Today’s Curbside Classic brought back a flood of memories. Now most of those are not so much memories of an actual ’56 Chevy, but my endless machinations (more like imaginations, actually) of how I was going to have one as my first car. I know; me and 43 million other young males in the sixties all with the same aspiration. But mine were probably different than the other 42,999,999. Before I explain, let’s just say that the answer to this question undoubtedly reveals a lot about our personalities. And there’s a difference between wanting and feeling a sense of destiny or inevitability. Are you comfortable in that chair, or would you like to recline on the sofa?
The ’55 Chevy (CC here) made a deep impression on me when I first saw one in the streets of Innsbruck being piloted by tourists. Like any car-crazy kid of five or so, I was endlessly fascinated by pictures and rare sightings of more exotic and flamboyant cars, American or European. But I instantly pegged the Chevy for how it turned out to be judged historically: and ideal compromise between practicality, performance and good taste. It was a big American car, but without any of the excess that was the rage in the late fifties. The Chevy seemed to bridge the best of American and European automotive approaches; the Mercedes of American cars?
Needless to say, tri-five Chevies were very common in Iowa City during my grade school years (1960-1965), their reputation as the best-built older used car having already been cemented. It was the most sought-after cheap used car for the many married families coming to the University; the Camry of its time in that regard. I sometimes caught a ride in a ’55 four door being piloted by my fellow foreign (Egyptian) classmate Adel Towadros’ father. This was usually on very cold mornings when our ’54 Ford failed to start, once again, and Adel’s dad would see me trudging along River Road and have pity.
Sliding into that warm, roomy back living room sofa smelling faintly of exotic Mid-Eastern spices on a freezing morning was a comforting experience, and how I rued the time it was about zero and I watched Captain Kangaroo (with my little brother) too long, and saw the Chevy roll by before I got to the corner, its distinctive rounded tail obscured by a cloud of exhaust condensation as it slowly trundled towards Lincoln School on the crunchy packed snow (no salt or snow holidays back then).
During this period (1960-1965), hot rod tri-fives weren’t really yet a common commodity in Iowa City, unlike in places like California, where they were adopted almost instantly.
The hot-rodder brothers across the street from us were still in Henry-consciousness, endlessly trying to get one of their various flatulant flathead Ford rods running properly. And I hadn’t discovered magazines yet. So the image of tri-fives as solid, reliable cars continued to ferment.
The exception being the region’s most dominant dirt-track stock car racer, whose name escapes me right now. Folks headed out to West Liberty on hot summer Saturday nights to see his hotter ’56 Chevy batter its way to the the checkered flag. Well, not the Niedermeyers; but I would read about it the next day in the Press-Citizen that I helped my brother deliver.
The move to Towson in 1965 corresponded to my discovery of car magazines, everything from Road Track to Popular Hot Rodding (and many more obscure smaller rags). This was now in the heyday of the tri-fives as America’s #1 hot rod (by far), and car like the ’57 Project X became cemented in the collective testosterone-fed consciousness.
Tri-five Chevy rods were everywhere. And mostly pretty ratty, with their perpetual flat primer paint, and a straight front truck axle for that “gasser” look, if its owner could muster it. Bet that made it handle well.
I got a job solo-manning a tiny two-pump Sunoco gas station on York road on Saturdays, at the tender age of fifteen and a half (try that now). Shorty, one of the weekday gas jockeys, was a genuine hillbilly recently arrived from hollers of West Virginia, and had a rough ’56 two-door sedan with rear spring shackle extensions (bought from J.C. Whitney, no doubt). He would come by on Saturdays to hang out and add another layer of flat black primer from his stash of cans rattling in the trunk.
He was a very sweet guy, obviously lonely in the big city (West Virginians then were like more recent Mexican immigrants, moving to where the jobs were). One afternoon, after his can of primer was finished, he decided to put on a little show for me on his exit down York Road. He gunned it, dumped the clutch, and the car dropped down on its haunches, listing to the right side where the cheap rear spring shackle broke apart.
Shorty was crestfallen, and I felt so bad for him as his pride and joy slowly limped down the street like a dog with a bum rear leg.
For me (like so many things), the whole hot-rod drag-racing scene stayed mostly in the realm of my drug-store-magazine-rack-fueled imaginations. I finally went to my first (and last) drag race, at Capitol Raceway, in about 1967 or 1968, and it was a mixed bag. Even though drag racing seems very simple and obvious, if one doesn’t understand the game and its subtleties, it can be less than than totally engaging (a bit like baseball).
Especially so since the line-up was hardly like the NHRA Winternationals I’d seen pictures of in Hot Rod. The majority of the racers were stock and mildly-modified cars, along with a few gassers and maybe two rails. The worst were the stockers with mufflers on: where’s the excitement in seeing a couple of cars quietly whooshing down a road off into the distance? Like with so many popular American past-times, I felt a bit like a fish out of water.
Although I always considered the ’55 to be the best looking of the bunch, for some reason ’56s seemed to keep finding their way into my life. One that really grabbed me was a ’56 210 hardtop coupe parked near the Towson courthouse that its owner had painted a monochrome dark blue, and which sported ’56 Corvette spinner wheel covers and Firestone 500 high performance tires. It was a very mild custom, accentuating the Chevy’s all-round performance capabilities, including its much better than average handling in its day. I was really drawn to that.
In the fall of 1967, I started my ill-fated high school years at Loyola. There were a few fast new cars in the parking lot, including a red ’68 GTO. But I found myself gravitating to this one kid’s ’56 Bel Air sedan, obviously a hand-me down from parents or an uncle or such. He drove it every day way down from Dundalk, on the other side of Baltimore, with a load-full of other kids that car-pooled with him.
The Bel Air V8 was now a dozen years old, which was quite a lot back then, but it just seemed so solid and…and…trustworthy? I’m grasping for the right words here. I know; it oozed with security; like a familiar bed or comfort food, or….childhood. As a low-status freshman in a preppy high school, that Chevy really spoke to me, which also occupied just about the lowest rung in the parking lot pecking order. I just wanted it in the baddest way; but I suspect I would have driven it somewhere other than to school if I had it. And I would have spent my money on gas, lots of it, and not on “fixing it up”.
My best friend’s older brother that had gotten me that job at the Sunoco station drove a nice old ’57 Bel Air four door. When he headed off to college, he needed to sell it. Although I had no license, I told him I wanted to buy it. But it was not to be (probably for the best), and instead the owner of the station, who also owned a small taxi company, snapped it up from under me. He knew a good car on the cheap when he saw it. So it became his daily driver; a bit odd, considering he owned a fleet of ’65, ’66 and ’67 Dodge Coronet taxis.
During this time, my older brother’s best friend drove a hand-me-down ’55 150 stripper, with the six and stick shift. It was called “The Beast”, and was the endless butt of their derision, as they were heavily into sports cars. Of course my brother’s MGA was perpetually breaking down, and The Beast was always called upon to get the parts needed until the next time. No matter how they abused it, physically or verbally, it never complained.
