In 1958, I turned sixteen and like any energetic, fun loving teenager, I got the car bug. My father and I found one in the Detroit Free Press classified section. It was just what I wanted: it was economical, stylish and fit the times. It was a 1955 Chevrolet, two door sedan, model 210, 6 cylinders, and three speeds on the column with overdrive. I had to have it.

The sales price was $500. However, I only had two hundred dollars. My Dad came to my rescue and purchased it with the agreement that I repay him in installments, which I eventually did.
I had the car painted bronze, named it Mr. Blue and stenciled the name on the rear driver’s side fender as most did during those days. I put in a nice sounding radio with rear speakers mounted from the trunk to the deck of the back window and began cruising 8-Mile road; it was the Fifties, rock and roll was in, and Elvis was king.

Mr. Blue and I had many memorable experiences; my first ride up and down Fairport Avenue, shaking all the way; a first date after promising her father I would drive carefully, driving to school and, of course, cruising the streets with three other great pretenders.

I continued to drive it through my first year of college, and then across the United States to the military Air Base where I was stationed when I enlisted in the Air Force. However, all good things must come to an end, and in the end, I sadly sold it to a military family stationed at the base that had a sixteen year old who also appreciated a 1955 Chevy. End

The attached photo shows Mr. Blue along with my mother anxiously waiting for me to drive her someplace.

Donald