No More Shake, Rattle and Roll

The year was 1971 and that Driver's License was finally in my wallet. Dad was a whiz at keeping cars running and it was easier to get me a car than to take me to my job or to hear the begging to take Mom's all the time.

The 1960 Plymouth Belvedere. I don't think an uglier car was ever made. Unless you have actually seen one of these monstrocities you can't appreciate the size of the tailfins coming off of the rear quarter panels. The body was white and the top was a seafoam color. Well, at one time it was that color but had long since faded to a tie-dyed mix of peeling paint and rust. (Ah, seafoam, still my favorite color!) The interior had long, blanket-covered bench seats, both front and back, just perfect for jamming an unsafe number of kids into it. It boasted a three-speed standard transmission on the column and a huge gas tank that I could fill during the "gas wars" for as little as 19 cents a gallon. At that price who cared about mileage! I remember buying as little as a dollar at a time. The trunk was huge, perfect for sneaking friends into the drive-in. Oh yeah, the trips up and down the vard' and up the canyon to the dam were non-stop.

Those of you who have ever been in one of my cars know that a tidy auto is not one of my top priorities (understatement of the year?). That car could hold mountains of school papers, pop bottles and gum wrappers. My guess is that it also had spots of Arctic Circle fry sauce on the seats and chocolate smeared on the incredibly HUGE steering wheel.

I drove that car all through my junior and senior year in high school. After I moved away Dad sold it for $25 to a junk yard.

My birthday is coming up. Hint, Hint.

Okay Athena and Eris (and everyone else). Show us your photos!

BONUS: Click here to see this marvelous piece of machinery in action!

$.126