It seems like I’ve always had a black Ford in my life. My first car was a ’58 two door black beauty. It was a sedan, but it was a model that had the gold inlay and chrome along the sides flaring out down the rear quarter panel. It was a really nice first car for a farm kid growing up in rural Michigan. Living six miles out of town, it was essential that I have a car so I could work after school and on Saturdays, in town, and have my own transportation.

I got my first car in the winter of ’66 in anticipation of getting my drivers license when I turned 16, in March. I was already working and driving, but alas, due to limited Driver’s Ed at our high school in Manchester, I didn’t actually get my license until May. By then, I had used rubbing compound on the car and had applied several coats of Vista Clean paste wax. That baby shined! I paid $275 for it. It wasn’t much, but it was a lot for me.

My car was indeed owned by the proverbial little old lady on the hill; Ann Arbor Hill, that is. I don't think she played Bridge with "the Hill Girls," but she may have. I could remember her name, if I thought about it long enough. The Ford had only 27K miles and it was kept garaged and very clean and well maintained. Having had good seat covers professionally installed when the car was new, I found my seats to be absolutely perfect when I took the covers off. The material was basically shades of gray and with soft fabric, but the cushions were not too soft. The dash was shiny black. The ignition key was on the left, and the door lock knobs were up front just behind the little vent window. AM factory radio with rear antenna. Wipers that felt like they were vacuum powered and flapped back and forth in a sing songy way, probably because of the wrap around windshield. We had an old ’49 stake truck on the farm and that’s what that had, I know, because one time I took off the little air hose and the wipers didn’t work.

I replaced the original tires with new whitewalls, from the S&H Farm store in Adrian. The original spare was in the trunk right up to the day I sold the car. I repainted the rims black and left the hub caps off. That was the style back then. I did get “Spinners” later on. I painted the inner wheelbearing caps bright yellow, jacked up the front end, with spacers between the coil springs, and put on a "glass pack" muffler. My car sounded as good as any 6 banger could. I screwed on new rocker panels that I orderd out of Whitney’s, to hide what little rust there was. I bought some orange spray paint which was made for parking lamp lenses, cleaned them up and painted them to look like they belonged on a ’66 model. Then I cleaned up the big chrome egg crate grill, got Dad’s black electrical tape, and painstakingly covered all the spokes on each little hole. It gave the huge grill opening a sparkly dark look. Whew! And, the chrome grill border was always kept clean with chrome cleaner and polish.

I thought I was hot spit, since I was the first kid in my Class to have a car. And, it was truly a nice looking car. We only had 65 kids in our Class at Manchester. But, Manchester was a good place to grow up. Since I followed my older brother, Jim, in his after school job, at the Gulf station in the center of town, I was able to work on my car regardless of the temperature outside. I'd spit polish my car every day I worked even through the winters. In the evenings, I’d pull my car into the wash rack and work on it in between waiting on gas customers, or fixing flats. At the station, I could watch cars go by, turn the corner, go up to the Post Office, make a U turn and come back by the station, stop and turn the corner. Being a car lover, the Gulf station was the perfect place for a young kid to work. I knew every make and model, and I knew who owned every car in town.

At the Gulf station we pumped gas and washed windows and checked oil for every customer. We washed cars, fixed flats, sold tires and batteries, did oil changes, lube jobs and mufflers, during the day. (The station had a couple of Ford pickup trucks which we'd drive to our customer's homes to pick up their cars for washing or servicing. One was a '54 navy blue with black top flairside, and one was a '61, fire engine red styleside.) But at night, we'd just pump gas and fix flats. I had time to work on my car. It was a good job at $1.50 per hour. With only $2 in Gulf Tane, my Ford could tool around town all night. Gas was only $.279 then. On a Saturday, if we washed 25 cars, that was a full day’s work, since we washed by hand and practically detailed every one of them with each wash. We even washed new cars for the local Ford dealer before delivery to their new owners. Ford used some sort of wax at the factory back then, to protect the finish during shipping, so we’d use Vista Clean paste wax on the new Ford’s to get the factory wax off and shine them up. Today, I see they use some sort of plastic wrap to protect the finish during shipment.

Growing up in southeast Michigan, it was always understood that Ford Motor Company was the most highly regarded employer. Ford has been in my family history too. My Dad’s first new car was a black ’37 Ford, which if I recall correctly, he paid only $600 for it. Seems like it may have been that Ford, in which he picked up my mother for their first date. And, my uncle Walter, who was visiting at my mother’s home that day, took her barn boots, which smelled like cow manure, and put them behind the drivers seat of my dad’s car, while he had gone inside the house to get her. Years later, they both laughed heartily telling the story, and recounting that both wondered if it were the other who smelled like the cattle barn that night. Uncle Walter sure got a good laugh that night.

It was during that time, that my dad went to work at the building site for the new Manchester Ford Plant, on the Raisin River, and then, during “The War,” my Mom’s mother, went to work at the Manchester Ford Plant. After the building was built, Dad didn't stay with Ford, since he preferred his freedom and didn't want to be tied to inside factory life.

