"What's a Studebaker" is a common response that I get from my friends when I tell them about this car company. As a softmore high school student, the idea of a dream car is one that bolsters an engine behind the driver and has at least 600 HP. However, my idea is much different.
I've always been into cars. Even when I was little I could sit in the driver's seat hours on end, doing nothing but just imagine I was driving. But, when our family would take a trip down to Texas to see relatives, the first stop was always Grandpa's. And as soon as we got there, I asked if he and I could go out to the garage. In there was waiting a 59 two-door Lark, named "Black Beauty," and a 60 four-door Lark, in baby blue, called the "Saint." I just loved the cars. The radiance of old oil, the bouncy bench seats, the big steering wheel. I can still remember him and me toodeling around the neighborhood in one of the cars. I couldn't get enough of it. I'd ask a million questions, and he had a million answers. And even as I got older, on those family vacations I would still ask to go to the garage. But, as I got older, I'd just be handed the keys.
My grandpa, along with me, was getting older. I'd still go out to the garage and sit in the cars, but, he couldn't come. We couldn't drive around the block anymore. But one year, it was something else that captured my attention that didn't need driving. Because it couldn't be driven.
On jack stands at the end of the garage was "The Great Pumpkin." A 62 Champ with factory A/C, a 289 V8, and yes, an automatic. It had great paint because my grandpa had just sold the truck to a painter after recently rebuilding the engine. And although that painter knew about the body, he sure didn't know about the engine, because the truck was left outside with the hood off. And it rained. My grandpa bought the truck back from the painter and started rebuilding the engine a second time. But, by this time, he needed help, so not much was getting done. The engine was hanging on an engine hoist, the interior was full of parts, but there was one thing that got done. The first thing we did with that truck was put the chains on for the tailgate.
I came back every summer, and we did a little more. We put the pistons in. We put the exhaust manifolds on. And then I stabbed the engine. But not because it was finished. Because the truck was leaving Texas.
In his will he had left the Pumpkin to my family and I. With the car hauler loaded with the Pumpkin and a trailer made from another Champ's bed, we headed home.
And so here I find myself, wanting to finish what my grandpa started so long ago. Maybe, after all, the Great Pumpkin will fly again Linus, and I won't stop believing until it does.
I've always been into cars. Even when I was little I could sit in the driver's seat hours on end, doing nothing but just imagine I was driving. But, when our family would take a trip down to Texas to see relatives, the first stop was always Grandpa's. And as soon as we got there, I asked if he and I could go out to the garage. In there was waiting a 59 two-door Lark, named "Black Beauty," and a 60 four-door Lark, in baby blue, called the "Saint." I just loved the cars. The radiance of old oil, the bouncy bench seats, the big steering wheel. I can still remember him and me toodeling around the neighborhood in one of the cars. I couldn't get enough of it. I'd ask a million questions, and he had a million answers. And even as I got older, on those family vacations I would still ask to go to the garage. But, as I got older, I'd just be handed the keys.
My grandpa, along with me, was getting older. I'd still go out to the garage and sit in the cars, but, he couldn't come. We couldn't drive around the block anymore. But one year, it was something else that captured my attention that didn't need driving. Because it couldn't be driven.
On jack stands at the end of the garage was "The Great Pumpkin." A 62 Champ with factory A/C, a 289 V8, and yes, an automatic. It had great paint because my grandpa had just sold the truck to a painter after recently rebuilding the engine. And although that painter knew about the body, he sure didn't know about the engine, because the truck was left outside with the hood off. And it rained. My grandpa bought the truck back from the painter and started rebuilding the engine a second time. But, by this time, he needed help, so not much was getting done. The engine was hanging on an engine hoist, the interior was full of parts, but there was one thing that got done. The first thing we did with that truck was put the chains on for the tailgate.
I came back every summer, and we did a little more. We put the pistons in. We put the exhaust manifolds on. And then I stabbed the engine. But not because it was finished. Because the truck was leaving Texas.
In his will he had left the Pumpkin to my family and I. With the car hauler loaded with the Pumpkin and a trailer made from another Champ's bed, we headed home.
And so here I find myself, wanting to finish what my grandpa started so long ago. Maybe, after all, the Great Pumpkin will fly again Linus, and I won't stop believing until it does.
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