Curtis Redgap wrote:

I am by no means an expert, and I cannot make any claim to accuracy for the materials that I have used to make these articles. In some cases, the journals go back 50 years, and I nearly cringe each time I open them as they appear so fragile. I could choose to copyright, but I do not, as I feel that this material should be sent far and wide as to show DaimlerChrysler that PLYMOUTH should be allowed to survive, and finally stand on its own! This is designed for the reading pleasure of folks that love MoPars. Any resemblance to persons, places, things or dates is purely coincidental. If you like what you are reading, please make sure to contact Dr. David Zatz, or leave me an email message "plymouth4ever@msn.com." Thanks for your many kind comments.

Last but not least, contact CHRYSLER directly and let them know that killing PLYMOUTH is a huge marketing mistake! Thanks for your many kind comments. Mail letters to: Mr. Robert J. Eaton, Mr. Jurgen E. Schrempp, Co-Chairmen, DaimlerChrysler AG, World HQ USA, Auburn Hills, Michigan, 48326-2766.

Installment IX - Section 2

1962 was a good year for the Chrysler marque cars. The Lynn Townsend ordered "faclifting" of the 1961 models resulted in one of the best designs of the entire decade. However, poor Plymouth, wearing Newburg designated "downsized" styling, saw its sales head right down to the dumpster. We never experienced such a complete rejection of a car design.... That is, unless it was worn by the 1962 Dodge. They were a sorry looking lot, and the butt of countless jokes.

DeSoto was gone. For a time, the ChryCo board looked at a possible revival of DeSoto, however, the design was based upon the same "S" series as the current 1962 Plymouth and Dodge. The board decided that two wrongs couldn't possibly become any more of a hit than a third bizarre design as Exner had laid out. Townsend agreed. That was the final chapter in DeSoto's history. It would never be again.

The late September 1961 introduction of the 1962 Chrysler models sort of signaled the end of a very turbulent era in the company. Lynn Townsend, an accountant by trade, had taken over the office of President. Tex Colbert and William Newberg were consigned to become history. The final chapter in the whole mess came to fruition in November 1961 when Lynn Townsend succumbed to overwhelming demands from board members, stock holders and dealers. Townsend fired Virgil Exner. Then in a conciliatory gesture, he had Exner stay on board as a consultant to the new head designer.

Elwood Engle had worked at Ford, more specifically in the Lincoln Design area. Townsend managed to win him away. When Engle arrived and met Exner, the 1963 cars had pretty much been done. Plymouth had been up to the final designs in metal. As Engle told Townsend, the 1963s are a good looking group. "I am not changing anything." In effect then, Exner really did get to design the entire corporate line one more time. He would be long gone before the 1963s went on sale.

Opening night was subdued. With the lousy look of the Plymouth and Dodge, Dad decided to keep things low key. For the second year in a row, my grandpa elected not to come up and "unretire" himself. He also did not select a new car for the second year in a row. (Now Dad was becoming concerned.) No band playing celebrations or big time hullabaloo would help move these oddball looking cars.

To consternate things, marketing lost its grip again on the corporate structure of the model line up. Dodge lost its traditional "big" car for the medium price range. The biggest Dodge rode on a truncated 116 inch wheelbase, the same as a Plymouth. For the first time in decades Dodge didn't have a big car. DeSoto was dead and gone, so that slot was open. Chrysler moved to fill that with a lower priced model called the "Newport." For a fact, Newport sales took off very well, keeping up with the demand that had started with its introduction in 1961.

Another factor entered into the Newport attraction. The car that Dad had not wanted to see get built in 1959 appeared on the market in 1962. Instead of being called the "300 X," Chrysler dropped all pretense and labeled it the "300." It rode on the 122 inch wheelbase of the Newport models. The era of the Chrysler 300 as a pure performance car was over.

Dad felt it was just plain corporate greed with the same short sightedness that the ChryCo board always showed, just as they did with the Plymouth Fury. Essentially the 300 was a sport model of the Newport. Optioned out, it would be faster than the 300 H with the right engine combination that was not available on the H model. NASCAR had increased its engine limit to "7 litres." In cubic inch speak, that was 427. Either it was done as an after thought by NASCAR or some high official had heard that Chevrolet and Ford were both developing 427 cubic inch engines for the 1963 season. In 1962, no one except Pontiac at 421 came within that range, although Chrysler was close at 413. As a hedge, Chrysler bored out a 413 to 426 cubic inches. Outwardly, it looked exactly like the 413. The only car it was ostensibly offered on was the "300." The 426 was rated at 365 horsepower with a single 4 barrel carburetor. The "300 H" with its non-ram twin 4 barrel carbs got a 380 horsepower label. The "300 H" could also be ordered with a 15 inch set of ram tubes. That engine was rated at 405 horsepower. However, if the right option box was checked, you could have gotten it with the 30 inch long ram tubes. That engine was not rated. The same applied to the 426 cubic inch offering. To my knowledge, no one ever did order such cars. If there are any, of either engine size, with the 30 inch tubes, they would be truly a priceless piece.

