My life in cars
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I
’ve been fascinated by cars my whole life. Even when I was way too young to drive, I read every car magazine that I could get my hands on. Fortunately, one of my cousins kept a large collection of such magazines. A fascination for cars was part of the culture that I grew up in. Every discussion with my compatriots sooner or later turned to cars. In addition to the technical aspects of cars, the discussions included more practical aspects, such as which car was fastest and which cars would help attract girls. In the 1950s, one of my cousins bought a Plymouth Fury convertible, the one with the large fins. For a while, I wanted that car. However, in the mid-1960s my attention was drawn to the Chevy Corvette Stingray. And my automobile fantasies have remained there ever since. In terms of full disclosure, I should note that several family members of mine have worked for General Motors (GM) or Ford, developing new technologies, making cars, or in management. A few years ago, I mentioned my dream of owning a Corvette Stingray to the cousin who had owned the Plymouth Fury. For many years, he worked in management at GM and had considerable experience with their complete line of cars. At one point, he even owned a Corvette. To my considerable surprise, he was very negative about my dream of owning one of the classic Stingrays. His main point in opposition was that the classic versions do not contain the technologies that make modern cars much safer. Another car had hit his Corvette, and the rear half of the fiberglass body was ripped off. He recommended that instead I buy a modern Corvette. Alas, the modern Corvettes have an extremely low profile. At this stage of my life, I might be able to get into and drive a modern Corvette, but it would take a heavy-duty crane to get me out. So my lust for the Stingray remains, although I doubt that I will ever own one. My father was an imminently practical man, as befitted an accountant/teacher/farmer with a wife and four kids. Our cars were mostly sedans from Ford, GM, or Mercury. We owned a Studebaker in the 1950s and a Volkswagen Beetle in the late 1960s, but nothing really exotic. My hints that the family should own a Stingray, or better yet, that he should simply buy me one, went unremarked and unconsidered. When I became old enough to drive, my father allowed me to purchase one of the older family cars from him for the princely sum of $200. My first car was a 1955 Mercury. One of its advantages was that the driver and passengers were surrounded by a large hunk of metal. Of course, at that time, most cars were large hunks of metal–mostly steel. One of the endearing features of the car was for the accelerator pedal to stick when pressed down. At which point, I would sometimes have to throw the car in neutral and stab at the brake pedal, just to avoid colliding with whatever was in front of me. Another of its endearing features was that it would occasionally refuse to start, even though nothing was proven wrong. I remember getting fed up with it and was going to sell it, so my fat
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