Automobiles

The first automobile I remember was my father’s early 1940s Dodge sedan. It was dark blue or black, but I don’t recall much else about it. Dad had bought it used from someone who was going into the Army during World War II. Before the Dodge, the family car had reportedly been a Hudson Terraplane which my father had won in a raffle. Dad said that he and his brother Sam learned to drive together, literally. They had been working in New York City and pooled their money to buy an automobile. I don’t remember the brand of the automobile or the year. Neither of them had ever driven before, and the salesman gave them a quick lesson. They immediately started to drive to the family farm in Nassau, with Sam in charge of steering and stopping, and my father in charge of shifting and adjusting the throttle and spark. He said that the car stalled and neither of them knew how to restart it. Finally, another automobile owner happened upon them and taught them how to crank it to start the engine. He said the trip from New York City to Nassau took about 13 hours. He also spoke 

My Father's Jordan

fondly of an automobile that he once owned, a Jordan Straight Eight. My mother never learned to drive. She was very nearsighted, and that always hindered her attempts to learn. She told me that soon after she was married, she started learning to drive, but gave it up after she hit a horse.

After the war ended, Dad bought a new gray 1946 Buick Super sedan. Cars were in short supply, and he had to pay more than the list price. The Super was Buick’s middle trim level. He had decided to take close Jack's Place for the summer and take the family on a trip across the United States. Shortly before we left for our trip, Love Murphy, an elderly spinster from Pittsfield and a regular Sunday customer at Jack’s Place, my father’s tavern, asked if he had a St. Christopher’s medal for the new car. My father, of course, told her no. She immediately had her driver, Don, drive her back to Pittsfield, about 23 miles, where she got a silver dollar-sized St. Christopher’s medal, had it blessed by her priest, and brought it back to my father, who dutifully pinned it behind the visor. Our Buick was rear-ended three days into the trip in Gary, Indiana.

The Buick Super had many problems. One thing that annoyed my father was the constant rattling noise. Although the dealer couldn’t determine the cause, Dad eventually tracked the problem to a loose round piece of plastic set into the front bumper that identified the vehicle as a “Super”. He wedged toothpicks around the plastic, and that cured the rattle. The following year he traded the car for a 1947 green Buick Roadmaster, the top of the Buick line. He was amused one day soon after buying the new Buick when a customer stopped into Jack’s Place and bragged about a new gray Buick he had purchased. My father told him about all of the problems he had had with his Buick Super. When Dad went out to gas up the customer’s Buick, he found the toothpicks around the back of the Super logo.

My sisters and I all learned to drive on the Buick. Dad first started giving us lessons during a winter stay in Bay Harbor Island, a residential area newly formed by dredging fill from the bottom of Biscayne Bay, just north of Miami Beach. I was almost 10 years old at the time and wasn’t tall enough to look over the top of the steering wheel. Later, at home in Nassau, Sylvia took Driver’s Training in high school and had some lessons in the Buick. She took her driving test in Hudson, New York, in the Buick, and failed, slightly denting the chrome ring around the passenger side headlight in the process. Dad also gave Lelia some lessons, but she never took a driving test until after she was married.

Dad continued to give me driving lessons in Florida. Shortly before my 14th birthday, he signed my application for a learner’s permit, stating that I was already 14, then the minimum driving age in Florida. I took the driving test in Miami Beach soon thereafter and received my Florida license. Of course, it was of no value in New York, where the minimum driving age was 16, but I enjoyed showing it off to my friends. On my 16th birthday, I took the morning off from school and my father took me to Albany to get my learner’s permit. I took the test the following month in Chatham and passed it the first time. In our rural school, taking time off to get a learner’s permit or taking a driving test was an acceptable excuse for missing school.

Although the Buicks were equipped with turn signals, many automobiles did not have them in the 1940s, and they were not recognized in New York as a legal substitute for hand signals: arm out the window with the hand pointed down for slow; straight out for a left turn, and up for a right turn. Windshield wipers were not electric; they operated with a vacuum pump which required that the engine had to be running for the wipes to work. The efficiency of the wipers was dependent upon the strength of the vacuum. When accelerating the vacuum would diminish, and the wipers would slow down. Frequently when accelerating to pass, I would have to momentarily let up on the accelerator to give the wipers a chance to speed up. The transistor had not been invented, and the automobile radio tubes used a significant amount of electricity and had to be replaced occasionally.

