Back in '68, my dad said "Hey, want to go look at an old car?" and I said "Sure!" So, off we went to a farm a few miles out of town. There, the farmer pointed us to two identical 1936 Chevrolets, sitting side-by-side in a field, sunk up to their axles in the dirt, interiors eaten by mice, bodies a solid red-brown from rust. He wanted $400 for the two of them. What a deal! So, we took both, took the best parts for this one and parted out the other when we were done. At the time I thought boy, what an incredibly OLD car (at that point the car was 32 years old, sort of like a '77 Chev would be now, but do we think of THAT as an antique? No we do not!). Now, of course, when I've owned it for more than half of its present 73 years, I realize the damned thing is only 12 years older than I am. So, I'm an antique too.
