Born in '57

I’ve always felt a bond with the ’57 Chevy. Partly because I was born the year they were built and partly because my dad had a red four door when I was a tyke. They tell me I called it “Red Daddy’s Car.” I don’t have many memories that far back but I do remember how I loved to hang onto that steering wheel pretending I was driving it. I was one of those guys who couldn’t wait to drive, longed for it, and ached for it for years. During my early teens on a very rare occasion we would be out in Kansas somewhere on a back road and my dad would let me drive the family car. That was the greatest thing in the world. Well, second only to when he would give me the controls of an airplane. Anyway, I was the guy first in line at the driver’s license testing facility on the morning of my 16^th birthday and it all started with that ’57 Chevy. The car I drove the most initially was another family Chevrolet, a ’66 Bel Air wagon. I remember the sad day my dad sold the ’57 and we watched it drive away. I don’t really know why he did because he really loved that car. It’s one of those you wish had never been let go.

On my way north last weekend as I rode up 385 just south of Simpsonville, I spotted a bevy of ‘57’s at a junk yard. A couple had been restored to fairly nice condition and a couple were derelicts that looked beyond hope. The nice black four door had a price of $14,000 on it. The worst of the derelicts was on the block for $1,500, about half of what it fetched when brand new. Why didn’t dad save Red Daddy’s Car? I can only wish. I’ve occasionally thought that should I ever happen to become a rich man, something completely impractical that I might like to own would be a restored ’57 Chevy. In red, of course. And while we’re at it, a convertible. Right now I’d certainly settle for some restoration for my own raggedy ’57 vintage body and soul.