I remember that one summer day Dad decided to polish the Buick. We washed it down, and Dad took an old can of DuPont 7 Car Polish to use on the finish. Although the recommended method of polishing a car is to do one section at a time, Dad and I applied the polish to the entire car. Then we tried to wipe it off with rags, but the old polish turned hard and orange in color, and became almost impossible to get off. The car looked hideous, and we finally had to wash it off with the Amoco premium gasoline.

Dagmar

We had the Buick until the fall of 1953 when my father bought his first Cadillac. it was a 1954 white with gray top Model 62 sedan. He bought it at O’Connell Cadillac in Pittsfield when it first came out. He was hesitant about buying a Cadillac since there was a rumor that the purchase of a Cadillac triggered an IRS audit. The Cadillac was our first car with an automatic transmission, GM’s Hydra-Matic. The first time Dad drove it into the garage, he tried rolling slowly in by pushing on the clutch; of course, the Cadillac had no clutch and the car didn’t slow down. The Cadillac continued on and pushed the back wall of the garage out several inches with its “Dagmar bumpers. He hammered the wall back together with a sledgehammer. [The 1954 - 1956  Cadillacs had 2 large conical-shaped extensions to the front bumpers, which were dubbed “Dagmars” in reference to a popular Danish entertainer named Dagmar, who had a very large bosom]

When the Cadillac was about 3 days old I asked my father if I could take it to Nassau to pick up the afternoon mail. He agreed and I drove to the village, about 3 miles away. I was in a hurry to get home since it was almost dusk and I had a junior operator’s license which provided that I could not drive unaccompanied by a licensed operator at least 18 years of age during the evening and nighttime hours. Route 20 was then the main highway between Albany and New England, and the 3-lane highway was heavily traveled by trucks and buses as well as automobiles. As I was traveling home in an easterly direction on the westerly side of Lord’s Hill, there was a long line of slow-moving trucks ahead of me. I decided to pass them and pulled into the center lane of the 3-lane highway. I pressed the accelerator down to the floor to engage the passing gear, and when I did, the hood flew up against the windshield. Fortunately, the driver of the truck that I was passing saw it happen and he stopped so that I could pull over to the side (by looking out the side window of the Cadillac). The driver helped me pull the hood down and had some rope that he used to tie it down. The metal was ripped in part, and the back corners of the hood had gouged into the front fenders. I drove home in tears. Dad was really upset with the condition of his new car and drove it to the dealer the following morning. The hood was replaced with the hood taken off an inventory car. Later, the service manager told my father that the first 2,500 1954 Cadillacs had defective hood latches and that seven deaths were attributed to accidents that occurred when the hoods flew up.  That sedan was replaced with a pink and black 1956 Cadillac Coupe de Ville,  which my father kept until 1959.

Although I had limited use of the Cadillac, I very much wanted the freedom of having my own car. I disliked the long ride on the school bus, and frequently hitch-hiked to and from school. In the late winter of 1954 -1955, I became consumed with the desire to get my own car. I really wanted a “hot” car, such as a 40s Ford coupe with a V8 engine that would roar and go fast. Dad had other ideas about a suitable car for me. Each morning I would read the classified ads and circle those that seemed to be promising. Dad would follow up on them, but there was always a problem. Finally, he found a green 1949 DeSoto 2-door vehicle in good condition. It was a car that had been used in the west and had no rust. He bought it for me for $325.00, and my mother bought me plaid seat covers at the Rayco seat cover store in Menands for my 17th birthday. In selecting this car, my father obviously knew that I wouldn’t win any races in it.

