For the Love of Slow, Old, Cars

 

When I was fifteen I really wanted to buy a car. Not any car, but a car from the 1930’s, preferably a Ford. There was something about those big old bulbous autos with that deco styling I just loved. Of course at the age of fifteen, not having a drivers license and having a dad who thought I was nuts, I’d have settled for a Rambler station wagon. To my father, cars from the 1930’s were just the old junks of his teen years. So when my dad came home from work one night and said a friend of his had a 1935 Studebaker for sale for $300, and would I like to buy it, I just about peed in my pants with excitement.

In my fevered mind that car was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. It was a huge, black, four door sedan with a shiny deep black lacquer paint job. Of course I bought it on the spot, and rode home in the passenger seat with my dad driving it and telling me what a piece of crap it was. Until I got my learners permit all I could do was drive it up and down the driveway. To extend my driving thrill a few feet more I’d even drive it onto the backyard grass. After getting my learners permit I recruited a buddy of mine because he already had a drivers license but no car. In 1966 a kid with a learner's permit could drive as long as any licensed driver was in the car with him. This allowed me to drive all over town with as many of my friends and hangers on as we could pack into that old car.
Over the next few years things changed and I left my parent's house. After moving out on my own, a collector car wasn’t feasible. So my dad sold it for $600 and gave me the original $300 I’d paid for it, keeping the rest as payment for years of storage in his garage. Now I have my own garage. It has two cars in it and they're both mine. One of them is a 1929 Ford and I'm as excited about that car as I was about that 1935 Studebaker. Funny thing is, I still know as much about fixing a car as I did in 1966, which is not much. So, we'll see how long I stay excited.