A year or so after my Sunoco job, I worked at a BP station on weekends. A kid the owner knew needed to sell his very ratty ’56 two-door that had seen all kinds of abuse. But the body was still solid; in fact, I never saw any rust on any tri-five in Baltimore back then. I almost got that one, despite still not having a license as a consequence of having been caught driving my mother’s car without one. I was just going to park it a block or two away from from home…. I can’t remember exactly why the deal wasn’t consummated, but it was probably (again) for the best. It was a heap, despite its still-solid body.
There’s little doubt that I saw ’56 Chevys as my escape pod from my unhappy Towson years, and I probably would have just headed off into the sunset in one had I snagged one, license or not. But I didn’t, so I ended up hitchhiking westward, and found myself back in Iowa City for a few years more.
And my first car turned out to be a 1963 Corvair Monza four speed, gifted to me by my brother. Quite the contrast from a ’56 Chevy at that. But I did finally get to drive a ’56 Chevrolet, thanks to the Corvair, and what a gem it was.
In the depths of the winter of 1972, I got a very part time job as a domestic helper to a couple who were well up in their eighties, and who lived in the nicest house in Manville Heights, my old neighborhood. I used to walk by it every day to grade school, and how I coveted that stately brick mansion (currently for sale at $1,495,000). Why couldn’t we live there?
Mr. Stronks had once been very successful in the encyclopedia distribution business, and built this house in 1928, at the height of the Roaring Twenties. He still walked to his office downtown every day, for a few hours, and I had to help the physically-disabled Mrs. Stronks make the beds and vacuum and such. Odd job for a long-haired kid…but she fed me lunch too.
One day she told me I needed to run some errands for her, delivering Christmas packages and cards to various friends around town. My Corvair was laid up at the time with a bad starter, and I had walked to their house. So she handed me some keys and told me their car was in the garage off the alley. I was tense with excitement: what kind of fine luxury car was waiting for me there?
I pulled up the door, and a very familiar sight greeted me. Ha! A ’56 Chevy four door, and not even a Bel Air. It was a 210 sedan, with the V8 and Powerglide. And it was in like-new condition. My first time actually driving a ’56 Chevy turned into a time warp. It ran so smoothly, and was a genuine pleasure to drive. With the V8, it felt quite lively, to the extent I could test its capabilities on my appointed errand route. And it exuded the same sense of solidity and security that the Stronk’s big brick house did. Now how could I get them to adopt me?
My story has gotten way too long, so I’m now getting off the couch to let you have your turn. What car did you really want to have as your first car? And why that particular car? And did the wishes come true?
DeLorean. I was obsessed with them from the age of 12. Just found out the other day that a neighbor has one.
Speaking of “first cars,” the 1977 Oldsmobile brochure shows an electronic digital clock/radio option. Was this the first car to offer such a thing? I know Cadillac introduced one in 1978.
What I would want for a first car would be a Ford Thunderbird SC (89-93) or TC (83-88), a Merkur XR4Ti, Merkur Scorpio, or a 1st-2nd gen Ford Taurus SHO, all with 5-speed sticks please.
There is still some hope for this world!
The good news is that all but the TC and the Merkurs can be found for under $2,500.
I still see the occasional TC around here for less than $2500 but of course they are usually pretty ratty originals that need paint and interior work to be something you’d really want to be seen in.
Here are the cars I’m trying to sell to my parents:
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1991_Ford_Thunderbird_202163065_7
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1989_Ford_Thunderbird_201087460_2
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1995_Ford_Taurus_164550776_5
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1992_Ford_Taurus_197097561_74
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1982_BMW_6+series_190934565_1
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1986_Nissan_300ZX_193071626_44
Here are some other cars I am trying to sell to my parents:
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1992_Toyota_MR2_162952493_6
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1992_Toyota_MR2_196340825_10
http://www.carsforsale.com/used_cars_for_sale/1985_Mazda_RX-7_197354978_10
The 92 SHO looks like it could be a great deal on nice car if the interior is in good condition.
The SC could be a good deal if the head gaskets have been done.
I wouldn’t touch the 89 T-bird, If you aren’t getting a SC or TC the 4.6 is the way to go or even a 5.0 but not a 3.8 with that ratty of an interior.
The interior of the BMW will disenegrate once it gets put back into regular use stay far far away from that one.
The Z might be OK if it has had its clutch and spark plugs done if not they are due and will double your investment in the car.
2K is way too much for the first MR2 that needs an engine as by the time you get it on the road you’ll have double the asking price. The other MR2 looks like it has had the best care and I wouldn’t buy a 250K version.
Run from the RX too with the mis-match wheels, faded paint and the bits of underhood dress up indicates it too has likely been hammered on pretty hard.
So year that low mile SHO is the best deal and shouldn’t need a ton of money put into it though a clutch could be looming soon.
Thanks for the advice.
FYI, all the Tbirds in my above posts are SC’s.
P.S. Is the Ford-Yamaha SHO V6 known for mechanical issues? Personally, I would like to swap a supercharged Essex out from a 5-speed 89-93 SC and drop a bored-and-stroked SHO V6 (bored-and-stroked 3.2L SHO block, with the intake and exhaust cams from a 3.0L SHO V6.)
My mistake, I just did a quick scan of the blue bird and saw it was an Auto in the top and once I saw the shredded seat didn’t make it to the rest of the pics.
The Yamaha Headed Vulcan is pretty durable as they will typically do 200K w/o issue.
However you can’t do an easy swap of them in place of an Essex engine. Yes the Taurus used both the Vulcan (The SHO block is based on the Vulcan) and Essex but they use a different bell housing pattern and all the rest of the mounting boss locations are different. The Vulcan uses the same bell housing pattern as the 2.3 HSC (tempo) engine while the 3.8 is the same as the Windsor and 1st casting 4.6.
So to stick a SHO engine in a RWD application you’ll need to find some pieces like the trans and engine mounts from a 3.0 Ranger or Aerostar and have to fabricate a lot of other things because the Taurus accessories like the PS pump and AC compressor will be on the wrong side and the front end drive components are compatible between the SHO and standard Vulcan.
If you want a Bird with a DOHC 4v engine spend a couple bucks more and get a Mark VIII or stuff a Mark VIII engine in a bird.
Eric, how much would a DOHC 4v weigh compared to an Essex v6?
Here is a list of various Ford engine weights. However take it with a grain or two of salt since there is some variance as to what exactly is included in each specific engine IE exhaust manifolds flywheel/flex plate.
Jeez… times have changed. I bought the TurboCoupe in the picture below for one hundred American dollars when I was not much older than you, Edward!
Please tell me if the TC had a 5-speed stick or not.
Automatic, the only bad thing about it!
