Never Stop Driving #66: Reconnecting with an old friend on The Drive Home
Since 2018, when Jake Whitman bought the 1955 Ford Country Squire that had been in my family for decades, he’s not only improved it both cosmetically and mechanically, he’s also used it. Last week, Whitman and the Ford joined three other vintage station wagons in Jackson, Wyoming, and headed east as part of a celebration of the American road trip organized by America’s Automotive Trust, a nonprofit that seeks to preserve and promote our automotive heritage. The entourage pulled into Detroit at the opening of the 2023 North American International Auto Show, where the wagons, replete with road grime, are on display.
Whitman invited me to drive a leg of the trip, so I met the Country Squire as it drove off the Lake Michigan ferry in Muskegon, Michigan. Seeing the car for the first time in five years, I felt some nostalgia, sure—my kids had a lot of fun in it—but the old Ford mostly reminded me of my father.
Back in 2002, my dad died, unexpectedly, just before my first kid was born. Fast forward past a lot of diaper changes and the arrival of our second kid to 2006. My unresolved feelings about my old man drove me to spend a good chunk of that year searching for the Country Squire and then convincing its owner to sell. My dad and I weren’t on good terms in the later stages of his life. He was always distant and remote, maybe depressed, and unable to reciprocate when I tried to connect. The only thing he coveted was that Country Squire, which my great uncle had used as a delivery van for his New Jersey chicken farm. In 1970, he passed it along to my dad, who drove it to the bus station and on weekend adventures. We went fishing with the Ford.
By the mid-Eighties, when I was in high school, the tired wagon was permanently parked in our two-car garage. In hindsight, I can see that the Ford’s retreat coincided with my father’s. I tried to coax him into a joint restoration effort with junkyard parts I’d give him for birthdays and holidays, but he could never summon the energy to get started. The stress of providing for his family had taken the life out of him. The parts were placed in the wagon and never touched. When Dad needed money in 1993, he reluctantly sold the Squire.
In an interview on NPR’s Fresh Air, Bruce Springsteen joked that most of rock music is a cry of someone going, “Wahhh, Daddy.” I certainly felt that as my own family grew and then one day, for reasons unknown, I thought of the Squire. When it arrived at my home in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the paint and chrome had been redone, but the interior was still original. The sweat stains on the driver’s-door armrest were still there, as was the musty and soothing aroma.
I was on to something by buying the Ford. My next impulse was to drive it to the places my dad had lived and spent time and talk to those who knew him. I had something to work out, something to put behind me, but I didn’t yet know what that was. Maybe I was just scared that what happened to my dad and I would happen to me and my kids, too.
I learned that one day when he was seven, in Rochester, New York, where Dad grew up, he came home to find that his own father had simply split and was never heard from again. That sounds cruel and it was, but my grandfather had it even worse: He came home from school to find his father gone, too—only that dude, my paternal great-grandfather, was in the basement, swinging from a rope. My father had his demons.
Yet the journey was far more positive than negative and provided reminders of day trips taken in the Ford and ice cream spilled on the seats. Lots of fun stories resurfaced only after family and friends saw the green Squire. Following the drive, I compiled the experience into a book that my wife read and then gently asked, “So this is just for you, right?” Looking back, it’s cringeworthy, but the whole experience was cathartic. The Country Squire had done its job. Once I realized my kids had no interest in it, I sold it to free up resources for other things.
That’s where Jake Whitman came into the picture in 2018 and how I found myself meeting up with The Drive Home rally earlier this week (Hemmings ran a diary of the trip you can read here). When I slid behind the wheel of the Country Squire, the smell of the cabin took me back to the hot and sweaty days of the summer I drove to Rochester. I noticed that the pen marks my daughter left above the glovebox were still there.
The Drive Home promotes automotive heritage yet also, America’s Automotive Trust says, looks toward the future. These old cars certainly connect us to the past, but sometimes, as in my case, they can make for a better future, too. I was happy to revisit the Ford, like one might a parent’s house, but happy to say goodbye, too, especially since it was obvious that Whitman is an ideal caretaker. I often say that I do not understand my strong connection to cars. I remain grateful, however, for that unexplainable bond and for the people that come with it.
Speaking of fine folks who share our passion, tomorrow, September 16, I’m going to Milan Dragway to see Redline Rebuild host Davin Reckow run his dragster. Reckow and crew just released a video that documents the return of the restored vintage dirt car to the original owner’s family. The four-year project was initiated when Tom Cotter, the host of our Barn Find Hunter series, found the car during one of explorations. Cotter was naturally in attendance and said, “Cars are a catalyst to bring amazing human interest stories together.” I could not agree more.
Come join us at Milan. Otherwise, have a great weekend!
P.S.: Your feedback is very welcome. Comment below!
