, once she sees how happy I am and she realizes how much this means to me. Not for the first — or the last, he was sure — time, he dismissed Van’s bad behavior in emotional self-defense.

He struggled to stay upright as he lugged his baggage down the narrow steps from his apartment. Hell, I don’t even have a home with my own wife. It’s an apartment, a place where I sleep, eat, and have sex. He couldn’t help but recall that night exactly twelve years ago when he first tried to define “home.” And he still hadn’t, but was hopeful he’d know it when he found it.

Then he had a ridiculous thought. Maybe the station house will become a sort of home for me. Filled with like-minded people who understand each other, look out for each other, have common goals. He began to grow excited about starting this new part of his life.

A few minutes later, he spotted the distinctive yellow car with sepia-colored lettering used by the Bay City Cab Company. He soon realized that the cab might not be his because the driver wasn’t slowing down. At the last second, however, the cab abruptly moved to the curb and stopped when the front passenger door was directly in front of him. That was some fancy driving.

Ken heard the transmission rumble when put into park so rapidly. Oh, this ride is gonna be interesting.

“You the guy who called for a taxi?” he heard an accented voice say as he bent forward. Has to be a New Yorker.

Ken placed a hand on the top of the door. “That’s me,” he said with a little bashfulness that always appeared when he met someone new.

And then he saw those eyes. The color of sapphire, of twilight that he loved, and twinkling like two North Stars. Something indefinable, hovering in the back of his mind, clicked within him. A distant notion that this person was important.

“Great! I’ll help ya load your stuff.” The cabbie was out of the car and sliding over its hood before Hutch could say anything. Pretty friendly and energetic.

“What the hell you got in these?” Dave asked as he picked up the two suitcases. “You bringin’ your own set of weights? They got those at the police academy gym, ya know.” He grunted as he heaved them, none too gently, into the trunk.

Ken, clutching his beloved guitar close to him to prevent this unknown quantity from accidentally damaging it or the case, said, “Better. I packed a few books.”

“I think you mean a whole freakin’ library. Ya know, they got all the books you’ll need at the academy.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’d just like to have a couple of my old law books with me.”

Dave slammed the trunk closed while absorbing the information. “So, uh, you a lawyer?” he asked nervously.

Ken’s smile was shy and close-lipped. “No. I had one year of law school before I quit. One of my courses this spring had an optional ride-along with a police officer. That convinced me what I was really meant to do.” Ken gave the hack a questioning look. “How did you know I’m going to the police academy?”

Dave laughed. “Wondered how long it’d take ya to connect the dots. First, I’m a cabbie and I know this city all kinds of ways. Second, I’m goin’, too. We’re gonna be classmates.” His grin held a touch of smugness.

Now Ken laughed. “Well, then, I guess introductions are in order. Ken Hutchinson.”

“Dave Starsky.” He stuck out his hand.

Ken freed a hand from the guitar case and gripped the hand offered to him. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

At that first touch, both men had the fleeting thought that they had found something. But what? And then the thought was gone.

Neither willing to part, their hands stayed clasped for what most people would have considered an uncomfortably long time, though neither thought it anything but natural.

“Well, Ken doesn’t suit ya, and Hutchinson is too long. ‘Sides, Hutch fits you.”

“A lot of folks in my high school and college would agree with you. Now, you seem more like a last-name guy to me, Starsky.”

“Works for me! Most everyone does use that name, except the ladies I date. And relatives.” Starsky released Hutch’s hand as he tilted his head up and looked at a window. “And speaking of ladies, that one has been starin’ at us since I got here. Kinda with an evil eye, ya know?”

Hutch cast a glance over his shoulder. He frowned when Vanessa flipped him the bird and spiked him with an ugly look. “That is my wife.” He waved with just his fingers before turning back to his new friend.

Starsky whistled a single note that had a cautionary tone to it. “She is gorgeous but she don’t seem too happy with you.”

Hutch sighed. “Yeah, she isn’t. She wants me to be an attorney to the stars, not a cop.”

“Good choice on your part. I’d take being a cop over anything else. ‘Cept maybe a race car driver.” He winked at Hutch then paused before asking, “Why are you movin’ in now? That’s supposed to be Sunday.”

“I got permission to drop off my things tonight because I was going to visit my wife at her fashion shoot in Monterey after the reception tomorrow and return Sunday evening. My car’s in the shop and won’t be ready until tomorrow. The commandant’s secretary said it would be better if I moved in tonight. So I called a cab because I was pretty sure Vanessa wouldn’t take me.” Hutch blushed and looked down but not soon enough to hide his sadness, self-doubt, and pain. Surprisingly, he didn’t even question why he had revealed so much information and his vulnerability to this stranger who was swiftly becoming not-a-stranger.

Starsky was silent for a few heartbeats. “Hey, I get it. She’ll come ‘round. I mean, who can resist a guy in a uniform, right?” He squeezed Hutch’s forearm reassuringly.

Hutch looked back up, caught Starsky’s eyes. There was mirth there, but also empathy. And that rare acceptance of who he was. Hutch’s lips formed a small smile that spoke of trust. Starsky returned it with one of his own.

“Right,” Hutch said softly. “As long as it’s not a convict’s uniform.”

Starsky laughed boisterously. In a fair imitation of Bogart, he said, “Ya know, Hutchie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Wow. Your Jimmy Cagney really is terrible.”

“Hmm… I’m thinkin’ you have some wires in your brain twisted up. That was Bogie, ya big dummy. Hey, if you can do a Bacall, we could take this on the road.”

Hutch grinned. “How about we give being cops a chance first before we make other plans?”

Starsky clapped his hands together a few times and said, “Then I guess we better get this show on the road. Hey, why don’tcha put that case in the back seat and ride up front with me?”

“Uh, is that allowed?”

“Sure it is! Just duck down real quick if you see a cab cop.”

A blink, then Hutch said with all seriousness, “God, I hope they’re not as bad as the phone police.”

Starsky burst out laughing once more. Hutch joined him, though his laugh was much quieter.

“Yep,” Starsky declared, “what a beginning.” He opened the back door for Hutch, who placed his guitar case on the seat. Then, because it felt like the thing to do, they slung their arms around each other’s shoulders.

It was that moment when both men unconsciously realized that home could be a person, and they had found home.

Author’s Note: Thanks to Suzan for the beta; all final decisions were mine so don’t blame her. Johnny Dark, starring Tony Curtis, is a 1955 movie about race cars. Morfar and farfar are Norwegian for grandmother and grandfather.