The showroom traffic was not bad on opening night. Most people wanted to see the "ugly" twins that Chrysler had wrought. And they were ugly. However, Mrs. Beacheum came down with her '61 Plymouth and traded it in on a '62 model. That was one sale. Valiant and Lancer were essentially another set of corporate twins as a result of Dodge crying and corporate giving in to the whining. It gladdened me however, to see Valiant outselling the Lancer about 2.5 units to one! Served Dodge right. They again broke all the rules, promises, and agreements they had made previously. Just another case of Dodge usurping Plymouth again.

It was also along that line that Dodge got back into the big car business. W. C. Petersen, head of Dodge Division went to the ChryCo board and demanded a big car to fill the void that the Polara had been in previously. It was obvious by then that the public was rejecting the new Dodge in droves. In an impassioned speech to the board, he ended his demand that if "Chrysler doesn't build a big car for Dodge, I will quit my job."

Frankly, given his attitude, I would have let him go. However, in a remarkable effort, in just 11 weeks, Dodge had a 122 inch wheelbase car for sale. No such thought was given to making Plymouth bigger. The Dodge 880 was nothing more than a Chrysler Newport from the cowl back. The front clip came from dies of the 1961 Polara. It was a good effort, and a good car. It sold 17, 500 units in its shortened introduction year. Unfortunately, the big Dodge did not make it to market in time for it to be considered for the fleet bid business. The usual request came down from the State Police. Dad shuddered when he thought about what he had to send off for the Troopers to evaluate. The biggest engine available in either the Plymouth or Dodge 116 inch wheelbase models was the 361 cubic inch single 4 barrel V-8. They were full Police Pursuit packages, however.

Then, suddenly we were gripped in the midst of a world crisis. Real fear with the threat of nuclear confrontation ran throughout the country. New car models seemed very insignificant during the Cuban Missile Crisis. President Kennedy's usual smiling countenance was grim as the tension filled two weeks went by. All thoughts of fleet bids and State Troopers went by the wayside. Dad bought a big console TV set and put it in the showroom. It was like a light to moths. People came and stood watching the unfolding details as the World stood at the brink of nuclear war. Fall out shelters, Civil Defense drills, and air raid warnings became the talk of the day. Police forces across the country began plans for containment of any potential crisis. Finally, near the end of October 1962, President Kennedy announced that the conflagration had been avoided. The Soviet Union was removing all its missiles from Cuba. People spoke and shouted with real relief. The TV in the showroom always drew a crowd. Thank God it was over. It did not help sales, however, in any way. Most people were in a spirit of hoarding. Besides, the designs of the Plymouth and Dodge were so bad, I don't think anyone would even want to get nuked in one, let alone buy one to drive every day. Dad didn't. He picked out a new Chrysler New Yorker. He couldn't talk Mom into giving up her Valiant, though.

Chrysler did make some engineering refinements for the 1962 models. The Torqueflite transmission was built with an aluminum case, finally matching Valiant and saving 60 pounds. Finally, the Torqueflite got a parking position. By pulling a small lever alongside the push buttons, internal fingers locked into the main spline shaft to keep the car from moving.

A new heating and ventilation system provided outside air, even when the car was not moving. Body jigs for welding improved the chassis stiffness by some 30%. Chrysler also adopted a front clip "sub frame" that was bolted onto the body, then welded it to the cowl. It resulted in a 350 pound weight saving, yet was stronger torsionally than anything prior. Tie rods, ball joints, and steering elements were now all factory sealed, resulting in a 32,500 mile stretch before they needed lubrication.