I had a 5-speed TC too, it cost more but was still cheap. If you can find one, they’re really great cars – very easy to work on, surprisingly resilient, and just as comfortable cruising for hours on the highway as they are devouring tight back roads. The one thing I think would suck about owning one these days is that they really need 93 octane to run properly. You can use regular and it’ll run “OK” (there’s a switch on the dash that will retard spark timing to safely run 87) but it results in a noticeable power loss, and I always found that it took a couple tankfulls of 93 after running 87 to get the car back to where it should be. When I had both of them I was bitching about having to pay $1.75/gallon for premium, now you’re pretty much guaranteed to pay over $4/gallon for it!
That said, they actually do get pretty good gas mileage when driven conservatively. I would see close to 30mpg on long trips.
Edward – I also like that 300ZX a lot, seems like a hell of a deal for that price!! The Z31 gets a bad rap because it’s seen as a bloated version of what was originally a very pure sports car, but outside of that context I’ve always considered them pretty great cars. When I had both TCs, I had a friend who owned an ’86 300ZX exactly like that and I thought the two cars were pretty similar.
That SHO looks nice body wise but make sure you get records. The SHO’s Yamaha engine(the 5spd gets the 3.0l and the auto gets the 3.2l) can be labor intense. If you know how to work on cars or have the inclination to learn then a SHO would make good car. If not then you might want to pass. Try to find out if the car had its 60,000 mile service which is very crucial as oil seals are changed then. When you look at the car, pull a couple of spark plug wires off the front cylinder head(the head facing you when you open the hood), and look into the holes where the spark plugs are. If you see oil pass on the car unless the dealer has the seals replaced for you. Next test the clutch, make sure it is good because replacing the clutch in a SHO is one of the most time consuming jobs out there and there is no easy way to do it and it will take 8-10 hours.
Always assume the clutch is on its way out because most SHO’s were dogged(which in all honesty is to be expected with the speed and power of the thing. If you wanted to nicely cruise on the road you bought a regular Taurus with the Vulcan in it)
Doing minor services or repairs to the engine are also a slight bit of a chore due to the big assed intake on the engine. Unlike the regular 3.0l and 3.8l Taurus engines with loads of room in the engine bay, the SHO engine bay is cramped.
Now don’t let all this put you off. The 92-95 SHO is a fine car with a fine engine but it will require constant work as it gets older.
Now SC’s are nice cars too but they suffer from the Essex headgasket eater engine just like the regular 3.8l(usually the cylinder head on the drivers side)
T-Bird TC are getting hard to find. The good news is the V8 versions of the 87-88 T-Bird are plentiful.
Try looking for a Lincoln Mark VII(especially the LSC) as that will run like a scolded ape
The 3.8 in the Taurus is more cramped than the SHO for many things. The engine bay really wasn’t designed to take a 90 degree V so it is very tight on the sides. However the front of the engine is tighter on the SHO.
Valve cover gaskets aren’t that bad. Yeah the intake looks imposing but it really isn’t that hard to remove the upper portion as an assembly, it can be removed in 15 minutes or less.
As far as the clutch goes it is easier and better in my experience to just pull the engine and trans as a unit out the top. Doing so you can do the clutch and timing belt in about the same time as doing the clutch per the factory shop manual procedure of pulling the trans out the bottom. Of course I spent over 2 years where the only thing I did was R&Ring engines.
My much younger sister (she’s 12) recently asked me if I’d be willing to hang onto the next 82-92 Firebird I come across, for her to have once she’s old enough. I was pleasantly surprised, since prior to that all I’d seen her express interest in were late-model Grand Prixes and G6es. (Her take on my rides – ’71 GP, ’82 Regal, and the various muscle-era stuff that I’ve turned over? Nice to ride in, but hates the styling.)
I explained to her that, this being rust country, it’d likely take her and I from today until she received her license to restore any local car in average condition. Her response? “If I do all the repairs on it, then I know it’s all done right, and I can keep it forever.” 🙂 🙂 🙂
Guess she picked up more from her older brothers and daddy than any of us thought.
I really wanted a BMW e39.
Now, I’m sure the BMW is a fine car, and I wouldn’t mind having one today. However, at the time I was a complete Car and Driver-reading insecure toady that couldn’t think for himself. I pretty much wanted the 5-series just so I could feel superior to others. It’s probably for the best that I didn’t get one.
I like Paul’s story more.
nobody tells the truth about BMWs especially the magazines
I never really thought about it at the time, but immediately after I got my driver’s license, my mom and I was running errands around the city when she asked me if I had a thought as to what kind of car I would want to own. I looked through all the traffic surrounding us and thought which ones I could actually afford on my part time high school job. I thought about which ones were practical. As we darted around the backed up traffic lines I saw an old Plymouth Valiant practically leaning against the back fence of a used car lot.
“I would like something like that”, I finally answered. “You know, something cheap, old, cool, practical, easy to fix and something no one else in school would drive.”
A few weeks later my dad told me he would like to look at cars with the money I had saved up from work, to see what was available and to shop for prices. We looked at a lot of different cars, but if I liked it, I couldn’t afford it, and if I could afford it, I didn’t like it.
In defeat for the afternoon I remember the old Valiant parked over at the used car lot and said I wish there was something like that around. We drove into Indiana from Chicago and went past the car lot, and that old Valiant was still sitting there, leaning against the back fence.
It wasn’t for sale because the push button transmission had broken the reverse band, so it could only go forward. The previous owner was going to restore it but gave up. My dad offered to take it off the dealer’s hands for $200 and had a good laugh. Surprisingly, the salesman said that my dad’s offer was a good solution to getting rid of the car, and that he would check with the dealer to see if he would let us take it off his hands and out of his lot.
I ended up with a 1964 Plymouth Valiant 200 for $200. That was the first car I wanted, and my first car.
I love cars, but I just never covet them. It is pretty funny that like the trust-fund millionaire’s kid, I got the car I wanted for my first car and that kind of made me as rich as one for the five years I had that Valiant. It took a month to get the transmission replaced, a year to get the body fixed enough for a new paint job, and I think I was the only one besides my parents who really loved it.
I have always loved Vanilla cars ever since. I can’t imagine driving anything that someone else would find appealing and I kind of like that.
Good story. My 83 Tercel is the epitome of vanilla, at least to most people. I love it.
Well, I’ll skip the various cars my Uncles had that I lusted over, what I had picked as my first car, the one that I had an actual shot at was….
Our 1974 Vega. Although it was an automatic it was white with orange stripes and I thought it looked cool. I learned to drive in it at 15, my father making me drive around the mall parking lot (remember when malls were closed on Sundays?), parking it here and there to get the feel. In 1981 Dad started looking for a replacement, and I launched my campaign to get the Vega. For some reason ours hadn’t exploded in rust by that point and still ran well, which was almost unheard of.
Anyway the multimedia advertising / harrasment campaign failed and Dad traded it in on the Impala (which I have mentioned before as a POS with 273 motor) but it probably turned out for the best. I was bitterly disappointed, but a couple of years later I got the other family hack, the 72 Matador which turned out to be a great car. I drove it until 1991. No way the Vega would have gone that long.
