In the late '40s, my father chipped in with some
teenage friends to buy a monstrously huge black 1933 Packard. He says it only
lasted a few years, but while it did, they rotated who got to use it to go out
on dates, or they all piled into it to go to dances in West
Philadelphia. Its prime use, however, was transporting the whole
gang from West Philly to the South Jersey
shore on weekends. With little cash, they'd take turns sleeping in the car, the
rest sleeping under the boardwalk. Meals were scavenged from a cousin's hotdog
stand. On one trip, they managed to scrounge enough cash for liquor for their
weekly pilgrimage downashore. My uncle apparently had way too much and
announced he was going to be sick. Unfortunately, he was in the exact middle of
five guys sharing the back seat and couldn't reach the window. His solution: He
opened the tiny ashtray in back of the front seat facing him and gushed away. --
Mike B., Media, Pennsylvania
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