My 1949 DeSoto

The DeSoto had a 6-cylinder engine with a “Gyro-Matic” transmission, the DeSoto version of the Chrysler “Fluid Drive” transmission that had a regular clutch for putting the vehicle into gear, but also a fluid coupling that would permit one to stop at a traffic signal without disengaging the clutch. Also, a gear change was accomplished by accelerating and then taking your foot off the accelerator for perhaps a second or so, until the transmission shifted with an audible “clunk”. The first time I tried racing, John Weaver soundly beat me in his 1938 Plymouth coupe which had a standard transmission. The next time I tried racing, the DeSoto blew a head gasket, and its racing days were over. [Remembering my father's philosophy, when my sons were ready for automobiles of their own, I bought them each a low-powered, automatic transmission Ford Escort.]

1956 Cadillac Coupe de Ville

Dad and I used to go trout fishing in the spring. One Saturday morning we took the DeSoto to go fishing. Rain canceled our fishing, and Dad decided that he would like to look for a new car. We drove to Albany and went to the Wendell Cadillac dealership on Central Avenue. My father asked to look at the new Cadillacs, but the salesman, having seen us drive up in an old DeSoto wearing old clothes, refused to show us the new cars and insisted that we look at used cars. We went home without looking at the used cars. A few days later my parents went to Pittsfield and traded the 1954 Cadillac for a beautiful 1956 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. It was pink with a black top. The upholstery was pink and black nylon with pink leather trim.

It was not too uncommon for automobiles of circa 1950s vintage to have a “valve job” every 35,000 - 40,000 miles. Oil was changed every 1,000 miles, tires were only good for about 12,000 miles, and spark plugs were routinely changed at 10,000 miles. Rust was a major problem in the snow belt country where winter road salt ate away at the automobile body. Replacement rocker panels (the sheet metal below the doors) were stocked for sale at auto parts stores.

As part of the arrangement for my getting the DeSoto, I agreed to teach Sylvia to drive, as she had never received her license. It was a difficult time for both of us. She drove very erratically. The most difficult was teaching her to turn the car around in the required 3 moves. We would drive to Chatham and I would have her practice the maneuver on a side street. However, if she spotted another car coming, she would stop the DeSoto and get out, requiring me to get behind the wheel and complete the turnaround. Under my tutelage, she finally got her license.

That fall I went to college. Freshmen were not allowed to have cars. Sylvia was living at home in Nassau, and she used the DeSoto. By Thanksgiving, she had put 4 or 5 small dents in the car. Sylvia and I shared the use of the DeSoto that summer, but when it came time to return to college, I wanted to have a car. Dad and I went shopping, and again my father rejected my request for a V8 with a standard transmission. Instead, he bought me a blue 52 Packard 2 door sedan. It had a straight eight-cylinder engine with a Borg-Warner automatic transmission. The car was expensive to drive, as it got poor gas mileage and seemed to always be in need of new tires. Like the DeSoto, it did not accelerate quickly, but it was comfortable and had a good radio. Once the brakes failed while I had the car in Syracuse. I couldn’t afford to get it fixed right away, so for a couple of weeks or so I just used the emergency brake to stop. When I needed to slow down quickly, I would put the automatic transmission into reverse gear, which would slow the car down very quickly without grinding anything - sort of like the way a jet engine is reversed on landing.

I drove the Packard during my sophomore and junior years in college. By the end of my junior year, the Packard had reached the end of its usefulness to me, and I started looking for a new car in earnest when I returned to Nassau since I was scheduled to drive to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, the following month for my 6 week ROTC camp. This time I went shopping by myself and bought a 1954 Mercury coupe from a private owner for $600.00. I don’t recall how I got rid of the Packard. Although it was not the fanciest model, it had a standard transmission, a V8 engine with dual glass pack mufflers, and was lowered in the back to give it a racy profile. I added “moon” hubcaps that I bought at Western Auto, and screwed on replacement rocker panels to cover the rust, although the paint didn’t match very well. It was a great car for stoplight-to-stoplight drag racing on Madison Avenue in Albany. On a Friday or Saturday night, some other teenagers or college students always wanted to drag race from a stoplight. The challenge was simply a revving of the engine, and when the light turned green the race was on. The race would only be to the next stoplight since the lights were timed for 25 mph, and we would always hit the next red light. I enjoyed the Mercury and it never let me down. I used it for a year until I graduated and went into the Army in July 1959. By then I was hesitant to drive the Mercury to Indiana, so I flew to Indianapolis and left the Mercury in Nassau.

