Do you know that right after World War-2 it was practically impossible to buy a car? I was going to school at Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon. I had begged to be able to drive my Dad's car, but that was one thing he would allow no one to do. He took pride in his car, and would let no other hands steer it down the road, not even me, whom he loved dearly. No way !
I had sung in a quartet on campus for a May day competition, and we won the cup for that year. I was so excited because I was only a Freshman and was singing the lead in this group. After the competition there were many activities going on at the University. My only problem was that I lived about 10 miles from the school and had to catch the bus to get home. I felt totally "down" because I wanted to stay on campus and be part of the celebration. When I did get home, my bad temper showed up and I cried and cried, then stomped my feet to let my Mom and Dad know that next year I would not live at home while going to school. Dad felt pretty bad, I guess because he said we would start looking to find me a car. He wanted me to live at home, not on the campus.
We looked at many cars, but most were pieces of junk, and Dad would not have me be on the road in a junker. I would have grasped at the first car we saw, but he was not easily swayed when he was thinking of my safety. We finally found it ! Now, remember this was 1945 and the car we were looking at was a 1930 Model A Ford. It was beautiful, well cared for, and I fell in love with it. Dad paid a whole $275 for my car, and needless to say, my Mom hit the roof. She thought that was terrible for a car that old.
I drove that car many miles, and always felt proud in it. In case you don't know, after dark the lights on a Model A shine depending on how fast you were driving. So, if you were out on a dark, rainy night, you had to drive fast in order to see the road. My night vision was not the best, but I ignored that and drove fast enough to see.
Dad had the same rules about anyone driving my car, as he had for his own. No one could drive my car. Dad insured it in my name only, and he meant what he said. When Bob came home from the service we starting dating regularly. He could not drive my car, and did not have one of his own, so I had to pick him up and deliver him back home at the end of every evening. I am sure Bob was not too fond of thar idea, but we lived through it.
In 1946 Bob and I got married and moved to Walla Walla, Washington where we both worked for what was then the largest frozen food plant in the U.S. It was a new Birds Eye Snyder food plant. I worked in the office and Bob worked in the warehouse. He got rather tired of always driving in my Model A, which now carried both our names on the insurance, so he could drive it. So we started hunting for a used vehicle to buy. They were all junk cars, and he found one owned by a local butcher and Bob thought we would like it. I nearly choked when I saw it. It was a 1937 Chevrolet sedan, hand painted in a nauseating green color, and there was even straw all over the back seat. It was some gem, but Bob wanted it, and we came up with the $640 to buy it. We both worked at the same location, but I drove my own car, and he drove his. I could fill my tank up for $1 a week, with gas costing 10cents per gallon. Many mornings I would have to go out and push his Chevrolet to get it running.
On Labor Day we decided to drive to Hillsboro, Oregon to visit his folks. There was no super highway in those days, so it was a long drive. Before we got to Arlington, Washington, which was about 100 miles from Walla Walla, we had 3 flat tires. The ones on the car were practically rags. We kept buying old, used ones along the way, and paying top dollar for them, and after a few miles they would go flat, or blow out. After the third blow-out, we were in the dark trying to fix a tire. A kindly gentleman came along and parked behind us with his lights on so that we could see to change the tire. He noted that we had two jacks in the trunk, and said he was headed for Death Valley and would sure like to have one of those jacks. Bob was so thankful to him for stopping that he gave one to the man. I'll bet you guessed it already....there were no rooms in Arlington, and we were only about half way to our destination, so we decided to turn around and go back to Walla Walla. Yep, on our first blow out our jack would not work. Bob's brother, Harry was with us on this trip, and they literally lifted the car to get the tire off and back on. The fellows worked, and I sat in the car and cried.
Before we left Walla Walla we had both cashed our week's checks. When we got home, after 2 more blow outs, we were broke. This was a nightmare of a trip for us, and I always equate it with that moster green chevrolet.
Shortly after that, we sold the little Model A, and I was always sorry that we did that. That was a special little car, that served me well, and I loved it.
