Based on some feedback, I will continue to discuss cars that I have had. I mentioned that we bought our first new car, which was a 1959 Rambler American with a Continental tire kit on the back.
The latter made the car rather spiffy—well, as much as a Rambler could be. We drove it home and decided to get a bite to eat at a restaurant. I pulled into the last open spot, which turned out to be next to a Rolls-Royce. That sort of cooled our feelings on the new Rambler.
However, we had the Rambler for some years with a variety of experiences in it. One of the first was driving down a street when some jerk came roaring out of a side street. I slammed on the brakes and uttered, “Stupid bastard.” The reason for my uttering such uncouth words was due to the fact that cars didn’t have the safety items they do now—no seat belts, etc. Our oldest son was not quite two then, and he was in the back seat. He had slid onto the floor, and we got to him as soon as possible. Luckily, he was not hurt. We went out and bought what amounted to a small playpen that we wedged between the front and back seats.
Approximately two weeks later, we were in the same location as above when another idiot came zooming out of the same side street. I slammed on the brakes, but I didn’t say anything. We were catching our breath when we heard a little voice from the back utter, “Stupid bastard.” It took us some time to convince him that the words were not good.
The Rambler had no air conditioning, and driving down from Pennsylvania to visit my parents in Florida in the summer was no fun. Opening all the windows, including the little window wings that cars had on the doors, provided little relief. However, the most unexpected experience happened one day when I was driving and felt a weight on my head. I looked up and saw that the roof of the car by the windshield was slowly sinking. We had a car-top carrier on top of the car, as the Rambler did not have room for people and luggage! We stopped and I pulled the carrier back some, and the roof stopped sinking. We got to Florida and back without a problem. However, every once in a while, that spot on the roof would come down on your head. We would just push it back up and continue driving. You had to be resourceful in those days.
The Rambler’s demise as a car of the Evans family came one day when The Blond in the House was driving it and the brakes failed. She was in a subdivision, not going very fast, and the car drifted to a stop. It turned out that the brake fluid line had dropped down and the tire rubbed a hole in it. We had it fixed, but The Blond would not touch that car anymore.
Used cars, especially eight-year-old Ramblers, were not worth much. I put an ad in the local paper offering it for sale for $98.68. It turned out that the president of the school board used to have a similar Rambler and missed it. After some fierce negotiations, I dropped the 68 cents and he bought the car. He never mentioned a sinking roof after he bought it, so I imagine that he enjoyed its remaining life.
We lived one time in Middletown Township, PA, which was the home of Reedman’s, the world’s largest automobile dealer. (It was also the home of the Langhorne Speedway, the last of the dirt tracks for racing cars). The point was you didn’t head to Reedman’s to figure out which car you liked of a single manufacturer. Instead, you could look at most American brands and some foreign ones all on one huge lot. As I can be contrary at times, I decided I did not want to be involved with such a large organization.
Thus, I went to an Olds dealer and purchased a 1965 Olds F-85 station wagon. It had a six-cylinder engine, even though the dealer thought I should buy the eight-cylinder version. It would have been more costly, and the six worked fine. It was a nice car with no faults. It had air conditioning and was automatic. It was our first one with automatic drive, and a certain household person lamented that she liked the stick shift better. Our next car was a stick shift, although for the life of me I can’t recall what brand it was. Of course, after a while, there was an admission that perhaps automatic drive was OK.
Our future cars were all of the automatic persuasion. I believe the second automatic was a 1973 Chevrolet Caprice station wagon. It was the longest car you ever saw. The sticker price was $5,500, which I felt was outrageous. It had some obvious shortcomings in that it got eight miles per gallon around town and 12 miles on the road. There was more, and perhaps I will speak of it another day—but then maybe not!
Barry Evans is a columnist for Villages-News.com.