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Larry,
I enjoyed reading your article very much, as have those who have responded before me. Growing up in the late 50’s and 60’s my parents purchased two Ford Country Squires: a used 1960 and a new 1968. Both were white with wood trim. I didn’t have a very close relationship with my father throughout his life, probably due to events that occurred in his life growing up. He never shared much but he was a child of The Great Depression and served in the infantry during WWII, both events he never talked about. If you change your mind and ever publish that book you wrote, I suspect it will resonate with a lot of people. Cars can be a common connection for people.
I get the emotional connections to a car. One of mine is to an 84 Chevy Caprice. It was the last car my grandfather bought before he died (in 84, same year as he bought the car). Bone stock V-6 Caprice, nothing special. My grandmother drove it until her death 11 years later and I spent a lot of time riding around in it with her as a kid. Then I drove it in college, taking road trips with my girlfriend (now wife), until it finally got too expensive to repair and I sold it for not much at all. I regret that.
Great read, Larry!
Very well done. Our love of cars echoes our love of life in so many ways.
Now I’m thinking about my father proudly showing me the new 1961 Plymouth Savoy wagon in Robin Egg Blue that he had just bought. As a car-loving 6 year old I vividly remember my disappointment that it wasn’t a new Jaguar XKE and thinking “This is the ugliest car I will ever see in my life”.
Of course the reality is that some of my fondest childhood memories were in that car. And all of my friends were hypnotized by the rolling barrel speedometer.
That ‘61 was beautiful!
Beautifully written story Larry. We were so happy to share the car with you again! You’re always welcome to take it for a spin anytime you’d like.
Great story Larry. My dad once sold a 57 Chevy for $200 but he thought he had done well since he had only paid $100 for it. I grew up riding in a Country Squire wagon @1960. It was used and seemed like a rattletrap to me. One day my dad started to pass another car and we went from 55 to 80 in a flash, shocking the whole family. Found out it had a police interceptor engine in it!
Larry, you provide your readers with the proverbial “much food for thought”.
I often get asked why I love cars so much. You have graced all car aficionados (of course myself included) with the perfect answer: “I do not understand my strong connection to cars. I remain grateful, however, for that unexplainable bond and for the people that come with it.”
Thanks for sharing your word craftsmanship with all.
Having said all that, please tell me that the “State Farm” insurance decal on the rear of the gorgeous Country Squire was only for period authenticity! Of course it MUST be insured by Hagerty, right?
Thanks Dan. I think the State Farm sticker was part of the Drive Home.
Thank you for sharing your story. I appreciated it very much. I’m so glad you went on that discovery trip.
Great life story (and great looking car). Thanks for sharing Larry.
This has a heaviness to it, not a bad thing –refreshing in the online 99% of the time fluff-piece world we now have. Very thought-provoking. Thanks for sharing.
Great article that touches on why we are so connected- by our cars- to our loved ones. My father also suffered from depression. My response was to spend a lot of time with a friend and his dad- who had a ‘55 Country Sedan, and a green ‘56 Country Squire. Many happy memories… They also had a ‘56 Ford pickup- I have had one for over 40 years. I would sell anything but it, and the wife- but there are days…never mind. Great job.
Larry, I always enjoy your articles. Thanks
Thank you for those thoughtful stories. Reading them is part of my Saturday morning routine providing a lovely break from a busy work week. I always enjoy them very much! Keep them coming. Thank you!
Well Larry, I guess that we’re all trying to deal with our mortality and how transient life is. The thing with cars and some other semi-permanent goods are that they can be a focal point for memories, both good and bad. I’m a bit older than you, I’m guessing from the content in your letter, but I also was surprised about seven years back when my wife and I had decided to purchase a then new Mustang GT/PP. Our original plan was to sell our 1985 GT H.O. with about 43,000 original miles and in exceptional condition. Both of our kids put a stop to that idea. They both in their own ways told us that we couldn’t sell the ’85, that it had been in the family longer than have had. The memories attached to that vehicle were just too strong for them. So, we’re a two Mustang family now, with my son promising to buy the car once he purchases a home with more than a one car garage. My plan id just to bequeath the car to him when the time comes. I’d rather go to my grave knowing that this “family heirloom” is in good hands and hopefully will be cared for as I had over these 38 years. Things do mean something…
I really enjoyed your article. In 2008 my dad (age 85) gave me 2 of his cars that he had owned since the mid 1970s that needed restoration. Both of these cars were a big part of my childhood even though neither was drivable in the 48 years my family owned the cars. My dad died in 2013 at the age of 93. Between 2008 and 2013 we were able to get one of the cars 75% restored. My dad was very appreciative of the fact he got to see at least one of the cars 75% restored before he died. Between 2013 and 2023 both cars sat on car lifts in my garage untouched. Other car projects would get in the way. I told my family this summer that the cars had “served their purpose” which was all of the time I had spent with my dad working on his two cars. I sold both cars to a friend this past summer that is retired and does auto restorations full time. I know both cars will see the road again in the coming years which is far better than sitting on my car lifts untouched.