Childhood memories
I’m pretty much like most males (and some females) born in the mid-twentieth century. Post WW II was a time of exuberence, innovation, newness, optimism, and economic prosperity. At the center of all this was the automobile. It seemed like everyone had a car and the type, age, style and brand of the car defined much about the family that owned it. Cadillacs were owned by rich people. Chevys by regular people (us). Pontiacs by older people like the semi-retired next door neighbor. Fords? As a pre-adolescent I never even noticed Ford products at all. Chrysler products, with the exception of my Grandpa Walker’s 1952 Dodge, weren’t on the radar at all. Well, my Uncle Lee did have a 1948 Ford but I rarely saw it.
My first car memory – our car – was a 1937 Chevrolet 2 door sedan. It’s all I knew. I don’t know where it came from or how much my father paid for it, or when he aquired it. But it was the car, the only car. The front end became so familiar that even now the grille of a ’37 Chevy is the face of an old and true friend. I guess I loved it. My older brother, very intelligent and a good boy, had no interest in that or any other car for which he can be forgiven since he’s always been a nice guy.
As an aside, when I was 17 years old, I ran across a 1936 rumbleseat coupe. It was (in today’s parlance) a strong number 3 car, maybe even a 2- with great tires. It was for sale, sitting on York Road outside our hangout, C & C’s. The sign said it was in very good condition and the price was $165.00. It had a long throw floor shift, a radio, and a perfect interior. I wanted it. I pictured myself driving around with a cute girl at my side, the envy of most of my friends, many of whom had no car (or girlfriend) at all. That night at dinner I casually brought the subject up. No, the 1936 model was not reliable, nor was the 1938 or any of the other pre-war cars except the ’32 and ’37 Chevys. Also, the insurance would be too expensive. I have never forgotten that car. In today’s market it would probably command around $20,000 and likely would appreciate in value like a dot com venture company. But I didn’t pursue the matter since I dreaded the expected dismissal: “We’ll see.” It is worth noting that “Your mother and I will have to discuss it” was a ray of optimism. But “We’ll see” was a firm denial, the black hole of hope.
One more note about the ’37. That car took us on frequent trips to Washington, DC several times a year. For the time, it was probably one of the more reliable vehicles in existence. I don’t remember ever breaking down and in the 1940’s, breakdowns, overheating, vaporlock, flats, out of gas events were so common as to be the norm, always expected. Especially on a 5 hour trip on the only major roads we had, two-lane concrete. (sometimes 3 lane with the center “suicide” lane for passing). The only incident was a broken windshield wiper on a rainy night coming north on US 1. My father had to drive leaning over my mother so he could see out the passenger’s windshield.
Then, one day I came home from school, walking up Hillcrest Ave. In the driveway was a shiny gray 1941 Studebaker with its grinning split waterfall grill. “Where’s our car??” It was backed into the driveay, my father polishing it. “This is our car!” I did not like it. My only real memory of this car was the time my father put a set of turn signals on it. He did a great job and had to show the new feature to everyone in the family, how well it worked and how hardly anyone else had such an item on his car.
My friend down the road, Donny, had a black 1949 fastack 2 door that his Dad traded on a 1950 black fastback. His Dad was a banker. The big changes for 1950 were that the grille wrapped around the front fender a little, the tailights protruded a little, and the door handles became the pushbutton type. Donny bragged about how rich his father was because of this new car and delighted in seeing my envy. And I was indeed jealous. This became a matter of some acrimony. Until one afternoon, again walking up Hillcrest Avenue, I spied a two tone (blue and cream) 1950 Chevrolet BelAire hardtop coupe in our driveway. It was the most beautiful car I had ever seen. The inside was exactly like a convertible with the fake roof frame in chrome as was most of the interior metal. The back seat even had exaggerated arm rest areas that simulated where the top would go in a convertible. Inconvenient wasted space, but ritualistic, like a symbolic golden gavel, and so very cool. Cream color and blue upholstery and interior paneling matching the exterior colors. First reaction: I ran down the road to tell Donny about our almost new BelAire. He just scoffed and turned back to his trading cards. I persisted. He didn’t believe me, but he walked up to Hillcrest, smirking, just far enough to see the car in the driveway. Did he come all the way up to see it and to share my excitement? No, his only response was to turn around without comment and go back home. I was overjoyed. I don’t remember any car talk after that.
Side note: as far as I know, 1950 was the first ‘hardtop convertible’ that Chevrolet made. Yet the picture, while apparently a 1950 model, displays a 1949 grille. Maybe a necessity during the restoration? Aside from that, it’s just like ours, and a beauty.
OK correction: that is a 1950. The ’49 and ’50 grills were different, the older grill had a whole bunch of vertical chrome strips in the lower half and the ’50 had just two under the parking lights. But the grill ends did not wrap around. A very important distinction.
elderdelphin 