1941 Packard OneSixty

In 1949 my father had a 1937 Ford sedan. It was the car that took baby Alan home to Tinley Park from the hospital in Chicago. My mom loves to tell the story of that trip out to Tinley Park. She always points out that she could see the street going by though the hole in the floor boards. Anyway, the ride home. It seems that the roads were a mess, it was January, and at some point Dad lost control of the aging Ford sending it into a ditch. As the car ground to a halt in that ditch, Mom dropped me on the floor. No, I didn't go through that hole in the floor, but I hit my head and Mom says I cried for a very long time. That clears up a lot of things and might explain my addiction to Excedrin.

Dad replaced that old Ford with a gorgeous, 1941 Packard OneSixty. My favorite memory of that car was going to the Dairy Palace for frozen custard cones. We were not allowed to eat them in the car, but had to sit out on the running boards until we finished them off. That took about two minutes. Oh, and if you're wondering, the car was not moving while we sat out there. I also remember being around three years old and sitting in the front seat with my mom and dad. It was great. There was the big radio in the dashboard, glowing like magic while we listened to Jack Benny. And when I got tired of that, Mom would let me stand in front of her and look out through the windshield. These days kids have to be strapped into a giant pod seat, facing backwards, in the back seat, until they're sixteen years old. Anyway, I loved that car and if by some bit of fate or clairvoyance on my dad's part, he had kept that car, it would be worth around forty thousand dollars now. But of course, he did not. It got run over by a semi-truck in the parking lot of the trucking company Dad worked for. No, Dad was not driving the semi.

I've been looking for this photo for the last year and a half. Dad's sad Packard, crushed.