Whenever I look back, my journey with classic cars begins with one particular car that was a mere 13 years old when I obtained it—an 1934 Ford V8. Back in 1945, I was fortunate enough to have purchased it for just $100, a price that reflects the post-World War II economy of that time. The car had been found during a period when the war had just ended, and every penny was a premium. (
First Classics
)My second car, which I acquired around 1947, was a V8 convertible. Officially, the documentation dated it back to 1947, but the Ford mechanics informed me that it had many components from the 1948 model. This car represented a significant milestone in my youthful enthusiasm for classic vehicles. (
1947 V8 Convertible
)Transitioning into adulthood, my first genuine car was a ‘72 Chevy Vega hatchback. I borrowed this three-speed stick shift car from my older brother when I was 17 years old. Although it bought me some time to make the last car payments, it was far from perfect. It was a lemon, and I could only keep it for about a year before selling it to my girlfriend's father. He fell in love with the car, and this was a mutually beneficial transaction. (
72 Chevy Vega
)My mother’s signature marked the transition to a more stable and comfortable vehicle. In 1974, when I was 21, she officially transferred my father’s 1957 Saratoga Chrysler. He had passed away, and the car was far too large to drive regularly. It sat in a heated garage, and the mileage was remarkably low, with just 42,000 miles.
This car was a true beauty, known as 'The Barge' due to its weight and power. It had a hefty 400 cubic inch semi-engine, and the steering was classic Chrysler. The experience of driving this car was unparalleled; it was secure and powerful. It could easily wipe out a modern car in an accident. This car was before the era of safety features like seatbelts, cameras, or air conditioning; it was a simple and mechanical masterpiece. (
The Barge: A Beast in the Garage
)As I went to college and later left for work, I sold the Chrysler through my mother's heated garage. Now, I wish I still had it, not for the monetary value, but for the cherished memories of my family. It was a significant part of my history and a symbol of my youth and future.
In conclusion, cars are more than just machines; they are testaments to our lives, filled with memories, milestones, and family legacies. (