Today, an SDC member, who shall remain anonymous for obvious reasons, called to ask what might have caused the overdrive in his 1950 Champion to take leave of operating. We talked for awhile and I discovered that he did have a 1950 Shop Manual, but had not found the overdrive check-out procedure hidden near the back. Once he found that, he gleefully left the phone, summoning his wife to help with check-out duties.
I discovered he had grown up in South Bend and asked if he recalled any specific stories. He had none to offer right then, but when I checked e-mails this evening, this was the first one to open:
Wholly unedited (well, OK; I corrected a couple spelling errors), except I deleted the member's name, of course:
Dear Bob,
I don't know how you do it! There must be a lot of these problems dropped at your feet. You handle them well, however and I thank you for taking time with me.
You asked me about growing up in South Bend and if I had recollections about those days. To be sure, Bob to be sure! I have several "Studebaker" stories of which I am fond. My first one always brings a smile to my face. I want to share it with you.
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It was the spring of 1957. I was 16 and getting ready to matriculate into my senior year at St. Joseph’s in South Bend. All of my friends had been driving for a year; several had their own cars. (My best friend, Jim XXXXX, had a ‘41 Ford coupe, ice box white, with an Olds Rocket OHV engine.)
Geeze, I wanted a car.
Now then, I had been working and putting away a little money for several years. (As a caddy at S.B.C.C. since I was 9, and a pin-setter for Jim Singleton’s bowling alleys on Western Avenue since I was 14.) These jobs didn’t pay much, but I managed to save a few bucks.
Dad knew exactly how I felt and his heart cried for me. One day, he asked me how much money I had saved. I told him it was about $50. He smiled and told me that he knew of a car for sale; it would sell for about that amount. I probably jumped out of my socks.
We took a ride to east side of Jefferson Street in South Bend and pulled into a private home’s drive way. Immediately in front of us was the most beautiful 1950 Studebaker Champion sedan; a DELUXE, mind you! The owner had driven it in his work as a salesman.
We looked it over for a while, rather silently, as I recall. I looked at Dad, he was looking at me with a smile. He nodded at me and turned to ask the owner what he wanted for it. Seventy five dollars, and it would be a steal at that. I felt the skinny $50 in my pocket while my heart sank to my shoes. Dad asked the owner to walk with him to the front of the driveway. I knew my dad was a wheeler-dealer of the first order but could he get the guy down by a third of his price? That may be a stretch, even for Dad.
Emotionally, I was a wreck. In a matter of a few seconds, I could be honest-to-goodness car owner! Or we could be going home in Dad’s car, together...both of us disappointed. But, no! They talked for a while and then came back to me and the car. Dad looked at me and said "Give him your money; it's yours!" Was this one the best days in my life, or what? I still remember it vividly, so it must be.
I don’t think I went faster than 20 miles per hour all the way home. This was my baby!
Later on, after a lot of thought, I came to a convincing conclusion. I knew exactly how the deal went down. Surely, Dad ‘never paid retail’. But this guy bought and sold for a living. He wasn’t going to fall down, surrendering. But what was the deal? I think I know. I am 99% certain that they bickered, surely. There may have been some name calling. But I know how it ended.
I will go to my grave believing that Dad got him down some in price. But I also believe that Dad gave the guy either a five or ten-spot and admonished him: "Don’t tell the kid!"
I love him and miss him very much.
I believe the title of Fred Fox' brochure about The Studebaker Drivers Club is, "What it's All About." I submit to you that the above story explains why SDC is more than just so many old cars and trucks. BP
I discovered he had grown up in South Bend and asked if he recalled any specific stories. He had none to offer right then, but when I checked e-mails this evening, this was the first one to open:
Wholly unedited (well, OK; I corrected a couple spelling errors), except I deleted the member's name, of course:
Dear Bob,
I don't know how you do it! There must be a lot of these problems dropped at your feet. You handle them well, however and I thank you for taking time with me.
You asked me about growing up in South Bend and if I had recollections about those days. To be sure, Bob to be sure! I have several "Studebaker" stories of which I am fond. My first one always brings a smile to my face. I want to share it with you.
--------------
It was the spring of 1957. I was 16 and getting ready to matriculate into my senior year at St. Joseph’s in South Bend. All of my friends had been driving for a year; several had their own cars. (My best friend, Jim XXXXX, had a ‘41 Ford coupe, ice box white, with an Olds Rocket OHV engine.)
Geeze, I wanted a car.
Now then, I had been working and putting away a little money for several years. (As a caddy at S.B.C.C. since I was 9, and a pin-setter for Jim Singleton’s bowling alleys on Western Avenue since I was 14.) These jobs didn’t pay much, but I managed to save a few bucks.
Dad knew exactly how I felt and his heart cried for me. One day, he asked me how much money I had saved. I told him it was about $50. He smiled and told me that he knew of a car for sale; it would sell for about that amount. I probably jumped out of my socks.
We took a ride to east side of Jefferson Street in South Bend and pulled into a private home’s drive way. Immediately in front of us was the most beautiful 1950 Studebaker Champion sedan; a DELUXE, mind you! The owner had driven it in his work as a salesman.
We looked it over for a while, rather silently, as I recall. I looked at Dad, he was looking at me with a smile. He nodded at me and turned to ask the owner what he wanted for it. Seventy five dollars, and it would be a steal at that. I felt the skinny $50 in my pocket while my heart sank to my shoes. Dad asked the owner to walk with him to the front of the driveway. I knew my dad was a wheeler-dealer of the first order but could he get the guy down by a third of his price? That may be a stretch, even for Dad.
Emotionally, I was a wreck. In a matter of a few seconds, I could be honest-to-goodness car owner! Or we could be going home in Dad’s car, together...both of us disappointed. But, no! They talked for a while and then came back to me and the car. Dad looked at me and said "Give him your money; it's yours!" Was this one the best days in my life, or what? I still remember it vividly, so it must be.
I don’t think I went faster than 20 miles per hour all the way home. This was my baby!
Later on, after a lot of thought, I came to a convincing conclusion. I knew exactly how the deal went down. Surely, Dad ‘never paid retail’. But this guy bought and sold for a living. He wasn’t going to fall down, surrendering. But what was the deal? I think I know. I am 99% certain that they bickered, surely. There may have been some name calling. But I know how it ended.
I will go to my grave believing that Dad got him down some in price. But I also believe that Dad gave the guy either a five or ten-spot and admonished him: "Don’t tell the kid!"
I love him and miss him very much.
I believe the title of Fred Fox' brochure about The Studebaker Drivers Club is, "What it's All About." I submit to you that the above story explains why SDC is more than just so many old cars and trucks. BP
We've got to quit saying, 
101st Airborne Div. 326 Engineers Ft Campbell Ky.
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