MY OLD STUDEBAKER
We were driving down the highway,
My beautiful girlfriend and I;
She was soon to become my wife,
With a twinkle in my eye.
My car wasn’t the most reliable,
Although I liked her lines;
It was quite aero-dynamic,
And was looking very fine.
It was a 1954 Studebaker,
And it had an infamous rep;
You either love them or hate them,
It did have a lot of pep.
It had a bright red paint job,
And was painted white on top;
The car was only about five years old,
But it turned out to be a flop.
But back to the story I was telling,
About driving down the road;
Somehow the hood became unlatched,
And why I never knowed.
It flew up over the windshield,
And the road I could not see;
To say it caught me by surprise,
Was the understatement of the year to me.
So I rolled down my driver’s side window,
And stuck my head outside;
So that I could see where we were going,
It was becoming quite a ride.
I pulled over to the side of the road,
And finally came to a stop;
I closed the hood down securely,
And steered clear of the local cops.
My girlfriend though was quite impressed,
At how I got things controlled;
We didn’t end up in the ditch,
And run afoul of the highway patrol.
Another problem I had with that car,
Was the brakes would seize up tight;
But I had a solution to fix it,
So the brakes would work alright.
I’d take the top off the master cylinder,
Which was mounted under the floor;
Right below the driver’s feet,
Beside the driver’s door.
I’d probe around with a needle,
‘Till I found the breather hole,
And clean out the blockage as best I could,
And be on my way once more.
Well, the engine finally gave out on the car,
It was a factory flathead six;
I nursed it along as long as I could,
But it needed to be fixed.
So I acquired another engine,
And with the help of a very good friend;
Proceeded to swap out the engine,
On a long ago holiday weekend.
But it turned out the engine was worse,
Than the one we had taken out;
So we had to swap them back again,
It was a waste of time, no doubt.
It took us all of the weekend,
To change the engines around;
And get back to work on Tuesday,
At the other end of town.
I’m not sure what happened to my old car,
I left it at my brother’s place;
When we moved out to Port Arthur,
To begin a new change of pace.
I’ll always remember that old Studebaker,
That had problems every day it seems;
Somehow I didn’t really mind,
For it was once the car of my dreams!
Bob Bartlett,
North Bay
