COAL: Grandpa Was a Gearhead

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– Posted on March 20, 2024

My Grandpa Ed on the left, with brother Fred in Happy Valley, circa 1926

 

One of my earliest memories is of going to the wrecking yard with my Grandpa Ed. He was friends with the guy who owned the place, so we got to roam around for hours. The junkyard was my happy place. I remember a row of cars there that had all been owned by Ed, laid out in chronological order. Like that famous graphic showing the evolution of primates, there was a low-slung Model T at one end and an upright Desoto at the other. This was in 1965-66. I would have been about four years-old at the time, and already crazy about cars. Must be something in the genes.

Ed and Ruth on a plank road in Happy Valley, circa 1922. I believe the Model T is a “centerdoor”

 

The main players in this saga were all relatives on my Mom’s side: Babe & Ed, and Ruth & George. My grandma’s real name was Aletha, but everybody called her “Babe.” Her nickname came from being the youngest of six siblings. Babe married Ed Stalberg in 1929 and my mom was born in 1934. Ruth, who was Ed’s older sister, married George Hunsby, in 1921. These humble Scandinavians worked in the sawmills and canneries of Bellingham, Wash., where a new car was something to be proud of. Sadly, Grandpa Ed died when I was only five; but I got to spend many more years with the rest of them. Maybe that’s why the junkyard memories are so dear to me.

 

Ed’s mother Ida at the wheel of a runabout flivver, Happy Valley, 1924. I’m sure she never drove.

 

My great-grandmother Ida was born in Sweden in 1875 and landed in Fairhaven, Wash. around the turn of the century. This was after an initial stop in Stillwater, Minn. Ida had reportedly lived in an orphanage but saved enough money to buy a knitting machine, which she somehow lugged here from the old country. This proves she was a gearhead, too.

 

Babe all dolled up next to their new 1947 Dodge, near Detroit.

 

Ed and Babe lived near the Larson Mill, where he worked driving a straddle truck for loading lumber. I do have a small, tatty snapshot of Ed high up in the saddle, but nothing I could reproduce here. The years following WWII must have been pretty good for the Stalbergs, as the photo above can attest. Ed and Babe made several train trips to Detroit so that they could pick up a new car and drive it back to the West Coast. This would have been mainly on the “Empire Builder” from Seattle to Chicago.

 

Grandma Babe never owned a fur, too extravagant.

 

From what I understand, these trips home from Detroit were meant to be a leisurely affair, so as to “break-in” the engine. This was fine with Babe, who got to enjoy some of the other attractions.

 

Grandpa Ed showing off his new wheels, near Detroit.

 

Grandpa Ed was a Mopar Man through and through, owning mostly Dodge and Desoto over the years. There was a Nash Rambler that snuck in there too, which they all called “The Dog Car.” That ’52 wagon was still around when I was a kid. Usually I had to shove Cleo out of the front seat so I could pretend to steer.

 

Uncle George with his first new car, 1949.

 

My Uncle George was also doing well after the war. He had served in WWI and wanted to be in the infantry during WWII, but they made him a medic instead. George Hunsby was an amateur historian and natural born storyteller. In the 1970s, he self-published a series of books describing the old days of Fairhaven, Washington. Village Books in Bellingham, Wash. still prints his works. He lived to be 98 and was much loved by all.

 

Me in my first car, circa 1974.

 

Finally, there was a 1950 Buick Super that some friends gave to Babe after Ed’s passing. With no power steering it was a beast to drive. The Buick became my family’s second car behind our ’61 Rambler Classic, and my mom and sister both hated it. At some point, my dad and a neighbor replaced the Dynaflow transmission in our garage. Eventually the Buick ended up in our driveway and became my “first” car. I can still smell the wool seats.

 

Full service pit stop.

 

Postscript: When I told my mom I was writing something about her folks, she laughed and reminded me of her dad doing “the hill climbs” up in Canada. Mom’s almost 90 now and she remembers the 1940s better than last Monday. She said the whole family would pack a big picnic and head up to motorcycle hill climbing events in southwest British Columbia. My best guess is they went right across the border to Vedder Mountain or Sumas Mountain, but it could have been farther east. Kelowna, BC is famous for the Knox Mountain Hill Climb, so they might have also gone there. The upshot was that Mom described the hill climbs as a fun family event, and “not a bunch of motorcycle gangs.”