The evening of my high school graduation I was hiding a phone call, in my parents bedroom. Before going to the ceremony, I had made the deal ('30 CPE dirt track refugee, plenty of blue wrench indignities) and could not care less about pomp and circumstance!



Hold on, I just remembered a year and a half earlier, a buddy of mine showed up with a roadster. It was a '29 style bucket, the back half was cracked in the center, it had axles, rubber, wishbones, brakes(?), steering, and stock rails. Nothing else.
The deal was his boss wanted off of his
GULF lot. I would be considered half partner for use of dad's garage. It worked for a while but soon we were begging for a new home. I used to refer to it as our rope car as we drug it from one new home to another. Including one overnight at my uncle's
GULF, that saw morning bring an inspection by company execs.
We decided to cash out for $50. But one last trip down (steep) Midvale ave in Philly, I was steering my pal was driving dad's station wagon. The rope thing had me climbing up the tailgate, when I got a brainstorm. My foot found the E-brake cable. A hard push and the front of the drive shaft dug asphalt. Can't say how high I sailed, but I was looking over the hood of the SW, before crashing back into the cockpit. My pal had to stop for a WTF.
Any way, to end this, the buyer informed us geniuses that we had a Cabriolet. The tops of the doors had been bent over and hammered down to cover the glass slots. (yes the windshield frame was part of the cowl).
I had a wonderful childhood! (one diner near me refused me service if I didn't use the Borax first)