Plymouth and Dodge also received the Valiant derived Bendix brakes. They were self adjusting by means of a lever and prawl that worked when the car was backed up. The Bendix system also allowed Chrysler engineers to move the parking brake to operate off the rear wheel shoes, instead of the driveshaft where it had been for close to 30 years! This was also an area of deficiency in the improvements. Instead of making the brakes bigger, the engineers made them smaller, which resulted in less swept area. Granted the cast iron drums were flanged to maintain their rounded shape and finned to dissipate heat quickly. However, they were small 10 inches by 3 inches wide. They were barely adequate to haul the cars down to stop. The Pursuit package had 11 inches by 3 inches, which was better, however, they also had the non-organic lining, so they would handle any sort of punishment you could throw at them and still keep on stopping. But, they were not GREAT brakes. They did the job and no more. The scary thought is, that both the Ford and Chevrolet cars of larger proportions and greater horsepower had smaller brakes!

We all expected that Chevrolet would easily win the contest for the State Police units. The 1962 had a 409 4 barrel package that was exceptionally good at 380 rated horses. If the Troopers wanted it, they could also order the twin 4 barrel 409 that put out the now famous 409 horses. Chevy also had a pair of 327 cubic inch V-8s that were awful good. One 327 had 250 horse, and the next step was 300 horsepower. Ford's Police Interceptor model was the 330 horsepower 390 with Cruise-O-Matic and a positive lock 3.50 ratio rear end.

After a week had gone by in the State Police evaluation process, the word came down. The Troops were staying with Plymouth! We couldn't believe it. The testing results were somewhat astonishing, however. The 1962 Savoy with the 361 4 barrel V-8, Torqueflite, positive traction 3.21 rear gears, full load of fuel and two officers on board, leapt out to 60 miles an hour in 7.2 seconds, consistently! It poured through the quarter mile at 92 miles an hour in 15.9 seconds. Top speed was 122 miles an hour. Chevrolet had sent a 380 horse 409 Biscayne model. It was quicker to 60 at 6.6 seconds. However, it lost out in the quarter mile due to the two speed Powerglide transmission, taking 15.7 seconds at 89 miles an hour. Top speed was 124 miles an hour. It truly went bad on the braking tests. While it too had non-organic linings, it did not have the brake drum size necessary to pass the brake performance phase of the State Police tests. The Chevrolet bid was also some 550 dollars more in price. The 1962 Ford Interceptor was disqualified from entering bids due to deficient brakes!

California Highway Patrol, settled for over a 1,000 Chrysler based Newport "Enforcers." Several other states also bought into the Newport Enforcer. It would be its biggest heyday.

Dodge and Plymouth both offered "fleet specials" to entice the taxi market. Plymouth was still far and away the best seller with its 70 dollar reduction per every five cars a fleet bought. In an economy effort, the Valiant/Lancer sized 170 cubic inch six was offered across the entire board, including Police units. It was not offered again after 1962 in that area.

After the state bid, the County Sheriff submitted his request. After his bad experiences with the 1961 Fords, he returned to Plymouth, specifically copying the State Police Bid. Each one went over the curb at $1,982 bid price. Then came my Uncle with his process for the city. However, by now, Dodge which was smarting from its lack of police car business made a special pitch to the dealers. Whatever Plymouth bid, they would take that price less 10%! It was another sneak attack on the Plymouth brand, but it worked. Of course the city took the Dodge offer. In State Bid specs, the city got 100 Dodge Pursuits at $1,784 per unit. It was the first Dodge cars the city ever had. Their experiences were equally as good as with the Plymouth. The cop cars were tough, reliable, fast, and in a sense economical for the times. Just seems a shame that we had two divisions of the same company creating their own competition. It was not a good thing for either of them.

Lynn Townsend lent an air of quiet fortitude to the Presidency of Chrysler. Things began to calm down somewhat after the departure of Colbert and Exner. Townsend was responsible for the emergency facelift of the 62 model Chrysler. He also instituted the quick make up of the Dodge 880. He also changed the restyle of the Imperial. While the big car was still garish, it lent an air of subdued power, even given its quirky stand free headlights and tacked on taillights. He also looked at what was proposed for the 1963 models and ordered up a complete remake of the 1963 models! Again, Design was tasked to the limit. Without a break, the lights stayed on in the studios for double shifts.

He also didn't like what he didn't see on the streets. No ChryCo cars kicking butt in the great American race. The one from stop light to stop light on any given city at any given time. Chevrolet was given to ruling the streets. Townsend didn't like it. After all, most of the time, the city, county and state police forces were easily apprehending the speeding kids with a ChryCo car!

Townsend had two teen-aged sons. He often queried them about what was happening out on Woodward Avenue. They dutifully reported that the Plymouth-Dodge duo was virtually dead to anything. They were just no presence at all. Townsend also was committed to making the Petty Enterprise Group, the hottest thing in NASCAR.

