I remember my first car. It was a 1956 Chevy. My parents purchased the car when it was new. It did not have a radio, seat belts, and a heater or power anything. It came with 2/60 air conditioning, that's two windows cranked down, driving 60 MPH. If you wanted the windows down you cranked 'em down by hand, one at a time.
It had a bench seat and when you turned a corner, you held on to the steering wheel, so you did not slide to the other side of the car. My Dad said seat belts were unsafe. I mean how would get out if the car caught on fire?
That car was built solid, so solid that the dash was steel. This car was built like a tank! I had a wheel come off the car, while on the freeway, going down hill. After hitting the rail, I just had a small dent and a broken headlight. There were no crumple zones in the car! No Sir! It was built in America! A lot of people died in crashes, but the car was repairable.
There was so much room under the hood that neighborhood cats were known to sleep there, on rainy days. You had to pump the accelerator a few times and hold it to get it to start. It had the new automatic choke. But if you pumped it too many times you would flood it. Then you would have to wait until the gas fumes subsided. It helped if you raised the hood and took the air filter off. The car needed to warm up before you drove it, or it would spit and sputter and maybe even die. Oh that was a great car!
I went with friends up into the mountains to play in the snow. That's where they keep snow in Southern California. Since the car did not have a heater, we decided to use a Plumber's torch as a defroster. My dad used an old rag, but that took a lot of rubbing and sometimes we needed to roll down the windows to reduce the fogging. The torch worked really well until Bobby got the windshield too hot and it shattered into a million pieces. That made driving a little more challenging, while it was snowing. We also needed to clear the snow off the dash and front seat before we drove home.
Dad wasn't too happy with the broken windshield, but he allowed me to work it off by thinning a thick patch of rose bushes. They should have called'em Blood Roses.
So, when I inherited the car, the first thing I did was go to the junkyard to get a heater. Next it was a radio and eight track tape player. I could not afford Mags (that's custom wheels for you younger folks), but I did give it the first wax job in ten years. My Dad was a very practical man. He said, "If you buy a car for more then transportation, then you probably paid too much." We changed our own oil and tuned up the car ourselves.
As a teen, I was not mechanically inclined. When I was told to tighten something, I really wasn't sure which way was tight. That is why I snapped off a spark plug and the bleeder valve for the breaks. That's when I learned about "easy outs". I went through two wheel bearings before I adjusted them properly.
I had to buy a new mailbox for the neighbor across the street. I somehow forgot to block the rear tires, before I jacked up the car. I went to the garage to get a tool and when I returned, the car was across the street and on the neighbor's lawn. It's rather hard to deny tire tracks and a dented bumper. I replaced a head light once, but I forgot to check the adjustment, so it looked like I was searching for alien spacecraft or a new store had opened in the neighborhood. I also learned to keep oil and grease off the new break shoes. I am so glad we did not live on a busy street.
I have many fond memories attached to that car. But none so dear as the time my Dad spent helping me fix it. Even though he shook his head at times when I made mistakes, I knew he loved me! I miss that old car and my Dad.
Ken Bear Cole
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