My first Car

Looking back over my life, I can’t say that I can remember with clarity all the cars that I have ever had, but I do remember my first car. For many of us a first car is a life changing event.

I was seventeen, I was starting my senior year.  In my mind, I was sure that I would soon be the oldest High School Senior in the entire world that didn’t have a car.

My dad wouldn’t let me get a car. I had money and a job. I couldn’t understand why my dad was so unreasonable. My dad thought that teens were dangerous and irresponsible.

I thought that concept was ridiculous. I realized that some kids were irresponsible, but I was different. I knew that I would never ever be like some of those other kids; I had a job, I worked hard at school. I mean, if you had asked me, I would have told you that I was “Mr. Responsibility” personified. A car was important, if I wanted to have a girl friend, I would need a car. All I had was a bicycle, and kids with cars laughed at me as I rode my bike to school. I knew that I couldn’t take a girl out on a date if all I had was a bike.

I approached my father and told him that I would like to take drivers training. I carefully listed the reasons for my taking Drivers Training.

“Dad,” I said. “Our instructor will give us all a good understanding of law. You wouldn’t have to worry about denting up your car because we would use an automobile owned by the school district. If I take drivers training it will mean that we all will be able to get lower insurance rates…”

I also carefully explained that I would need to get a learners permit in order to take the class and he would have to sign.

“I don’t know…” said my dad.

“No dents, Dad.  Lower insurance rates,” I pleaded.”

It was with a great deal of reluctance that my father took me down to the Department of Motor Vehicles Office. He glared at me, and then signed a permission slip that allowed me to proceed. The clerk in charged smiled, took my money, and had me stand while they took my fingerprints and my picture.

“YESSSSS!” I said to my self.  “I have a permit. I am one step closer to my life’s ambition. I will soon be driving. A license, a car and a GIRL Friend!”

For me a car was more than just a means of transportation; it was my door into adult hood. A car represented romance, excitement, independence, romance, freedom, mobility, no need to ride a bicycle, and did I mention… Romance?

I had a learners permit, but I didn’t have a car. I took Drivers Education lessons and I have to admit that they were really worthwhile. I learned not to tail gate, to watch for traffic lights, to judge distance while parallel parking, and it is always to your advantage to be polite to policemen.

I still didn’t have a car or a license.

My brother in law Bob lived less than two miles away. He was in his early twenties and was like a big brother to me; only nicer than most brothers.

“Bill,” said my brother in law. “You need a car.”

“Yeah I do, I really do.”  I agreed.

He smiled a somewhat evil smile and said “Let’s go buy one.”

Can you believe it? An adult actually wanted to help me buy a car. We settled on a 1949 pale green Chevrolet 2 door (shown above).  It was cheap, it was in relatively good condition, and I was able to park it at his house, without my dad knowing.

My brother in law helped me arrange for insurance. It wasn’t cheap, but I got credit for Drivers training.

My next priority was getting licensed. My Learners permit was only good for 6 months.

I flunked my first driving test. I drove through a cross walk while a pedestrian was trying to cross. I knew better. I was just nervous. The DMV man told me that I could come back in two weeks.

Two weeks later I passed. Only one cloud on the horizon, I still had to break the news to my dad.

“YOU DID WHAT?” yelled my dad.

“I bought a car.”

“Do you have a license?” He asked.

“Yes sir,” I replied.

Who signed for your license,” snarled my dad.

“You did, when you got me my learners permit.”

“Do you have insurance?”

“Yes I do, I got it from your insurance agent.”

His face seemed to turn a red shade, but he didn’t do anything violent.

“Let’s look at your car,” he said.

We both walked over to my new car and he gave it the once over.

“It’s a piece of junk.”  He growled.

“Bob says it’s in good condition,” said I.

“Are you going to live with Bob?” snarled my dad.

“No.” I replied.

It was not an easy time, life continued almost as before… except for one thing; I actually had my own car.

There are a lot of things that I don’t remember, but I certainly do remember my first car.