Photo by Sylvia Martin

Memories and a Mustang:

A Sweet Ride of Recollections
by Anna Martin

ith our family gathered in a circle, hands held ready to bless the meal, my
Grandpa always says, “If it weren’t for me, none of y’all would be here.”
Then the entire family – two grandparents, five children, twelve grand-
children, and sixteen great-grandchildren, plus spouses, friends, boy-
friends, and girlfriends present – would look around the room and realize

36 ELEGANT ISLAND LIVING

he’s right. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t
be here to tell the story of Carroll Har-
ris Martin, Jr., my hero and my grandfather.
My memories of Grandpa and my family began
during my early childhood at our annual gath-
ering for July Fourth at his house on Bartow
Street. After a big meal and family photo, in
which we’d all be wearing the same Old Navy
American flag t-shirts, the entire crew would
pile the kids in wagons and head to the pier for
fireworks. One of my favorite memories about
Sandcastle, the neighborhood where I grew up,
was a small, secret passageway through which
my dad, sister and I could ride our bikes to a
street near Bartow that granted us easy access to
Grandpa’s home.
While I had a happy childhood brimming with
wonderful memories, I’ll always cherish one in
particular. I can recall each detail as if it were
yesterday. I was finally old enough to ride in
Grandpa’s beloved Ford Mustang: a classic
1966 brick-red convertible with no seatbelts.
This was a huge deal for my younger sister and
me, since at the ages of seven and nine, despite
our incessant begging, we were not allowed to
ride in the Mustang for safety reasons.
But happily, the big day came and we could
scarcely contain our excitement as we arrived at
Grandpa’s by bike and gleefully took our places
in the backseat of the Mustang, with the top
down to excite us, and entirely lacking seat belts
to restrain us. I can still recall the rich smell of
the stiff, well-maintained leather seats and run-
ning my fingers over the tight stitching as we
patiently waited on my dad and Grandpa to
climb in and whisk us away. I remember study-
ing the beautiful and bygone era styling of the
front seat compartment with its vintage steer-
ing wheel, floor gearshift, period radio knobs
and assorted dashboard array. These were surely
simpler times, yet the ride was never sweeter
nor more memorable.
Grandpa noticed we were exploring every
crevice of the mustang and quickly warned
us, “Don’t mess with my quarters!” We discov-
ered these coins in the vehicle’s center console,
stacked to the brim and readied for the use for
the toll once required to cross the causeway.
With three generations of the Mar-
tin family in their seats, we took
off for a joyful, seatbelt-
free parade through St.
Simons Island.
Other than the fact
that I’m on God’s
green Earth, of which
I’m reminded at each
family prayer, I owe so
much to my Grandpa. I’ve always had a great
love for the University of Georgia, which led
me to follow a family legacy of UGA gradu-
ates. My Grandpa instilled in me a strong work
ethic and the conviction that I can do and be
anything by following my dreams and working
hard. He has taught me to get my back up off
the wall and dance. (The two of us have per-
fected “The Grandpa Dance.”) And I’ll never
forget the many songs he sings out at random:
“The Martin Family Anthem,” “Paddy Mur-
phy,” his own version of “Humoresque,” and
the one that starts, “Oh she shimmied and she
shimmied…” which would land us in trouble
if we sang any more of the racy lyrics back in
the day.
There are many things about Grandpa that we
can count on. He has shot his age or better over
200 times on the golf course. The walls of his
home are covered with family photos because,
he says, “You never see them if you stick them
in an album.” (There happens to be an “Anna
and Lizzie” wall, but of course
there are no favorites in
our family.) At 6:30 p.m.
sharp, you can expect
to see a Beefeater Gin
and Schweppes Tonic in
his hand. Grandpa never
missed one of my dance
recitals, even though he
hypothesized that they got
longer each year. He prac-
tices faith in everyday life. He
has love for his fellow man. He lives simply. If
truth is to be told, to know him is to love him.
And if it weren’t for him, “none of y’all would
be here” reading this story. (continues)
OPPOSITE PAGE: Anna Martin and her grandfather with his
beloved Mustang.
THIS PAGE: An illustration of Anna drawn by her grandpa that
appears in various forms on every birthday, graduation, or note
he’s written her through the years.
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