LEARY: Fabulous Fifties… Detroit Dreams and Free Ice Creams
My Dad and I recently paid a nostalgic visit to Jamestown, Pa... the town hasn’t changed much in half a century and a carload of memories flooded over me...
Gregg Leary is a researcher/writer for Wind Tunnel with Dave Despain on SPEED. (Photo: SPEED)
My Dad and I recently paid a nostalgic visit to Jamestown, Pennsylvania where I spent the first three years of my life... 1953-56. The town hasn’t changed much in half a century and a carload of memories flooded over me.
Most of the memories were about... cars.
When I was about two years old we lived above Emerson’s Five and Ten in the heart of downtown “Jimtown.” The railroad tracks crossed Liberty Street just in front of the store so cars had to slow or stop when they came to the crossing. It was the perfect time for me to ask Mom or Dad the make and model of each car in the slow moving parade of vehicles. I made it my mission to learn as many as possible. I must have been a total pain in the butt to my parents as I pestered them incessantly for the names of the cars. But I guess I was a quick learner as I soon could identify most of the cars that passed by.
I supplemented my “car spotting” by keeping a scrapbook of car photos I cut from issues of LIFE, LOOK and The Saturday Evening Post. I can still smell the homemade flour paste I used to create my gallery of automobiles.
I quickly learned that my talent for naming most of the cars had a benefit. Many of my parents’ friends were impressed with my talent and after testing my abilities, often took me into Emerson’s and let me pick out a Tootsietoy car or truck as a reward for my car naming talents.
My Uncles John and Tom often took me across the street to Isaly’s and bought me an ice cream cone or a bottle of pop. Orange and rainbow sherbet (pronounced “shurburt”) or chocolate pop were my usual choices. Knowing my cars had its rewards. My cousin Dave was not impressed. He said, “ He doesn’t really know the cars. He’s just reading the names.”
Most of the vehicles I encountered were from the Detroit “Big Three.” My young eyes were treated to Buicks, Cadillacs, Chevrolets, Chryslers, De Sotos, Dodges, Fords, Mercurys, Oldsmobiles, Plymouths and Pontiacs. I also saw other makes like Nash, Packard and Studebaker.
Sometimes a Corvette would glide by. We were both born in 1953 and the Corvette’s fiberglass bodies were made in nearby Ashtabula, Ohio. Sometimes a Thunderbird, Jaguar, MG or Mercedes would test my recall. I don’t remember any true exotics like Ferraris and Rolls Royces passing through my tiny Pennsylvania town. However I do recall an occasional Isetta bubble-car or a Renault Dauphine.