I loved this story. Of the Tri-Five Chevys, the ’56 is my favorite. That 210 sedan in the last photo, with six cylinder and a three speed manual, would suit me just fine. And yes, my youthful car dream did come true. My father rewarded me with a brand new car, a 1968 Volkswagen Beetle in dark green, with off white upholstery and the pop open rear windows. God, I loved that car. It got washed every Saturday and waxed every two months. The little car was my good buddy and sole transport for nine years, through high school and dating and jobs and trips to the country. Occasionally I looked at other cars, but they always came up short to my VW in one respect or another. Sometimes I still miss it.
Being about the same age as Paul, I also lusted after tri-fives as a child, but from a Southern California perspective. There was an Adobe Beige over Sierra Gold Nomad in the neighborhood that seemed like the most perfect car in the world, when I was in grade school. By the time I reached high school, I had discovered European cars and Japanese motorcycles. My older friends were driving VW’s. Those, Volvo 544’s and Corvairs were my cars of interest as I approached sixteen. Mustangs, even though a Ford dealer was a block away, did nothing for me. Younger teachers and moms drove Mustangs. Kids mostly drove VW’s and hand-me-down station wagons (good for surfboards). Hot rodding was for inland kids. There were also a few low-riders in school.
1970 Chevelle SS Convertible. Red with black stripes.
Pontiac 6000 STE (Special Touring Edition) I lusted after that car like it was life itself. Then through some kind of divine intervention I scored one less than two years old at a closed bid government auction. The car I dreamed of owning one day became my first car. I had just turned 21 and it felt good.
In high school I really wanted a Duster or a second-gen Firebird. Those were all still fairly cheap (<$2000 for a runner)in the mid 00s, thus seemed realistic(unlike my ultimate dream cars) so I actively sought out a few examples in the classifieds that I could afford with my savings. My Dad was understandably wary about it, especially since the ones I showed him weren't exactly… um… gems, so that didn't pan out. My V8 94 Cougar was a compromise at the time, but ultimately ended up being exactly what I wanted(I didn’t know these had a V8!).
My ultimate dream cars haven't changed much since I was 8 though, but I knew a Lamborghini Countach or a Hemi Cuda was a bit optimistic by the time I was 14 lol
Starting at age eight I lusted and dreamed for many, many cars. Each September brought a roster of new delights: bigger tail fins, repeaters turn signals on the hood, vinyl roofs…. The fall issues of the car rags were so drulled on my parents had assumed I had a problem, ‘maybe we should get him a subscription to Playboy?’
All the good and great cars I desired, but all the dull sedans my parents owned. Then on one day my father told me he was saving his flat blue ’53 Henry J to be my own first car. I can not say what I thought, we pay shrinks a lot of money for that. What I will admit is that I did not buy my first auto until the age of 34.
And it was a Citron CX station wagon. Red. What do you make of that Doc?
I wanted a red 59 Buick Electra coupe at the age of 6 when I saw one driven by a US airman when out with my Grandmother. I didn’t care that it was a totally impracticable gas guzzling behemoth.My first car was a 71 Vauxhall Victor in gold and rust when I actually had a full time job after university and could afford to run a car of my own.
The CC effect struck again as I was watching the news in a Chinese take away waiting for my food and on came wrinkly rocker Sir Cliff Richard posing in front of a 57 Chevy.Thanks for another great read Paul
Gold and rust Vauxhall? How convenient, as long as the lower half was the one in rust 🙂
Sadly rust went all the way through the car, a common problem with Vauxhalls of the 50s to the 70s combined with the British climate meant an early grave for most
Yes Gem i owned several Vauxhalls most were just waiting to rust out, Im waiting for the explanation from our Vauxhall friend who posts here now
My parents didn’t really like to follow the crowd on many things, and I picked that up at a young age. So one of my first automotive lusts was the Saab Sonnet II, from the brochures I would pick up whenever they had their Saab 96 wagon serviced (frequently).
Another was a Lotus Europa, because that was my favorite Matchbox car (and I had literally hundreds). Similarly, I loved 67 Cougars – my favorite Hot Wheel. (Spectraflame green with a black top.)
Another desire was a red 1967 Ford pickup with a cab-over camper, like one I saw on vacation in Maine. Even then I loved road trips and I really wanted to be able to ride in the top bunk looking out the front as we headed north up I95. And I always loved the image of the dune buggy.
By high school, I still wanted to be different and fun (and cheap), . So (much to the amusement of my SBC-loving friends) I wanted to build a Bradley GT.
Finally, when I actually needed a car to get to my summer job after 3 years of college, I looked in the classifieds for that 67 Cougar but didn’t find it – but there was an old Ford pickup with a flat head. But dad (who was paying) had other ideas, and after looking at a colonnade Chevy with an overly aggressive salesman, I ended up with a 76 Courier pickup, with no remaining floor to speak of. Not exactly my dream car, but it served me well…
In another twist on the CC effect, I am about to head out right now to buy my son his first car if my mechanic likes it. He wants a VW GTI, but he’ll get a Mazda6. (5 speed though!)
67/68 Cougars rock,my ex had a black cherry 68 with a 302 4 barrel auto I had my hair dyed black cherry and wore matching nail polish.I’ve been a fan since I saw a new lime frost green 67,those sequential tail lights and hide away head lights did it for me.One more for my wish list and my favourite American car of all
Oh, man, I vacillated. I was torn between a Jeep CJ…when I was ten, I sat in several of them at the Jeep dealership while my old man haggled for a Wagoneer. I loved them; and later, the Army recruiter would set up a booth at our town end-of-summer fair…a booth with a whole bunch of kewel Army toys. Like M151s and M715s. Oh, man, I wanted a Jeep or jeepish rig SO bad…I didn’t want to join the Army, travel to exotic lands, meet interesting people and blow them up with grenades…but I did want to drive their trucks. To school and the grocery store, natch.
Then…Lust #2. A friend’s older brother got an old-but-rust-free 1965 Mustang. Nope, not a 2+2. Not even a V8. Hell, not even an automatic. Had a six…don’t recall what size. And a three-on-the-floor. The floor was rubber floor mats.
His father sprung for a paint job, and that Mustang looked like a million bucks. For a few months, anyway…Earl Scheib wasn’t known for his quality; the paint faded and peeled. But yeah…that was a stripper that made strippers cool.
Lust #3: A VW Beetle. I loved-loved-LOVED the size and simplicity of it. I loved how the buff books loved the handling; while the consumer-magazine scolds loved the economy of it. My old man made it plain he loved it…like some folks here, he was German and thought the VW was one thing the Germans got right.
In the end…the first car I could rightly call my own…WAS a Beetle. I loved-loved-LOVED it…for about four months. Then I got rear-ended; got a repair, which included a boneyard engine to replace the broken block from the wreck…and the lovely Super Beetle became a super headache and a lemon. After a year of grief and money spent, I dumped it.