When I returned to Nassau in late January or early February 1960, I started a job search and decided to buy a newer automobile. Dad arranged for me to get a loan at the National Commercial Bank and Trust Company, and I bought a used gray 1957 Oldsmobile V8 Super 88 hardtop, with a large V8 engine, Hydra-Matic transmission, and factory-installed dual exhausts. It was very nice looking, with the rear window divided into 3 parts. I think that I paid about $1,400.00 for it, plus the Mercury. Shortly after I bought the car I drove it to Oswego, New York, which is north of Syracuse, on the shore of Lake Erie. Nedda was a freshman at Oswego State College, and I went there to see her for a weekend. Oswego was in the snow belt of New York, receiving lots of “lake effect” snow. On Saturday night we went for a drive on some back road. I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped to neck with her, but afterward, when I tried to drive away, I found that the right tires of the Oldsmobile were stuck in the soft snow, and the wheels just spun. I remember that we had passed a farmhouse about a quarter mile back, so I left Nedda in the car with the engine running to keep her warm and I walked back to the farmhouse. After knocking at the door for a while, the door was finally opened by the farmer, a man who appeared to be in his mid-30s. I told him of my predicament, but he seemed totally disinterested and offered no suggestions as to where or how I could get a tow truck to extricate the Oldsmobile. I was at a loss as to what to do next when I spotted an army reserve or national guard uniform jacket hanging up on a hook by the door. There were sergeant stripes on the jacket, and I asked him if he was in the reserves. He said that he was, and I told him that I was a lieutenant in the Army reserves and had recently come off active duty. His entire attitude changed, and he promptly put on a coat and boots, and brought out a tractor and chains, and towed the Oldsmobile back on the highway.

The Oldsmobile was a sporty automobile, and I used it for very frequent trips to New York City to see Nedda that summer and the following year since she didn’t return to Oswego the following fall, but instead enrolled at a college in New York City. We were married on August 19, 1961, and soon decided that the Oldsmobile was too expensive to maintain while I was in law school. That fall, with some help from Nedda’s parents, we bought a brand new bright blue 1961 Volkswagen. The car had a standard transmission, but the horsepower of the air-cooled 4-cylinder engine had just been increased to 45 horsepower and it was fun to drive. The list price was about $1,800, and I remember that we opted for the optional bumper brace for $5.00. I think that the 1961 VW “Bug” was the first with a standard fuel gauge. Since the engine was air-cooled, it was very uncomfortable in the cold winter, as the heater was never really adequate.

We kept the VW until some time in 1965.  We traded it in shortly before Michael was born because it was too small for both children. In those days we didn’t have special seats for babies or even seat belts, and when Nedda held David on her lap his head would be quite close to the windshield. Next, we bought a new 1965 white Chevrolet Impala coupe. It had a light blue leather interior and a V8 with automatic transmission. It was a nice car, but in 1967 the transmission gave out, and we decided to get a station wagon. We bought a blue Ford Town & Country Station Wagon at the dealer in North Troy. It was a model that had the tailgate open in 2 directions: it would open either as a door swinging open or as a tailgate dropping down. When I brought it home, I went to show Nedda how it worked, and when I opened it as a door it crunched into the fender. I brought it back to the dealer to be repaired, and when they gave it back to me I asked the service manager to demonstrate how it worked. When he did, the “repaired” tailgate also crunched into the fender. After a couple of days, they got it fixed, but the Ford always had problems. The following year it developed a nasty habit of having the headlights turn off for a second or two and then turning back on. I brought it back to the dealer several times, but they couldn’t figure out the problem and advised that I drive carefully at night. This was before the enactment of “lemon” laws. Unhappy with that solution, and tired of driving a station wagon, we went to Pittsfield and bought a very sporty car: a 1968 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme hardtop. It was grey metallic with a black vinyl top, leather seats, a V8 engine with Hydra-Matic transmission. As I became more prosperous, I traded the Oldsmobile for a 1972 Ford Thunderbird. It was a large 2 door sedan, actually built on the same assembly line and sharing most mechanical parts with the Lincoln Mark IV, but with slightly different sheet metal and interior. The Thunderbird was teal with a black vinyl top and red nylon upholstery. It was our first luxury automobile.  I eventually had an accident with the Thunderbird. No one was injured, but there was damage to the passenger side of the vehicle, it took a couple of weeks to get the damage repaired. The accident was largely my fault, but the State Trooper, Gordon Gundrum, pretended he didn’t know me and convinced the other driver that the accident was largely the other driver’s fault.

