My father's idea of
the truly hot car was the Hudson Hornet.
Throughout his life, the Old Man never owned any car that was in anyway
remarkable except that for the most part they enclosed a large volume.
The first car he owned was a '54 Plymouth wagon, medium blue.
The second was an early '60's VW Microbus. It was the basic model ,
two-tone white over red, without all the little windows around the top.
40 HP if I remember correctly.
A speedometer, no gas gauge; when the engine sputtered
you flipped a little lever beneath the driver's seat to access a one gal.
reserve. (My mother could never remember which way to flip the lever.
Opposite to the reserve was OFF. Panic ensued.)
After I left home for college he owned a series of nondescript second hand
full/mid-size wagons dictated by living on a fixed retirement income.
To my dad cars were appliances or utensils. He never washed them. He
changed the oil twice as often as recommended. He carried a combo hot-
start/tire pump in the back. He ran the tires until at least one was bald.
He kept his cars until "the wheels fell off," or my mother threw a major
tantrum.
All he asked was that when he turned the key they would start.
I wonder if he would have understood my fascination/obsession with
my Prius.
My Old Man never owned a Hornet, he never had the money.
But he did have a memory, or was it a dream?