I have magazine ads for the first four cars I owned hanging on my wall. The ’53 Chevy ad in the previous chapter is one, this ’54 Mercury ad is the second, and there are two more. My second car looked just like those in the ad except that it was a two door sedan rather than a convertible, hardtop, or a cool Sun Valley model with the see through roof, and it wasn’t the color of any of them. Somewhere along the line it had been shaved and painted a dark green. Shaving meant removing chrome trim and such and serious customizers might even remove door handles and replace them with hidden latches or buttons. My car still had door handles but not much else. The bit whose absence was most noticeable was the big chunk of chrome that imitated a large hood scoop. I’ve found plenty of pictures of 1954 Mercurys with shaved doors and a few with the fake scoop turned into something functional but none with the front edge of the bump simply filled in and I’ve found no pictures of my own car..

The mild customizing left the hood with what resembled a large “power bulge”. In a sense, that might not have been entirely misleading. 1954 was the first year for Ford and Mercury overhead valve V8s and the 161 horsepower was a pretty big step up from the previous year’s 125 HP flathead. Of course by the time it reached me, the big bump on the old car wasn’t scaring anybody. The most basic 1964 Mercury produced 250 HP and 425 HP was available if you wanted it.

The transmission was a three speed manual. It came to me with the shift lever on the column but I soon installed a very cheap and very used floor shifter. There wasn’t enough room to install the stock shifter properly so I had to put some pieces in upside down. I eventually cut things down so that I could correct it but I didn’t rush. Driving around with a reversed shift pattern was actually kind of fun.

When new, my car probably resembled the one at left. It never really did look all that bad and, unlike the Chevy before it, its engine just kept on going. But things were different underneath. I owned the car for less than a year and during that time the rear end lowered itself by a couple of inches due to rusting suspension. The floor pans had similar issues and the driver’s seat developed a noticeable rearward rake. I’m certain it was preparing to eject me downward at some point.

The Mercury met its end at an Eldora Speedway demolition derby. My generally permissive but very sensible Dad would not sign a release for me to drive the car so that honor went to a friend who had already turned eighteen. Despite getting stuck in first gear and ending up immobilized, the car’s engine was still running at the end of the day. I even sold it to some guy for $5 to put in another car. But all of the derby cars were hauled away before he had a chance to retrieve it and I had to give him his money back.

UPDATE 26-AUG-2013: Eureka! I found a picture of my Merc. It’s dated May 1964 and includes the bonus of my Dad’s 1960 Oldsmobile 2 door hardtop (and one of the best looking cars ever built) in the background.

Previous Wheels: Chapter 3 — 1953 Chevrolet
Next Wheels: Chapter 5 — 1952 Ford

In rural Ohio in the middle of the last century, there was no event anticipated with anywhere near the level of intensity as a fifteen year old male’s next birthday. Mine was in the spring of 1963 and I planned for it like a general plans an attack. I’m a little surprised that I’ve forgotten some of the details that I once knew so well but I suppose that the passing of five decades could account for a little memory fade. There was a written test to get a learner’s permit that allowed you to drive with a licensed driver beside you. Then there was a driving test that included parallel parking to get your license. Some amount of time had to pass between the two. I no longer recall what that time was but I do know that I barely exceeded it. I took the test in Dad’s 1961 Comet then, as soon as we got home, pulled back onto the road in my own car. A couple of months before becoming a licensed driver, I had become an automobile owner with the acquisition of a 1953 Chevrolet four door sedan. I’m sixteen, you’re beautiful, and you’re mine.

The Comet was an automatic and a compact. I think it may have had power brakes but not power steering though I’m far from certain about that. In any case, driving it was easy compared to the 3-on-the-tree Chevy. Dad wasn’t fond of riding in the Chevy and, although he was one of the most patient people in the world, I think my lack of skill with the clutch was an irritant to him. Pretty much all of my “learning” had been in the Comet. Armed with my brand new license, I spent that first afternoon starting and stopping on empty country roads near home. I eventually reached the point where I could launch the Chevy on level ground without killing the engine or spinning the tires most of the time. Then I drove to a bridge I’d previously selected for its somewhat steep approaches. I drove back and forth across the bridge several times with a stop and start on the upward slope of the approach on every pass. By the time I returned home I felt there was a chance I could actually drive the Chevy in public without embarrassing myself too much.

My car was a green and white Bel Air that looked a lot like the car at left. Exceptions were that mine was a 4-door and it never looked nearly that shiny while I owned it. Late in the summer I threw a rod and did my first engine swap with something out of a wreck. During the winter, the front got a little wrinkled when I was intentionally doing donuts in the snow and unintentionally found a guard rail in my path. When the rods in my junkyard engine started knocking in the spring, the Chevy was done.

This car was ten years old when I bought it for $150 and it was beat. I don’t recall how many miles were on it but there was a fair amount of rust and other signs of wear to go along with those short lived rod bearings. In those days, pampered garage kept vehicles could somewhat avoid the rust and there were rumors of engines that ran 100,000 miles but most people I knew didn’t believe them. Today there are plenty of good looking ten year old cars on the road and 100,000 is deemed break in mileage. Yep, they sure don’t build ’em like they used to.

Previous Wheels: Chapter 2 — 1948/9 Whizzer
Next Wheels: Chapter 4 — 1954 Mercury