It was a great looking car. I loved it. My friends loved it. My best friend Gary, who worked in his father’s automobile repair garage thought it was a “piece-of shit”.
There were a few defects. Most notable was the two-speed Powerglide® transmission. It was slow and getting slower with time and mileage. I brought it back to the shop and the seller tuned up the six-cylinder engine. It did go better until my five-thousand mile warranty was up. The car began to deteriorate badly. Rainy days were a disaster. There were several leaks in the canvas top–one right over my head. Driving over a puddle splashed water from the street, through the floorboard, and up my pant legs or my date’s clothes. The tires were now completely smooth and made a loud whining noise at 30 mph. Above 30 mph the front wheels began bouncing like I was driving over tree trunks.
“Bad king-pins,” my friend Gary said. It was too costly to fix. I still don’t know what a king-pin is.
The car now had such a slow pick-up that I had to floor the gas pedal when I was first at a red light and often barely made the green light before it turned red again. I had to get rid of the car.
“This time listen to me when we get the next one.” My father asserted.
I found a ’53 Ford at a used car dealership that looked good. I test drove it with my dad who agreed. It was a V-8, standard shift, and drove great. The tires were new and it didn’t have leaks when it rained. The dealer wanted $150 plus my Chevy, sight unseen.
“But I want to look at your car before we close the deal.” He told my dad.
“He’s going to see my Chevy isn’t worth much. What are we going to do?” I asked my parents.
“We’re going to close the deal at night and fix up your Chevy. We’ll have it done by Thursday night–the night before the 4th of July.”
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What happened next was an example of true American family togetherness.
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