So’s it goes…so’s it goes.
As for the Tri-Fives: I recognize today, their intristic value and their beautiful lines. But when I was a kid, they were…not only ubiquitous, but also uniformly ratty. They were the cars of kids and for janitors and low-status types…for cheapskates. The ones that hadn’t been rodded had burned paint, fenders rusted over the headlights…headliners rotting off with big strings hanging down to be seen through the rear window. The things screamed “POVERTY!!” – it was enough to keep any high-school kid from dropping out.
Now, of course, with them absent…I can see their value. Nor am I the only one. Ya don’t know what you got ’till it’s gone…
I got my driver’s license in 1984. In the late seventies and early eighties Ford was the family’s brand. Back then I really liked the Ford Capri Mk3 2.8i. Aggressive looks, 6 cylinders, fuel injection and fast.
But I ended up with a 1982 Renault 5 as my first car. Everything manual (gear box, choke, windows, seats, sun roof….you name it) and with a 845 cc engine, yeah baby !!
Being a young guy I really kicked the hell out of that little screamer, anytime I drove it.
And you know what ? It NEVER let me down, it never failed. You see, that car was as dead simple as a car can possibly get.
But the infamous rust “proofing” killed it in a way. In 1990 it burned down to the ground after some welding (floor pan) went horribly wrong. The guy was welding underneath the car and the interior caught fire. They could lower the car lift just in time to kick the burning torch out of the barn before that caught fire too.
My first car was supposed to be a 1990 Geo Storm, and it was purchased for that reason. I got my license in it and then my folks called around about getting insurance. Even for a high school graduate over 18, my liability only insurance on that car was $300 a month. An automatic, no less. So, we sold the Storm to an aunt and I wound up buying an 82 Corolla from a friend for $450. Much cheaper insurance.
Paul, I just had to comment on your thought “The Chevy seemed to bridge the best of American and European automotive approaches; the Mercedes of American cars…” I remember reading a road test of a 1966 (or so) Mercedes 220 sedan in which the writer characterized the car as the result of trying to make the perfect 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air.
my first car was a 1977 DATSUN B210(SUNNY/120Y)with A14 engine&wierd pattern 5 speed manual.one of the greatest cars(by greatest I mean reliability&fuel efficiency)kept it for 8 years&sold it with over 300k miles&stll stock motor was not using any oil.quality&simplicity that do not exist any more.
My wife bought a 1974 B210 new. What a piece of shit.
They must have worked out the bugs by 1977. My first car was a 1975 B210, and it was a piece of shit.
everyones experience is different.mine as I mentioned above was very reliable&trouble free for afew years.later I bought a 79 Datsun 210(B310)with same engine which in my opinion was better built in comparison.ATOMIC COCKROACH.i did test drive a new Nissan versa afew month ago&it felt pretty cheaply made.thin&unsafe.atleast 210 was rear wheel drive.
Pardon my ignorance on this but what is the meaning of Tri-Five? I know it refers to the 55-57 Chevy cars like the 210,150 and Bel Air but what does the term mean?
The three Chevrolets from the 1950s that are highly prized; and very similar.
Enthusiasts used to call the 1957 the five-seven. Of course, the 1955 started being called the five-five; and the 1956 – to the extent it got any attention at all – the five-six.
So, the three fives…or the Tri-Fives.
Paul,
Your high school years clearly hit the sweet spot for plentiful but affordable Tri-Five Chevys. By the time a driver’s license graced my wallet in 1975, they were already being treated as collectibles, and your choices were “too expensive” or “rustbucket more suitable for parts car duty.”
Our playground was the cars of the 60’s. Back in 1975, there were three cars available locally that I tried to persuade Dad to help finance, as it were: a ’65 Corvair Monza convertible, being offered for something like $850; a ’66 Malibu convertible, powered by a six and available for about $900; and a ’68 VW Bug in the same range. Unfortunately though, Dad decided it was HIS turn for new wheels first. So he bought a new Ford Granada and I got the hand me down car — a ’70 Maverick. Not really a terrible car, but not a Corvair Monza convertible.
I was probably four or five when I first spotted a ’69 or ’70 Cougar though the window of my mother’s Mark III Lincoln. The sequential turn signals were mesmerizing.. I was probably six or so when I figured out what I was looking at…and from that point on, everything was about the Cougar. My half-brother drove a white ’69 XR7 for a few years although I don’t ever remember riding in it. I probably stared rust holes in it though.
In school, I’d always write “Cougar” somewhere on my assignments and all over my notebooks and some desks had “XR7” carved into their tops. I daydreamed about pulling up to school in my 1969 or 1970 Cougar XR-7 convertible and outrunning all the upper-classmen in their cars..
When I was in junior high, the lady sometimes that took care of me after my mother had passed thought she’d be nice and took a “Jordache” sweatshirt and wrote “#1 Cougar” across the back of it for me. It was a sweet gesture but I was mortified…no way in hell would I wear a “Jordache” anything to school. However, my stepmother forced me to wear the thing despite me telling her I’d get beaten to a pulp. So, I snuck a jacket into my book bag and immediately put in on when I boarded the bus. I sweated my balls off but never got my face kicked in that day.
So my father bought a rusted out ’67 Cougar when I was in 10th grade, dangling it out in front of me: “keep your grades up and this will be your car”. Well of course that never happened and the car disappeared. I did have a keychain that said “Cougar” on it though & I brought the keys to class with me as if I had a car. At the end of the school day, I grabbed “my” car keys and book bag & rode home on the “cheese-wagon” with the 9th and 10th graders while my peers drove themselves home. We lived in Illinois at the time. I eventually decided a ’71-’72 Thunderbird or ’67 Mustang would be a good “second car” if my “dream Cougar” never came to be but the Cougar was way out front.
My father then bailed & moved himself to his hometown in AL toward the end of my 11th grade year, buying some property & deciding he’d open a used car lot. He’d occasionally fly up, throw my stepmother a bone, buy some beater at a dealer auction and drive it back to AL.
During this period, I got a learner’s permit and was “allowed” two very short trips in my stepmother’s awful beige Concord with her of course in the passenger’s seat scared senseless. I literally only operated a vehicle twice and both trips were supervised, covering probably less than a couple miles.
However, on one of his return trips, my father must have miscounted because he bought three cars instead of one. The solution was that the future -ex would drive car#2 and…uh-oh. I was handed the keys to a rusty light blue 1978 Pontiac Firebird Esprit and told to “stay RIGHT behind me”.
That morning, I woke up in Illinois after no doubt dreaming of Mercury Cougars. Late that night, I went to bed in Alabama still not believing I had just driven a car for the first time in my life by myself, covering over 700 miles, most of which was I65. It took about two hours of driving before my legs stopped shaking from excitement and the shakes returned in heavy traffic due to multiple lane closures in Louisville, KY but I did it.
