Me parking my ’62 Ford Falcon at the 2015 Detroit Autorama Extreme. Photo by Joshua Miller.
There are two ways you become an old car buff: either you are into cars and eventually you get into old ones; or you are into old stuff and eventually you get into cars. Put me in the latter camp. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with the trappings of the first half (OK, make it first 2/3) of the 20th Century.
When I was really young, that was largely a matter of collecting vintage militaria and building models. By the time I was a teenager, though, I came to realize that the most tangible – even practical! – piece of the past one could own was an automobile.
Throw in the fact that my dad lived through the glory days of muscle cars and was a bigtime gearhead back then, and it was no time at all before I’d thrown myself into mid-century automobile culture. We used to spend mornings over coffee and summer nights next to the grill bench racing about projects in the Auto Swapper, or Dad recalling time spent cruising Woodward Avenue in his ’65 GTO convertible. There may have been some tales told of street racing as well…
Dad’s ’65 GTO on the beach at Presque Isle, Michigan, 1965.
Predating my addition to the family was Dad’s last hot rod, a 1969 Corvette coupe he purchased in 1971, and to which he’d added an LT-1 engine purchased over the counter at Berger Chevrolet in Grand Rapids, Michigan; an Edelbrock Tarantula intake; Hooker side pipes; and Mickey Thompson slot mags. The car hasn’t seen the road since 1994, but I vividly remember the thrilling terror of full-throttle blasts on the way back from little league.
Dad’s ’69 Corvette in Alpena, Michigan, 1973.
When I started driving, Dad was smart enough NOT to offer use of his old Corvette to me (in fact, it’s awaiting attention from my younger brother these days), but he did let me start driving our ’68 Camaro convertible to school. Not one to leave well enough alone, I persuaded Dad that it would be a far cooler vehicle with a four-barrel on the 327 and a four-speed stick. My happiest memories are summer weekends in high school and college spent with Dad making those changes and the ones that naturally flowed along with them.
My ’68 Camaro posed with Mom’s ’73 AMC Javelin Pierre Cardin.
One piece of advice Dad gave me, after having worked as a service manager at a Ford dealership in the ‘70s, was not to attempt to make my living at my hobby. Dutifully, I went to college and studied history, with ambitions of earning my Ph.D. and finding work as a history professor. Alas, contact with real history professors taught me that there are far more candidates for those positions than openings, and I was advised to attend law school instead.
Long story short, I practiced law for six years and am forever grateful for the experience, but in that time I always found myself far more passionate for old cars. Tellingly, once I was able to purchase a car for myself, I swapped my 1993 Ford Escort for a 1961 Ford Falcon Futura with a 170 cu. in. six-cylinder and three on the tree. Once my darling wife helped me get over my predilection for the four-speed, floor-shift pattern I was used to from my Camaro, I had no regrets whatsoever for trading the computer age for a one-barrel carburetor.
My ’61 Falcon Futura. Photo by Sarah Patrick.
I have not looked back, and since have owned a ’64 Rambler American 330 (a $750 impulse buy that took me through the bitter cold winter of 2013-2014 while my Falcon was temporarily serving as a parts car), a ’50 Studebaker Champion Regal Deluxe (I took it in partial trade for my Camaro), part of a ’26 / ’27 Model T touring car that was to be a ’28 Chevy-powered gow job (since passed on to a young friend who will hopefully fit in it better than my 6’1”, 225 lb self), and my current ride: A ’62 Ford Falcon Deluxe Tudor built to better suit my driving style with a 250 cu. in. six, five-speed stick, and disc brakes.
My rusty-but-trusty ’64 Rambler American on the snowy streets of Bay City, Michigan.
In case you are wondering, we do have a practical late-model in the family. My wife owns a 2008 Dodge Charger Police and a 2003 GMC Yukon XL for carting around our three wonderful daughters and loveable Great Dane. I keep hoping she’ll decide she would really prefer to trade the Yukon for an International Travelall or Ford Country Sedan.
My wife’s 2008 Dodge Charger Police.
I have a great love for virtually all old vehicles, especially of the four-wheeled variety, so expect to see that enthusiasm here. Given my druthers, I’ll indulge my passion for early hop ups (ask me about my ambitions to build a ‘40s-style Dodge Brothers roadster with a white-hot Chrysler straight six) and ‘50s cars. I’ve been reading and commenting on the Hemmings Daily for a while, so hopefully my transition to the editorial side of things will be pretty painless. I look forward to seeing you all around!
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