Abandoned Beauty

This 1949 Chevy pickup (model unknown) was photographed in 1989 in a field where it was abandoned outside of Denton, Texas.

Ghia Monster

It was 1971. We were young and hairy, driving from Washington, DC, to San Diego. We were out to taste the dusty road, to see what lay beyond the next bend, to eat a burrito with green chilies. Our mount was a Karmann Ghia ragtop, a mix of German and Italian technology that came together in a lovable little car we called Carmenito.

BMW Art Cars, from the 1970s Until Now

From the Library of Congress archives--Vermont Fair

70 Mercury Comet Ad--So queer, it's brilliant

'73 Vega, Baddest Wagon in the Whole Damn Town

We knew it was past time to replace our family station wagon, a Ford, when we could see the street passing below us. The crack in the floor beneath the front passenger seat was not a good thing, but a family of five with a single mother's income meant ignoring the problem as long as possible. Besides, the state of Kansas, in the early 1970s, didn't worry about such things as vehicle inspections.

          The car my mother eventually picked out was a Vega station wagon. It was bright blue, her favorite color, and had a stick shift. That made it more fun to drive for my 17-year-old brother. With the stick in his hand and a revved engine, albeit an aluminum one, he could think Bullitt instead of Leave it to Beaver when cruising Main Street on Saturday night.

Yellow Truck Meets the Doppelganger

The whole thing started when I asked my father (at right, with Mom) to haul some of my stuff, stored in his home in Topeka, out to Denver. It was the late 1980s. I was getting ready to move from Colorado to the promised land (Oregon), where I'd taken a new job. Dad rented one of those big yellow Ryder trucks for the trip.

          My brother Steve, and his wife, Jane, and their three little kids would come along for the ride, reenacting, in effect, the wagon train experience, lumbering across the great flat, hot, dusty plains of Kansas and eastern Colorado, except that it would take only a day and a half instead of six months. My brother and father would drive the big yellow truck. My mother and Jane and the kids would follow them in Mom's motor home.

          The morning the trip began, Dad said over breakfast, "I've made reservations at the Ramada Inn in Goodland. If we get separated, that's where we'll meet." Everyone agreed. There was a plan.

          The way I understand it, things went pretty well for the first four hours, and at about 1 p.m., both vehicles--the yellow truck and the motor home--pulled off the Interstate to gas up in Russell, Bob Dole's hometown. Everybody got out to have burgers at the Dairy Queen.

Meet the Ford Pinto (1st TV commercial, 1970)

1934 MG PA: Catch a Bird, Drop an Engine

I guess it had to happen, my turn to own a car.

          My eldest brother was already famous for his old-car antics. He spent one afternoon, for example, lying in the backseat of his aging Citroen Traction Avant kicking out the roof where it had collapsed from carrying a piano. On another occasion, he returned home in his 1940s Rover with grass caught in the door hinges: He had careered up a roadside bank while rounding a particularly tight corner (he remembers looking up through the sunroof at the hedge flashing past). Another time, he abandoned a car on a main road in impenetrable fog, only to hear a car approaching from the opposite direction. As he ran for dear life, he heard the most almighty crash as the two cars met--and were wiped out.

All in the Family: 1930 Model A Ford

My 1930 Model A, shown here, has been in the family since 1935, when my grandfather bought it used. Some four million of these cars were made from 1928 to 1931. I have a picture of my aunt standing on the running board of this car when she was 12. In 1969, when the car was already 39 years old, my grandfather wrote me a letter, stating that the car was mine and sending the owner’s manual and some photos. The next year I drove the Model A away from his farm implement store started by his father, my great-grandfather, who was an authorized dealer for Case tractors, back when they were powered by steam.

1966 Volvo Nears 3 Millionth Mile

The Pink Bomb: '59 Chevy Biscayne

After graduating from high school in southern California in 1965, I headed off to the University of Texas in Austin.
    At the end of my freshman year, my parents came out to take me back to California for the summer. During their visit, my dad, retiring from a career in the Navy, landed a job at the university and decided to move to Austin. This was not at all what I expected. Suddenly, instead of going to college 2,000 miles from home, I would be living AT HOME.

1999 Ford Mustang, 35 years after my first one

Ford's first Mustang in 1964 was my first Mustang--Chinese Red--and it was beautiful. At age 82, when I learned that a 35th Anniversary Model would be available in December 1998, I promptly ordered one in Rio Red and have loved every minute of driving it ever since. I was not the least tempted when a 40th Anniversary Model showed up a couple of years ago. Both my Mustangs were bought from the same Ford dealership here in Norman. There have been quite a few cars during the intervening years, but these two have been top-notch performers because of ease of driving and, with just routine maintenance, virtually no repair. It is nice that the color of my Mustang lends itself beautifully to the red and white Oklahoma Sooners flag that flies from the passenger window on most non-windy days, both football and basketball seasons.--Rosamond Kuntz, Norman, Oklahoma.

'38 Chevy "Sweetie," Love at First Sight

In 1938, a brand new Chevrolet dealership--the B.A. Tubbs Motor Company--opened in downtown Arkansas City, Kansas. Shortly thereafter, a local letter carrier and farmer named Elijah Ham came in and bought a new Chevrolet Master Business Coupe, a car he would keep for years but would drive but sparingly. During the 1950s and '60s, the dealership tried repeatedly to buy back the coupe--they wanted to display it as one of their first cars sold--but each time Mr. Ham politely refused. One day Mr. Ham gave his beloved coupe to Mike Webb, a family friend whom he had treated as a grandson.

'63 Corvair, Hopping Puddles at Any Speed

My whole family were big believers in this great little car. My grandparents had two white  matching Corvairs. I remember taking a family vacation from L.A. to Kansas City, MO, once.  I was small, and I remember it being a LONG trip, but we had no problems with the car along the way.
    My first car in high school (1973-75) was a bright yellow Corvair. Four on the floor, mag wheels in the back, chrome in the front, that car was a screamer.
    Got stopped by a cop once, for driving "recklessly" in a neighborhood. I slid around a corner because I had just gone through a puddle. He let me off with a warning and an assurance that I would tell my Dad that I had been stopped. Sure, I did (wink).
    At the car's 1-year anniversary (of me having it), my brother announced that it had been a "pretty good little car," and the clutch pedal promptly FELL OFF not 20 seconds later after patting it on the metal dashboard.
    It never leaked much oil that I remember, but no matter what we did, we could NOT keep the fan belt on it! Not sure why, but my brother still has this same car sitting out in his back forty. --Daniel Cheatham, Lynwood, Calif.