Less than a month after assuming the Presidency, Townsend sent down a research order to the engine group. "Develop some engines that will kick some ass on the street and the track." The engineers had the knowledge. The 413 engine was also right for the job.

Townsend also dutifully polled the dealers. He asked for their opinions, and truly took the suggestions to research to see about development. Dad became excited about the idea of a 413 block in a Savoy chassised Plymouth. "Such a car would kill anything that Chevrolet or Ford could put between red lights!"

Yes, my Dad endorsing street racing. You can only guess what he would have done to me, had he known how many stops lights I had raced from with my cars. But, at the time, they were dreams of a growing teen-age boy. There was a series of high level dealer meetings, and Dad from his experience with the Fury was directly invited by no less than Townsend himself. Townsend also wanted to know a lot about the way Dad ran the dealership. Of all the Chrysler Presidents, less Walter himself, Lynn Townsend was the only one that ever came to see the operation. He would spend a week with us, just observing, and a guest in the house. He was very critical of the lack of a huge showroom. This would have repercussions later on. He was as down to earth as anyone. He was always smiling, which I am given to understand belied a huge vehement temper. As he was leaving, he promised Dad that we would be the first to receive the new Plymouth Sport Fury (model name revived) along with the new race ready models.

Good to his word, he made sure we got some of the new Sport Furys, which bowed in mid term. To our surprise, the hardtops had the 383 4 barrel dual exhaust engine. They were awesome. Dad's cousin who always wanted the fastest Chrysler managed to finance a new Fury with the 383. He should have waited about a month. But, Dad wouldn't have sold him the newest edition of the Plymouth anyway. It was never meant to run on the street. Within a couple days after the bright red Savoy came off the truck, my cousin James arrived. He stayed with us for nearly a month, while the guys in the shop along with James worked over that new Plymouth. No, they made absolutely no modifications. They just tore the engine apart, examined all the parts, weighed them, balanced them, and then reinstalled them. The exercise was a waste of time. Chrysler had thought of everything with this new engine in this new car. It was already, balanced, polished and ported.

In our area, there was quite a contingent of drag racers. A company had been formed that leased a portion of the old aircraft factory's runway. It was quite the facility at the time. NHRA sanctioned it from its inception. It had a timing tower. Electronic timing equipment that was certified accurate by Bulova. It consisted of 1,320 feet of good level concrete, followed by 2,640 feet of shut down. After that was another 2,640 feet filled with 18 inches of pure white bleached sand. There were accidents, however, no one was ever killed in the entire 22 years that it operated. The facilities were constantly upgraded. A national event was held there, but that was after we were no longer in the business, and I was in the Air Force, a long ways from home.

The problem was that the main nemesis for the stock drag racers was my older brother. He was also a thorn in my Dad's side. Those two never hit it off for some reason. My brother, who was in the Navy, had volunteered to become a Naval Recruiter. Instead of sending him to some far off, exotic, and out of mind place, the Navy sent him home! There, he managed to corral some Navy money and build himself a drag car. No, it was not a ChryCo product like it should have been. It wrankled Dad every time someone mentioned how well my brother was doing. He was running a 1960 Chevrolet with a 348 CI V-8. It was good. It should have been, all my brother even did was tune it up constantly. It would turn the 1/4 mile in 15.5 at 90 miles an hour. Which was fast for 1962 standards.

All that came into contact with that bright Red Savoy were sworn to silence. For a fact, it was going to be the terror of the tracks. Chrysler engineers had developed the rather placid people hauler 413 into a tyrannical monster that supposedly developed either 410 or 420 horsepower, depending on compression ratio. That was a load of fly attraction! With the 12.0 to 1 compression ratio, these full bore race ready 413s were bristling with at least 500 horsepower. The car was ready. Now, it was taken to a corner of the shop and covered up.

We flew to Florida in mid-February for the Daytona races. Grandpa did not come across from St. Pete this year. Dad and my Uncle, along with James all went and spent a week with grandpa after the Daytona race was over. He looked the same, but he just acted lethargic and disinterested in things.

The Daytona race was thrilling as usual. Plymouth fans hero, Richard Petty, put his 62 model Savoy 2 door hardtop onto the back bumper of Glenn "Fireball" Roberts Pontiac and hung on to take 2nd place! However, it was widely known after the beginnings of qualifications for the NASCAR season that Plymouth and Dodge did not have the horses of the Pontiac or the Chevrolet. There would have been no way for Petty to pull out and muscle his way past Roberts. The power wasn't there. Lynn Townsend vowed to fix things. Richard Petty managed to finish an impressive 2nd in points again. Endorsements began to come his way, besides Plymouth's help.

