Pass Them All

Me and My Cars

I have always been interested in cars, and it is easy to see why. My pedal car was my prize possession when I was 5 and my red MGA was my prize when I was 25.

As I was growing up, we could not afford a modern car and had to do with castoffs. I remember my brother Ray arriving late at night in a 1931 Buick. He was in the air force at the time, likely posted to Trenton air base. He returned on the bus leaving the car behind.

We drove that for quite a while, and I say "we", because my father taught me to drive in that car. We would go up Buckwheat Row where there was very little traffic. It was a pretty rough gravel side road. After one such trip with me at the wheel, I remember him saying, "You must be a good driver. Only a good driver could hit all the pot holes."

I remember we graduated to a 1934 Plymouth with so-called suicide doors. Like the Buick, it would not start in the depths of winter and we had to pull it out to the road with the team of horses and drag it in second gear until it started.

After I graduated from University and had an income, I bought a shiny read MGA with chrome wire wheels from George at Cooke-Toledo Motors in Montreal. This was my pride and joy, polished every day. When I pulled into the yard at home, my mother turned up her nose and asked, "What kind of a car is that?" After one ride she was converted to sports cars. She really loved it.

In an MG, you never follow anyone; you pass them all.