Our Family’s Ford Fairlanes – A Lifetime With Cars; Chapter 1

Text submitted by Harry Case. 

It is easy to mark significant events in my life by remembering the cars involved in most of my adventures growing up and growing older. After 72 years my family will attest that I still have a lot of growing up to do but I can still use the cars in my life to create what I call my auto-biography. Perhaps I find the cars more memorable than some moments of my life, but often the vehicle of the moment was a costar in the story.

My first real memory of a family car was my mother’s 1956 Ford Fairlane four-door sedan. I do vaguely remember my father’s succession of company cars for work. He traveled during the week and we only saw him on weekends so a car for my mother was a necessity in the outskirts of Syracuse NY. Our development was built in 1951 and my parents bought their house in 1955 after moving from North Jersey where my father’s family lived.

Photo by J P Cavanaugh

 

The Ford was apparently reliable but not very memorable for either me or my sisters. It was black with grey vinyl upholstery. I do remember the V8 symbol proudly mounted on the front fender representing the 272 Y block engine.

In the spring of 1961, my father got a position that took him off the road but also took away the company car. As the ’56 Ford was paid for and rapidly deteriorating from CNY winters he traded it in for a 1960 Ford Fairlane sedan in putrid green with green checked upholstery. It was so much bigger on the outside that it would not fit in the garage and the wild horizontal fins left gouges on the door posts when he first tried to put it in.

It had the 292 version of the Y block and for some reason needed much more attention than the ’56 version. Constant tuneups, radiator flushes, and fan belt replacements were regular occurrences. Perhaps the regular maintenance paid off for the car never let us down on family trips. We were snowbound a few times on trips to see my grandparents, but it always started and got us home if the roads were open.

When my sister entered first grade in 1963 my mother got a job teaching at a local high school. My dad gave her the Fairlane and got a Renault Dauphine from a neighbor.

My mother hated driving the standard shift Fairlane and in the spring of ’64, the Renault was traded in on a ’63 Fairlane 500 Sports Coupe with the 260 v8 and 2-speed Fordomatic. She loved the car and drove it 40 miles each way to her job for the next 5 years.

My family has been associated with farming going back generations. My mother’s family settled in western Massachusetts in 1720 and she grew up in the original family homestead, although my grandfather had quit farming as soon as he could.

His brother still raised crops across the street, but all the livestock was gone by the time she married my dad. When my parents settled in central New York in the 1950’s we lived next to a family that still had relatives on their family farm. Summer on dairy farms is a very intense time. I was drafted to work on the farm from the time I was twelve. Haying, collecting stones turned up by plowing, and milking twice a day. My grandfather had warned me that on a farm there was always something to do.

My first summer was spent stacking hay bales on the wagon and then stacking them in the hayloft. The next year I got to drive the tractor with the hayrack to the barn, not a privilege, just freeing up an adult to keep baling. I also got to drive it with the stone boat for collecting rocks turned up by the plowing. My grandfather had also told me that after farming he found everything else in life relatively easy. I had to agree and when I turned 15 I got a summer job in the commissary of a scout camp.

The first year was mostly scrubbing pots and washing dishes in between unloading the daily food deliveries. The next year I had my learner’s permit so I was promoted and drove the camp Jeep station wagon for special deliveries. This was a 1956 Willys station wagon that had been re-engined with a Hudson engine and transmission.

I had a very patient teacher who was motivated by the desire to stay around camp romancing the boss’s daughter while I ran his errands. He was an excellent teacher and a masterful driver. I quickly learned to shift the non-synchro 3-speed transmission, double clutching up and down the hilly dirt roads of the camp.

My mother took on the daunting task of teaching me to drive in traffic that fall. My father left it to her to teach me to drive, most likely because he lacked the patience. She was still driving the 1963 Fairlane 500 sports coupe, which sounded far sportier than it was. It had the 260 small block v8 and the 2-speed Fordomatic transmission. In spite of the fact that it was considered an intermediate size car, it was quite a bit longer and wider than the Jeep I had learned on.

That 1963 Fairlane was going to be my first car.

 

Car images from Oldcarbrochures.com, some slightly color-corrected to match author’s memories. 

 

Related CC reading:

Curbside Classic: 1956 Ford Fairlane Fodor Victoria – More Doors For Miss Vickie