While I am in an automobile mood, I thought I’d talk about my father’s last car. This is not directly related to my recent car buying, I hope, but it was brought to mind by that experience.My father, late in his life and a few years’ from retirement, went out to find a car.
We had a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville, a very wide vehicle capable of sitting four across if needed. It was just a few years old but while in the dealership, I guess, getting his car fixed, he must have seen the future.
The 1963 Buick Riviera had just come out and it was fantastic! I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life! It moved him and must have killed my mother, but he bought it.
He waited for delivery, as they did not have what he wanted in stock. It was a cream colored one with leather seats of the same color. It had four seats and was the size of a battleship! It had a special plate made that said "Made Expressly for Harry Greenblatt" and it sat above the shift lever.
It was summer time and I was home with the Pontiac. I usually took my parents to work in the summer and kept the car, but picked them up after work. The dealership called and told me the new car was in. I told the salesman that my father was at work and he asked me to deliver the trade-in and take the new car. I was floored! They would trust me to do this?” The dealer was nuts! I know I was 18, but still, I couldn’t believe it!
I didn’t tell my father what we were doing, and went to the dealership after checking the trade- in for money and papers. They gave me the new car. I jumped for joy and drove away in seventh heaven.
I drove down to my father’s office and waited for him on the parking lot. Eventually he came out looking for me and couldn’t find me. I waved at him. He was dumbstruck! Just like me, he was astonished that the dealer would trust me with the transaction and letting me sign for everything.
My mother was equally surprised by the events and was flabergasted that they would trust me as well. (I think there may be a theme here.) My father (who did trust me) let me drive the rest of the way home myself, and didn’t take over driving at the office, I guess I remember this as a great day for all of us, and a true father son bonding experience.
In the end, the car sat for a year while my father was hospitalized and later as he was in a nursing home. It slowly corroded a bit, and after his death in 1970, my mother gave the car to me. It needed too much work for me to deal with, and I donated the car to a school vocational program. They spent $1,100 on parts for it, in order to get it running well again. Even then, they continued to have some problems, but were able to sell it to recoup their expenses.
All those later problems aside, my father’s last car was a symbol of wealth and happiness. We had no wealth, but when we drove it we felt happy!
He waited for delivery, as they did not have what he wanted in stock. It was a cream colored one with leather seats of the same color. It had four seats and was the size of a battleship! It had a special plate made that said "Made Expressly for Harry Greenblatt" and it sat above the shift lever.
It was summer time and I was home with the Pontiac. I usually took my parents to work in the summer and kept the car, but picked them up after work. The dealership called and told me the new car was in. I told the salesman that my father was at work and he asked me to deliver the trade-in and take the new car. I was floored! They would trust me to do this?” The dealer was nuts! I know I was 18, but still, I couldn’t believe it!
I didn’t tell my father what we were doing, and went to the dealership after checking the trade- in for money and papers. They gave me the new car. I jumped for joy and drove away in seventh heaven.
I drove down to my father’s office and waited for him on the parking lot. Eventually he came out looking for me and couldn’t find me. I waved at him. He was dumbstruck! Just like me, he was astonished that the dealer would trust me with the transaction and letting me sign for everything.
My mother was equally surprised by the events and was flabergasted that they would trust me as well. (I think there may be a theme here.) My father (who did trust me) let me drive the rest of the way home myself, and didn’t take over driving at the office, I guess I remember this as a great day for all of us, and a true father son bonding experience.
In the end, the car sat for a year while my father was hospitalized and later as he was in a nursing home. It slowly corroded a bit, and after his death in 1970, my mother gave the car to me. It needed too much work for me to deal with, and I donated the car to a school vocational program. They spent $1,100 on parts for it, in order to get it running well again. Even then, they continued to have some problems, but were able to sell it to recoup their expenses.
All those later problems aside, my father’s last car was a symbol of wealth and happiness. We had no wealth, but when we drove it we felt happy!
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