And from that day forward, I was in love with a certain ’78 Firebird, a rusty car that nobody would buy from Miller Auto Sales and one that would become my first car the following year. The ’69 and ’70 Cougar will always be amazing cars to me but the longing to own one vanished the day I met that Firebird back in 1988.
The closest I’ve come to owning my fantasy car would be a rather rough ’67 Mustang coupe currently sitting in the shop. My “first love” did not survive but I am about to head home in a different light blue ’78 Firebird in a minute. Good times.
Loved this story!
“The closest I’ve come to owning my fantasy car…”
The problem with owning one’s “fantasy car” is that more often than not, it ceases to be that. I don’t think I’ve ever owned a fantasy car. Working on taxis when I was 15-years old cured me of any romanticism. So did my first love, Debbie.
As Mr Spock said, “After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.” Of course he was not referring to cars but it applies to them as well.
As for my first car, even tough I eventually inherited my dads Nissan Sentra in 1992, when I took my learners permit in 1990 at age 16, my only requirement was that my first car HAD to have a manual transmission. After I learned to drive stick, and I learned how to do burnouts, there was no going back. Stick shift made even the worst car of all fun.
I do remember that an uncle, my dads brother, purchased a 1987 Saab 9000 Turbo, and that I immediately fell in love with that car, and that I wrote it down as my first choice, in a list I made about the cars that I would have liked to eventually own.
JB, that was a great story!
+1
In high school I was determined, I KNEW what I was going to buy and I told multiple people. A 1996-98 Ford Taurus Ghia. In a country where there was so little Americana sold officially – in that time period, there was the Suburban, Cherokee, Grand Cherokee, Neon and Grand Voyager, and that was about it – I found the Taurus so alluring and I lusted after it. It was distinctive, fully-equipped, nice V6… but then I realized I wanted a stickshift. And once I started driving my Holden Astra, I realized I liked rowing my own gears too much to get a Taurus.
What I wanted and what I ended up with were very different. The summer before I got my driver’s license I got my first “real” job in the wash rack at the Chev-Olds emporium my Dad worked at. Despite the fact that I was surrounded by new cars, I only had eyes for a car owned by one of the mechanics. A silver 1970 Chevelle SS396. It was in stock condition and very clean and he wanted the princely sum of $3500.00 for it. Might as well have been a million, but I dreamed about that car all summer while I washed Caprices and Malibus for 3 bucks an hour. Given what I would have done to it, or it to me, it’s just as well I never realized my dream. Today I could afford such a car, but I don’t want one badly enough to pay what people think such cars are worth today.
I ended up with a roached ’65 Impala, but it did have a 396!
I honestly don’t remember any particular car sticking out as “The One” I wanted as a first. I suppose at that time it was just assumed I’d get Dad’s Vega – I was already driving it to school a good bit, and he had bought a ’73 Kammback for his own use. I’m happy that it’s the car that was my first – I have a lot of fond memories tied to the car.
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/cars-of-a-lifetime/ccoty-1971-nomination-chevrolet-vega-2300/
Love the stories. Junqueboi, why do you always claim you can’t write. That’s a great story.
My first car was always going to be a 40 ford or 49 ford. Changed daily. Either one would be a coupe and flathead V8. Classmate had one and just ate up the roads around town. Wound up with a flathead six, 46 stude that couldn’t get out of it’s own way. Tri fives were still too expensive when I was in high school.
All fine and well but the first good car I owned was the first new one. 1966 VW beetle.
My first car desire? Anything antique. Which, in the mid-1960’s meant something that was older than me, so nothing newer than a 1949 model. And preferably nothing older than 1930, so I could at least drive it on a daily basis in traffic.
My first car show was an Auburn-Cord-Dusenberg show outside of Harrisburg, where I learned lust. And rapidly learned that I was never going to own any of those cars. Not at those prices, even back in 1967.
Dad and I did a lot of looking, and in the fall of 1968 he found me one. A 1937 Buick Special luggage back two door sedan. I taught myself to drive manual on it (too impatient to wait for dad to have a Saturday to show me), and had it for the next fifteen years.
This is a fun thread.
Back when I was 13 years old, I had dreams of hot-rodding the family car: a 1964 Rambler American 330 station wagon. My fantasy was to paint it purple, with Von Dutch-style pin striping, and find a 390 or a 343 from a wrecked Javelin or AMX to stuff under the hood. The red plastic-covered bench seats would of course be replaced with buckets, probably out of a second-generation Camaro. Alas, the Rambler got traded in on a god-awful 1974 Nova Hatchback a year later, and my tacky daydream got away from me. Like most 13-year-old boys, my vision of the ideal car was about as subtle as an Ed Roth cartoon.
I really wanted a BMW 2002 since my parents’ 1970 2000 and my cousin’s 2002 imprinted on me early. The reality was a 1978 VW Scirocco which in hindsight was a slightly better choice despite the legendary Karmann body rust.
Count me in as another Cougar lover, preferably a 69 though a 70 would do in a pinch. An older cousin had a 69 and having been mesmerized by a friend of my Grandmother who had a flair bird and it’s sequential tail lights I saw the Cougar as the ultimate Pony Car thanks in large part to its sequential tail lights. Later there was some lust for a 4×4 mainly centered around early Broncos but Scout IIs particularly the SSII version also caught my eye.
Of course what I ended up with was a 73 Pinto handed down from my Dad. I haven’t got my Cougar yet, but I do have a couple of Scouts since Broncos are even more outrageously priced nowadays and as mention in my Cornbinders of a Lifetime series I had grown to love the SV engine and got a deal I couldn’t pass up on my first Scout.
An uncle promised me and my cousins, when we were about ten, that he would give each of us a vintage car when we became 18. He had a 1929 Ford A truck (in the 90’s) and we loved that car. Of course, he didn´t keep up his promise. I still dreamt of a vintage car, and I started looking for an old Citroen 2CV with my brother when I was 14 or so. They were really cheap in the nineties. I think my parents were not really happy with that idea, and my first car was a much newer Suzuki Samurai. After some years, I finally could get the car which was supposed to be my first one: a ’74 2CV. A unique driving experience!
My first car was a 1968 Cougar, light green with black vinyl roof and black vinyl interior, with no A/C (not a great combo in summer here in central Virginia). That car stayed in our family over eight years. Wrecked once, it refused to die. It outlasted several ratty MG’s and a Fiat 128 which caught fire and burned like a dead Viking’s longboat. I wish I could remember what finally happened to that car. I never loved it, but I had to admire it’s resilence and toughness.
I turned 16 in 1993 growing up in solid Big 3 loving Midwestern farm country. What did i want? Simple, an Oldsmobile Toronado. What year? It didn’t matter to me, I loved them all.
1967? Yes please
1975? Sure
1979? With an Olds gas 350 it would be sweet…
1992? Please make it a Trofeo…
Sure never ended up with one but the Toronado was a consistent part of my Oldsmobile lust.