My ’58 Ford saw lots of fun, if it could only have talked. To protect the guilty, I won’t give details, but if you let your imagination go, you could fill in the details for yourself. Lots of “firsts” took place in my first Ford. Oh my! Manchester is surrounded by old, winding, hilly, rock roads and out of the way places….. but, when tooling around town, (since Manchester didn’t have any hangouts for kids,) we’d cruise on over to either Everett’s drive-in at Ann Arbor, Bummie’s drive-in at Adrian or The Chicken Shack drive-in at Jackson. Manchester is 22 miles from each of those cities, so it was quite convenient to get to a drive-in, where there were kids from other towns hanging around. And, much like the Woodward Dream Cruise today, we drove and drove around, checking each other out.

My black beauty shined like none other during the day and brightly sparkled at night under the lights. I was quite innocent. We never got into trouble, and never did any damage to other people’s property, but it was something to do for small town farm kids. (I think I had beer one time at a pool party, at the home of one of the town kids, Pat, after graduating from high school, but my friends were so well mannered, that they drove me home and left me in the back seat for my Dad come out and retrieve me. Of course, he would not let me into the house, for my mother to see me, until he sobered me up.) I’m glad I’m not a kid today, with all the temptations, and world's influences they have. I was pretty well isolated from the world back then. I don’t remember Dad ever putting a curfew on Jim or me. We could stay out as late as we wanted, but he’d make sure we were up at 6. There were animals to feed before school. Jim and I learned that if you have to be up at 6, you can’t stay out too late at night. I think my sisters did have curfews however, just because they were girls.

On too many Friday nights after the Gulf station closed at 9, my co-worker Gary and I would get out on M-52, the new limited access highway south of town, which ran a straight shot for 6 miles up and down hills, to US-12. (I happened to run into Gary at the wedding of his niece a few months back; successful, big career back East, wife, kids.) Gary had a black ’60 Ford. While his Ford had a V8 and stick shift, mine had an inline 6 with automatic. His had a faster pickup from the starting line, but mine had a better top end, at better than 115 mph. If I could get to the highway before he did, I always beat him to US-12. He just could not catch me and pass me. But, if we started from a stop, I couldn’t get past him. So, if I could run fast and get to my car before him, after we locked up, I’d speed out of town, and just put the peddle to the metal, watching his headlights in my rear view mirror, racing all the way to Clinton. Well, you can imagine how this tale ends…… I blew a rod through the side of my block, one fateful night.

My Dad, being a generous and gracious father, went to the junk yard and bought a $50 junked ’58 Ford and swapped engines for me, and then took the junked car back to the junk yard. The hardest part of that project for me was having to stand there, holding the light while he did the work. I was bored to tears. My aptitude for mechanics is sorely lacking, but Dad was the ultimate mechanic. Being a farmer, he could have fixed anything. One of his lines was that he could mend anything except used toilet paper and a broken heart. I believed him, and still believe what he said, today. I never raced my car again. Dad didn’t whip me that time, but his graciousness caused me to learn my lesson anyway. Thanks Dad! He knew I felt bad enough having ruined something so good, to learn my lesson. I guess I did learn a few things from Dad. I can generally fix up most anything, around the house. But nowadays, I drive new black Fords, so about the most mechanical thing I do with them, is put gas in the tank.

Many days, my little sister, Sally, rode to school with me in the mornings, but took the bus home in the evenings, because I’d go to work at the Gulf station for a couple hours. Since her Junior High school was across the street from my friend Donna’s house, I’d drop Sally off and pick up Donna at the same time. Then, we’d drive on to the high school.

The picture with this story, is of me and my Ford in front of Donna’s house, on Memorial Day 1967. The top hat I’m wearing is in recognition of the celebration of Manchester’s sesquicentennial and parade that day which we attended. And, the vest I’m wearing was part of the three piece suit my Dad bought for my parent’s wedding in 1943. Brother Jim, and his girlfriend (later his wife) Carol, drove my Dad’s ’23 Model T Roadster in the parade that day. Jim still has that car! Carol made her dress for the day, and she made a matching vest for Jim. And, about that same year, for their 50th Wedding Anniversary party at the church hall, my grandparents drove the Model T and parked out front. Lot’s of neat memories with Fords…..

My older sister, Shirley, needed a car to do her student teaching the fall semester of ’67, so I loaned her my black ’58 Ford. She took it to Chicago, where she was in college, and used it for the semester. I drove my Dad's powder blue '67 pickup with a cap on the back while Shirley had my car that semester. That cost me getting labeled with quite a nickname! I got my car back at Christmas time, when she graduated, got married and moved off to St. Louis where her husband was in seminary grad school.

I remember the other black Fords my buddies drove back then. Along with Gary’s ’60, was Dave’s ’57 red and black Retractable and Larry’s ’59 four door. But, mine was the best…… if only it could talk.
It was a sad day when the For Sale sign went in the window and I parked my first car in the front yard of the farm house. A local man bought it for his daughter to drive, and she wrecked it beyond repair a couple weeks later. It worked out for the best, because it sort of broke my heart to see it belonging to someone else, who maybe wouldn’t keep it as spotlessly clean. I knew the family and thought it would be going to a good home, but it only lasted a couple weeks.

That’s the story of my first car, a wonderful ’58 Ford. Since then, I’ve had 26 Fords and never a bad one. Most of them were indeed, black. They’ve all been excellent cars. I’m thinking one day, I’d like to have a vintage Falcon, but my fear is that I’m not mechanical enough to care for it……. Time will tell…..

Note: I am a Ford Motor Company retiree now.

Roger