My father and his cars

My father loved cars.  His first car was a 1930 Model A Ford when he was 16.  That was the beginning of a passion that would last his whole life.

I grew up in the land of antique cars.  Dad would buy a junk car, and bit by bit, would transform it into something wonderful.  When my mother was in the hospital when my older brother was born, someone told her they saw a Model A (or maybe it was the Model T) going down the street. She was suspicious--and she was right.  While she was busy with more important things, my dad bought a car.

I remember that car.  He restored it, beautifully.  I distinctly remember going for a ride in the rumble seat.  My brother did, too, but he insisted on wearing my cowboy hat.  It blew off his head, and my hat was gone.  I bet I was about 4 years old.

After that, every few years, he bought another car.  Some he sold, including the Model A, but most he kept.  They were all in a state of disrepair, and they were all so lovely when he was done.

My mom indulged him.  He had a stressful job as a big city (Cleveland) policeman.  If he came home, worked on his cars and was happy, we were all happy.

He liked going to car shows, so we all went with him.  We made plenty of friends and had many wonderful days.  The best shows were the Packard shows.  Our local Packard club would arrange them. They would be over 3 days.  We had a couple girl friends right around our ages, and we had so much fun with them.  I remained a member of the club until just a few years ago when it disbanded--everyone was just getting to old to do it.

I loved to watch him work on the cars.  The first one I really paid attention to was a 1962 Nash Metropolitan.  He bought 2 cars and took the best parts from each and made one car.  It was amazing.  I think that was the first one I helped him weld by holding the pieces together for him.  I helped him with every car thereafter.

We moved to the suburbs to the house I am at, now.  It had a 1 car garage and a barn that fit 3 cars.  It wasn't long before Dad built a 4-car garage.  Years later, he knocked the barn down and built a 6-car garage.  The following year, he built an identical one right next to it--tearing out the wall in between them.  Years later, he added another 1-car garage to it.  And finally, not long back, he added another i-car garage next to it.  I have a lot of garage space, and I rent it out for winter storage.

When my mom died, 30 years ago, he was lost for a while.  They had a very happy marriage--the only time they weren't together was when he was at work.  It was the cars that pulled him through.  At first, I used to go with him to a lot of the swap meets and car shows, but eventually he grew independent and did things on his own.  I still went, sometimes.

Everyday, he would tell me what he worked on--he always had a project.  I used to love to talk to him about the cars.

When he died, he left 18 cars behind.  My brother took over and sold them off as fast as he could.  It was horrible.  With each sale, I lost a little more of my dad.  I bought one of them from the estate--the Nash Metropolitan.  Also, years before he died, Dad gave me the 1948 Packard Convertible.  I still have them, but I don't know a thing about how to get them running--and my brother doesn't want to work on any cars that aren't his own.  Sigh...

(He kept the 1967 Camaro convertible--but radically changed it.  It all seemed that he just wanted to erase my dad from the world.  They hadn't talked for years.  I'm sure there is a story there, but I'll never know...)

To this day, 6 years after he died, both my sister and I get very sad when we see antique cars.  We both miss him, so much.