The Thunderbird was never quite right after the accident, and I eventually traded for a new 1975 or 1976 Chrysler Cordoba 2 door hardtop. It was gold with a white vinyl top and gold “Corinthian” leather seats. Sylvia liked it and bought an exact duplicate. The Chrysler was a sporty car that I enjoyed driving, but it had a mechanical flaw: a computer chip would suddenly fail and the car wouldn’t run. Computer chips were a fairly new item in cars, and the dealer didn’t stock replacement chips. When the problem arose, the dealer would have to report the problem and order a new chip under the warranty. It happened twice to me, and at least once to Sylvia.

My next car was a red 1978 Corvette with a 4-speed standard transmission. I ordered it in mid-1977. I paid $9,700.00. The quality was terrible at delivery. The passenger window didn’t close properly and there was a small tear in the dashboard where it met the windshield. The dealer couldn’t fix the tear, and the regional Chevrolet representative told me that it will get worse each time they try to fix it. I brought a lawsuit against General Motors under the new Magnason Moss Federal Automobile Warranty Act, which provided that the automaker had to replace the car or refund the purchase price if they failed to repair it satisfactorily. By then the 1978 Corvette, its 25th-anniversary edition, became a hot item, and the street price inflated by thousands of dollars. General Motors wouldn’t replace the car and offered to pay me the purchase price. I loved the style of the car and knew that I couldn’t get another without paying much more than I would receive. Finally, I settled with GM for about $2,000.00 and kept the car.

By this time Nedda’s Ford was traded for a Chevrolet Impala station wagon since we needed something large enough for our family of five. The Corvette eventually was traded for a Red 1981 Mercedes diesel sedan, which I drove until 1988 when a college student broadsided it in a rainstorm. Although it was repaired, I was tired of the diesel engine, and I bought a new beige 1988 Mercedes 420 SEL sedan, which I drove until 2000. I leased a white 2000 Cadillac De Ville DTS for 3 years and after that a red 2002 Cadillac Seville STS. When the lease expired, we purchased a Mercedes SUV, followed by a black diesel-powered BMW X5 SUV.

Oldsmobile (after David's accident)

Nedda had a succession of cars. After she got her drivers' license, we bought a used Rambler, but later sold it to a friend and bought a new Ford gray sedan, which she never liked. After the Ford, we bought a blue Chevrolet station wagon for her daily use. This was followed by a red Datsun (later Nissan) sedan and then a red and white Oldsmobile coupe, which David pretty well wrecked at the end of his senior year in high school This was followed by a green Saab 900 sedan.

Saab

The Saab was followed by a leased tan Cadillac Seville. After the Cadillac, Nedda wanted a convertible. We tried several and finally settled on a green 1999 Chrysler Sebring. It was a hassle shipping it to and from Florida, so we kept that Sebring at our New York home and bought a teal 2002 Chrysler which we kept in Florida. Both cars had a “Nedda” vanity license plate. After we sold our New York home in 2004, we moved the New York Sebring to my son Caribou’s garage in Virginia, but it got in the way there and we brought it to Florida. We only had garage space for two cars, and eventually sold one and traded the other towards a 2005 LexusBeach retractable convertible.  We kept that car until the fall of 2020, when we gifted it to our daughter-in-law, Laura.

Tesla Model S

We bought a Tesla Model S in October 2016 and then traded the BMW for a 2017 Lexus RX-350 F Sport SUV on a 3-year lease. 

In September 2020, the Lexus RX-350 lease expired and we took delivery of a red Tesla Model Y.   We now have gone petroleum-free (except for a natural gas home generator).