More Memories

I really enjoyed walking down memory lane in my last post sharing some memories of the initial work I did on the LeMans back in the mid-80s. Given that the initial post of this blog glosses over a lot in the interest of space, I figured I’d elaborate in some more posts. Another reason is I want to keep the blog going even though work on the car has stalled (more on that later). Let’s start at the beginning. In my first post I wrote:

When I was a child growing up in California during the late 60's and through the 70s, I would play in the front yard and watch the cars go past. Often I'd see a neighbor, Mr. Hayes, drive by in his convertible, and I would think what a nice looking car he had.

I also remember that the top was always down, and I could easily see the contrasting parchment interior against black exterior. I was struck by how shiny the black paint was except for a large patch on one rear quarter panel where the paint had lost is shine – like something had spilled on it. At this point, all the paint is in pretty rough shape, so I can’t tell which side the dull patch was on.

I’d like to share the cars my parents owned during my childhood. While I can’t remember anything of the first two cars I ever rode in, I’m sure they had an impact on my current car-craziness. The photo to the left is of my mom and dad getting ready to head out in his Triumph TR-3 shortly after they were married in Denver, CO. After my birth in the hospital in Frederick, MD in 1961, my dad drove my mom and I home in that TR-3. I doubt the top was down, but it was early April so it may have been (perhaps my first experience in top-down motoring). Soon after, he traded in the TR-3 for one of the first TR-4s imported into the US. When I was eighteen months old, I rode in the space behind the seats all the way from Maryland to California. There's a photo somewhere of my standing up on the driver's seat and smiling with both hands on the wheel. I need to get my dad to dig it up and send me a scan. My sister’s arrival a couple years later meant it was time for a family car, so the TR-4 was replaced by an early-60s VW Beetle. I don’t hold step down against her anymore.

At some point, before I was five, I do remember riding in the front seat of that Beetle when my mom rear-ended a ’64 Chevrolet (no, it wasn’t a Corvair – it was a Bel Air or Impala). I can still see in my mind’s eye the basically undamaged Chevy pulling away and turning left after the collision. I don’t remember what the front of the Beetle looked like after the incident, but I do know my dad had to come and got us in one of the county’s cars (he worked for the county health department), and that the gray Beetle was replaced with a newer, blue one soon after that event. Another poignant moment from the collision is my mom’s version of child restraint. This early-60s car did not have seat belts like most in that era (and before), and when my mom knew she couldn’t stop in time she flung her right arm out and held me back enough to keep my face from hitting dash board. I’m still impressed by the power of adrenaline.

Another memory of the gray Beetle is my dad building a platform in the back in place of the rear seats. This gave my sister and I a place to sleep when we went camping (which we did a lot) while my parent slept in a pup tent. The platform made a great play area where we could while away the hours as we made our yearly drives to visit relatives in other states or did our weekly summer trips up to the Sierra Nevada mountains for weekend fishing and camping (in that order).

While I don’t remember much else about the gray Beetle, I do recollect more about the blue one. It was a few years newer (I think it was a ’63) and my dad bought it used. The platform fit in place of the backseat just like it did in the gray car. The car had a cream-colored interior and my spot was always sitting behind my dad on the driver’s side of the backseat. I thought the strap hanging from the top of the b-pillar was neat, but to this day I don’t know what purpose it served other than having a small boy hang from it. I remember one night when I was seven or eight my dad opened the rear engine lid and explained how the last mechanic that replaced the spark plugs put one in too tight, and now it wouldn’t come out. It was time, he said, to start looking for a replacement.

Soon, the rest of the cars of my childhood.

I promised I'd talk about why there's been no progress on the LeMans. Well, family life has taken a huge chunk of my spartan spare time, and Mikhaila's Golf is still not road-ready.