There were a LOT of different ones I dreamed about… ’68-’69 Mopar B-body, ’65-’67 Impala, a Porsche 944 Turbo, Jeep CJs and fullsize Wagoneers/Cherokees – but there was one that I obsessed over for more years and more passionately than anything else.
We took a vacation to California when I was 10, the only time I’ve ever been west of Pennsylvania, and it left a very strong, and favorable, impression. After seeing about 30 Volkswagen Squarebacks in San Francisco I decided that was going to be my first car. Most of them out there were subtly customized or beaterified by hippie burnouts and both aspects appealed to me immensely. Upon returning to NY I spent the rest of that summer at the bookstore reading (and never buying, ha! they must have hated the shit out of me!) every Vee Dub book and magazine they kept stocked. Over the years I narrowed the obsession down to a very specific combination of years, parts, colors, etc., but by the time I was actually old enough to drive I had moved on to other stuff. I still think they’re cool, though!
Amazingly enough, someone has actually built the exact car I wanted (picture below). There are a few discrepancies, but they got the important stuff right – color, wheels and roof rack are all the same as in my dreams. I would’ve preferred a black interior and an EMPI sticker on the back, otherwise it’s perfect!
When I was 15, my not too bright cousin bought a ’70 Roadrunner. It was all black, 383, 727, bucket seats and A/C. It was about perfect. My folks were ok with me getting it, and since my cousin and his dad were known for being totally anal about taking care of their cars, that it would be in near showroom condition, and it was in 1973 when he was going into the Navy, and had to sell it.
But he “forgot” I wanted it, and sold it to a classmate. I was beyond angry, and wound up with a ’74 Roadrunner instead. A nice enough car, but I liked the 68-70 look better.
An Edsel. Didn’t care what year or model, but dammit I wanted an Edsel as my first car. Not a clue why… that damn things always fascinated me. Still do. Ended up with a hand-me-down ’74 Pinto runabout from my mom. Sigh.
Really wanted my first car to be a ’57 Chevy but it ended up being a ’60 Ford instead.
I was 14.
Never got it running…so I painted “Superlemon” on what was left of its rear quarters and there it sat in the side yard until it was hauled away to the crusher.
It’s really difficult to pin down just one car that I lusted after, many decades ago. Like most teenagers, I was easily impressed by the latest shiny object, including my uncle’s circa 1967 Eldorado, and a neighbor’s 1965 Mercedes. I still have an M-B brochure from 1972. Obviously, these were completely out of my reach.
My dad owned a 1957 Bel-Air (pictured below behind a 7-year-old me), but I don’t remember it being lust-worthy until decades later.
My first car turned out to be a 1975 BMW 2002, purchased new a year after graduating from university. Cost me about CA$7,500, with manual windows, vinyl seats, no A/C, no radio, no nothing. I still have brochures from Volvo and Renault (R17 Gordini!), so I briefly considered those options. My dad had offered me his 1968 Chrysler Newport Custom, but it also had no special appeal to me at the time.
In the abstract, I fell in love with car after car as a kid. But the first one that actually became “the one” was a 1952 Chevy Styleline Deluxe 2 door. The car would have been about 20 years old, and had lived its life in salty northwest Ohio. It belonged to my Aunt Eula and Uncle Bill. He was a school principal and drove it to school and back for a long time.
It was rusty, dented, the dark green paint was faded, the interior was shredded. But the old Chevy six was smooth, as was the manual transmission. I played in that car for endless hours, as it was always parked outside, unlocked, and they lived next door to my dad and stepmom.
I looked through the J.C. Whitney catalogs, circling the many mechanical, body and interior parts which would make the old Chevy new and shiny again. I worked out the order of all of the restoration jobs.
Fortunately for me, they finally got rid of it before I got my license. My family never let me know that it was coming, and as an adult I now know why. That car would have been a hard, expensive lesson in cars and in life. But I still have a soft spot for 52 Chevys.
I had all kinds of wishes and dreams about cars as a teenager, nearly all of them being for cars I could no way afford. In the summer between my junior and senior year I got a job working on a pea viner; work started at about 6 or so, and I ended up driving back and forth in Pop’s 1950 Packard which was 6 years old at the time. He didn’t like the fact that his car was starting to smell like pea silage, and after a week or so I came home one day and found a black 1947 Chevrolet Fleetline 2-door sedan in the driveway. It was a typical late-40’s car with a lot of accessories on it – backup light, glove compartment light, defroster, fog light, and a visor over the windshield. The visor came off after I’d driven the car once or twice, and found out that the clutch and front shocks were both gone. Pop nice-guyed the dealer into putting a clutch in it, but I drove it without front shocks the rest of the year. When I sold it before going off to college, the buyer wanted the visor – luckily I’d kept all the bits and pieces to fasten it to the car.
One kid at my Highschool drove a 57 Chev mostly because his Dad owned a wrecking yard full of them to keep it running, 283 engine he thought he was cool it was slower than another school friends 57 Vauxhall which wore many carbs and extractors/headers.
My father mentioned he wished my generation were spending money when 57 Chevs were new as they were very hard to sell Buyers had lined up for 55s and 56s but a new Ford in 57 made the chev look old hat with its trim everywhere ready to trap salt and moisture for rust to begin and buyers just stayed away.
i had a short lived Ford Pop as a first car the a triumph Herald as a first road legal car both were crap and worn out long before I got them.
Well the cars I wanted to be my first car are much different then what i got. When I was growing up in the 1980’s and became aware of cars I started noticing what I later found out to be called the W123 Mercedes series. They were all around Columbia Maryland where I grew up. Coupes, sedans and wagons in dark blue, light blue, tan and silver. I liked the looks of them, they were stately yet old and outdated looking. In fact they looked outdated the year they first came out. My favorite of them were the diesel sedans like the 240D and 300D. I liked how that you could still get a manual transmission and crank windows on these.
At the same time I also liked the Volvo 240 and 740 sedans.( I was not a big fan of the Volvo wagons at the time) Like the W123 Benzes, the Volvo 240 and 740 sedans spoke boxy classic goodness. The 140 and the 240 were around for a billion years and the wedge shaped 740 sedan was a quintessential 1980’s car. In 1990 Volvo redesigned the front of the 740 and gave it composite lights and ironically though I loved the look on the 86-93 240 I hated it on the 740.
Then the last of the cars I lusted for to be my first. The Lincoln Mark VII (especially the 1992 Mark VII LSC in all black)
So here was my list of cars to be my first
1. Mercedes W123(with manual trans and manual windows)
2. Volvo 240 sedan(86-1993)
3. Volvo 740 sedan (up to 1989)
4. Lincoln Mark VII
When I got my drivers license and started driving in the mid 1990’s, I wound up with a hand me down 1980 Malibu.which blew. It was always well taken care of and it still it was a big POS that you never knew if it would stay running or start at all. I wound up donating it to a charity and bought a $500 1983 Chevette Scooter which gave me 2 years of needing nothing except small amounts of money for gas.
