Mine was my grandfather’s last car, a 1957 Chevy.
I was stationed at Ft. Eustis, Virginia when my mother called to tell me that she was arranging to give me my Grandfather’s car. I didn’t know the history behind it. I didn’t know it was a classic, but I did know that it was only a few years old. I arranged to have a couple of other WACS from San Diego fly out and drive back with me. It was the great adventure.
Grandfather, Gimpa, had always driven Buicks or Oldsmobile’s. Someone at the local Buick dealer must have irritated him mightily as he went to the next dealership down the street and bought a bottom line Chevy. It was all turquoise two door, center post, with no fancy trim and small block, 6 cylinder engine.
Gimpa drove by hugging the curb until there was something in front of him. He would go around it then go back to hugging the curb. This scared mother so much that she had me drive him to church my last high school years. By the early sixties when I was far away in the wilds of Virginia, he had several horrific accidents one killing a small child. He made a habit of knocking down the stone gate pillars to the golf course too. By the time I got the car, there wasn’t a scratch on it.
I met, married, and got pregnant with daughter Margot in Fort Eustis. My husband was accepted to Art Center in photography in LA. We loaded up that Chevy topping the roof stack with my heavy duty ironing board and headed back across country to California. One day we banged the driver’s side door in a gas station. A one foot by one foot section fell out. It was lead…they used to use lead instead of Bondo. We sold the Chevy.
Please tell me about your first car. I would really be interested.
- Himself: Laundry and exercises.
- Myself: Getting winter out of my closet to make more room.
- Reading: J. K. Galbraith’s memoirs.
- Watching: KPBS: Bake.
- Weather: 80 at the beach
Gratitude’s: To have a big closet to clean out.