The Muse is Loose

Why would any of you care about my first car? I'm going to tell you anyway. You can always punch DELETE or something.

I was a Junior at Ouachita Baptist College in Arkadelphia. First Baptist Church in Brinkley, Arkansas asked me to be their summer youth minister. Two older widowed ladies in town gave me an upstairs room in their big, rambling house across from the church. They told me I could have breakfast with them. Actually, I ended up eating there most of the time. Now I needed a
car. To this point I had hitch-hiked each week-end the 300 miles round-trip to be youth-music director at the church. My car shopping was limited. It was quickly resolved. A man offered to sell me an old 30's model chevy/ford, whatever for $75.00. It had a worn-out seat in front and a little fold-out seat in the trunk. They called them rumble seats. This jewel was standard shift, with a catch; low gear was stripped out so I started in second. The power was considerably diminished. The brakes had seen their better days. Smoke billowed into the cab through the cracks where the pedals were located. The windows were always down anyway, except in a rain. Even then they were partly opened in order to breathe. I used this jalopy the entire summer and it never failed me. At the end of summer I sold it for $40.00. I didn't dare drive it the 150 miles to College. It was safer hitchhiking. The next year after graduation I bought a beautiful 53' Mercury and drove it until I was shipped to Germany. My dad kept it at first and then bought it from me. I purchased an old Morris Minor in Germany, followed by a 52' Chevrolet I had shipped home with me. It was our honeymoon car in 1957. Cars are so much a part of our lives. Today, I can't tell one from the other. At one time I knew them all. They were all American made.