Well fast forward to 2012 and I finally got my classic Volvo(a 240 wagon) not as my first but as my 16th car. It lives with a 1985 Cutlass Supreme and a 2010 Kia Forte and a now departed 2011 XB
When I was 9 we lived next door to two bachelor brothers and one of them bought a new ’65 Mustang coupe, blue on blue. I6. I wanted one (with a V8) It would be the car I’d buy when I grew up – I imagined. The dream hasn’t come true so far.
It’s funny how we used to look at cars and just assume they’d still be available when we were old enough to buy a car. There would just be tri-fives and 65 Mustangs as far into the future as anyone could see.
The other brother opted for a black Biscayne 2 dr sedan with red interior, I6 For a plain jane it was an oddly appealing car. Mechanically the Mustang was just as dowdy as the Biscayne, and probably not as fast. But man- o -man did it look cool. I still want one.
(My actual first car was a ’58 Coupe de Ville, so that worked out ok)
Being a ’62 model myself, most of my car interests came from the sixties and seventies, mainly because the average lifespan of a car in Northern Quebec was usually ten years or less, so tri-five Chev’s and virtually anything in the 50’s was resting in the junkyard by the late sixties.
My Dad was a chemical engineer with a complete dislike of anything automotive. His practice was to buy a two year old used basic GM for about $1750-$1900, and then proceed to drive it into the ground over the next five or so years, actively resenting any monies spent on them, and usually cobbling some repairs to keep them running. With my entry into the world, it meant a second car for my mother, usually the latest purchase, while he drove the older car into the ground. My first car ride home was in a ’57 Pontiac Pathfinder Deluxe, with 261 six, three on the tree and little else. Cars that followed included a ’65 Strato-Chief in ’67 (Loaded by Canadian standards, since it had a 283, automatic, AM radio, and power steering as a concession to mom).
Luckily, all my mom’s brothers liked their new cars every three/four years, and bought loaded GM’s throughout the formative years. One Uncle fancied his Buicks, a ’60 Invicta ragtop in Red, a ’64 Wildcat in Blue. Another was a Pontiac man, with a ’67 Parisienne fastback, a ’70 Wildcat, 73 and ’76 G/P’s. Automotive disappoint also reared it’s ugly head as early as 1964. when the one uncle was trading the ’60 Invicta for the ’64 Wildcat. The old man was looking for a second car for mom as a slightly fresher back-up for the ’57 Ponty. Apparently the Invicta was considered a bit too “flashy”, so he plumped for a ’62 Monza with powerglide. It was all that I could do at the time was to shake in rage and fill my diaper.
About the age of ten, whatever my first car was going to be was starting to shape up as a large GM, with options and a large V8, and no powerglide please.
In 1972, the ’57 Pathfinder had chugged off to the junkyard under it’s own power with all of 50-odd thousand on the clock. The junkyard was a public spot, and I recall the ivory hunters descending on it before the engine cooled. The ’65 Strato-Chief was starting to look a bit ropey by then as well, and Dad caught wind from some of his equally frugal friends about a limousine company in Montreal that turned over their livery cars every six months or 20k miles, so off we went to see what was available.
Up for offer in the summer of 1972 was a fleet of four door Pontiac Laurentians, all equipped in dark colours with auto, P/B, P/S and air for $2800. They had a few miled out examples there for inspection, and to my 10 year old eyes they looked uniformly tired, with dings, scratches and scrapes all over. They were used as unmarked taxi’s to ferry people back from Montreal’s Dorval airport to various hotels, and had led hard lives for that first 6-8 months of usage in a harsh climate.
What was more interesting is that the company had an assortment of upmarket cars for VIP fares, consisting of Caddies, Lincolns, limo’s, a couple of Austin Princess wedding cars, and a multitude of coachs. I spent most of that day wandering the garage, looking at all of these unusual cars, while the old man was trying to prise open his cheque book.
I returned down a ramp to a large washing up area, and up to where they were trying to wash the abuse off of our soon to be acquired ’72 “taxi” Ponty, when I noticed a lovely triple black ’67 Fleetwood Brougham being detailed beside it. It was love at first sight. The conversation soon shifted to the fact that $2800 would either buy a tired 20k Ponty, or an elegant 50k Fleetwood.
We drove back home in the Fleetwood that night, and true to form, the old man managed to grind it into rubbish in five years through sheer neglect. I was too young to “assume” it’s ownership, but the memories of that car have persisted to this day. A couple of other parsimonious engineers that opted for the Pontiacs that year were also faced with rusted out wrecks five years later, so the newer car experience wouldn’t have lasted any longer.
So no, my first car was my recently deceased mom’s ’75 Valiant Brougham, which got me through university and my first two crappy jobs. But the first car that I bought with my hard earned Repo-man’s dollars was a ’68 Fleetwood Brougham in triple black, and that is still in my possession to this day.
I turned 15 in late 1988, immediately got my learner driver’s licence and wanted my first car to be anything with wheels and an engine. And preferably a perpetually-full gas tank.
In 1991 the first car I seriously tried to buy was a ’63 Mercedes 220SE. Inspiration came from motoring journo Steve Cropley, who in the mid-70s turned up for a job interview at Australia’s Wheels magazine driving a 220, and won the job because of it. I’d liked the 220’s looks since spying one in the late 70s in my LadyBird Book of 1961 Motor Cars, and Cropley’s ownership meant a 220 was the obvious choice that would allow me to become the motoring journalist I knew I was destined to be! (Hah!) So I was delighted when I spied a ’63 220SE in the district newspaper, my parents less so. Eventually they caved to my incessant requests to ring the vendor. I was disappointed that it had sold, expecially when the vendor told me that with new sills it might even have been roadworthy! Oddly, my parents weren’t as disappointed…
I then decided a Jag 420G would be my first car. Every time we drove down country to visit relatives, we’d pass a greenish black one for sale beside the road for only NZ$1,500 – a bargain considering it still had four doors and much of the interior trim! It was a light-weight version too, going by the missing sills etc… I knew my BL-mechanic Dad would be just raring to get an old Jag running again (even though he strangely said the exact opposite!).
Finaly accepting my reality of a low income, I decided a Mk V Ford Cortina was what I wanted as a first car. Unfortunately they were still too expensive secondhand, so I settled for another Ford, a Mk I Escort 1300XL. And the moment I got a student loan for a few months later I promptly set about making a silk purse out of my sow’s ear Esky. Two years later I’d invested $5,000 in it, it looked great but was still a 1300, felt old, and I was tiring of spending money trying to make it feel more modern. So in 1993 I gave up and bought a 1984 Ford Sierra 2.0 station wagon, the first of three I’d own. Standard, and I left it that way. The Escort was my first car, and allowed me my first real freedom; but the Sierra felt like my first real, modern car. I kept my final Sierra, a 1986 Ghia, until early this century. I miss the Esky, but I miss that Ghia more. Of course if I’d bought that 220SE, I’d be a world-famous motoring journalist now… 😉