Sales were fairly steady into Spring. Valiant and Chrysler were doing well. Plymouth and Dodge were pitiful. However, a rumble had started out on the West Coast. Plymouths were suddenly feared whenever they showed up at the strip. "Rumors, that is all they were," according to my brother. Dad smiling a lot in anticipation of the first event of the season at the drag strip. So far, no one had talked about that secret 62 that was covered up in the corner of the garage.

Next door to us was a lovely Italian family that had 15 children. Oh yes. Little Mary was quite a woman! There were 3 boys that were around my age, and two boys that were nearing graduation. Then there was Sarah. Sarah was the drum major for our high school band. She was also red-haired, blue eyed and freckled, all over. Yes, I can attest to that, but I won't go into that here. She was 4 years older than yours truly, and I think the apple of my father's eye. I think he saw a younger version of my mother, since they really did look like more like mother and daughter than Sarah and Mary did. Dad took the boys aside and taught them what they needed to do to pit crew a car. He then had Sarah take driving lessons in order than she earn her NHRA driver's license. He even furnished a traded in police unit for her practice.

The local track's first event was April 5. Early in the evening of April 4, the cover came off that 62 Red Savoy. It was carefully gone over. Then it was pushed out in back of the garage. The showroom was locked. Eddie, my buddy, reached under the fenders and unplugged the exhaust headers. The 413 engine's exhaust headers were a work of art. To make the engine fit, they swept upwards, dumping into a collector just behind the front wheels. There was a complete stock system, however, the caps allowed the exhaust to exit right behind the wheels. The coil wire was taken off, and the engine was cranked for almost a minute using just the starter. That was to assure that oil had reached critical parts of the engine. The coil wire was put back on. That engine lit off with a roar unlike anything I had ever heard before. There was a deep gutsy rumble as the 8 cylinders fought to come up on the camshaft timing to smooth out. It was let idle nearly 1/2 an hour to get heat into the block. The gasoline came from the 130 octane stuff out at the airport. Dad had purchased over 100 gallons of the juice just for that Plymouth. Finally, Dad himself got in the car and punched the "D" button. The Torqueflite locked up immediately with a satisfying mechanical bump. Dad made a few preliminary jabs at the throttle. The car practically leaped out from under him. Not satisfied, he idled it out on the back street. He then jacked the engine against the brakes, and lit the car off. Too much throttle. The back tires lit up in white smoke. He finally got the combination he wanted. The car leapt forward like a cat. He pulled it back in, grinning. About that time, Sarah showed up with her brothers. I was left out of it.

Later on the way home, I complained somewhat bitterly about not being part of the team. Dad pulled right over. He placed his hand on my shoulder and turned me his way. What he imparted to me shook me up, however, I understood his reasoning. I won't relate it here as it is immaterial.

The next day, we went to the drag strip. Dad deliberately held back so that we would arrive after the races had begun. We bought pit passes and entered the garage area. A lot of the kids knew us, however, some did not, and that was good. We found out where my brother was, and deliberately avoided that area. Sarah and her team of brothers had created a huge stir. This was the first Savoy, heck, the first Plymouth anyone had seen on a drag strip in years! She said nothing. There was no engine size or markings on the car at all. Just a deep, bright, shiny red color. Of course, there were all those rumors from the West Coast about MoPars scaring the bejesus out of all comers.

Along with my brother, Sarah faced quite a few competitors that day. Mostly Chevrolets, and some Fords. Her lonely little Plymouth just kept getting better. God, she was good! Her first run with the headers capped yielded a 15 second run at 93 miles an hour. Everyone then became confident that they could easily compete and beat this little lady with the Red Savoy. Her next run was a bit better, 15 seconds and 95 miles an hour. My brother was determined to whip this Plymouth. He was so anxious that he managed to break a rear axle on his second burn out. He was given 45 minutes to repair it and get back to the line for time. Someone had a 59 Chevrolet and they lent him their rear axle out of the car! That was racing in those times.

He came out and blew through the 1/4 at 14.7 and 98 miles an hour! The fastest that he had ever run. He was supremely confident now that he could easily handle Sarah and her Savoy. The competition was down now. Sarah came up against a 61 Ford with the 390, 401 package. She ate his lunch with a 14 second flat pass at 100 miles an hour. When she went back to the pits this time, there was only one competitor left. She uncapped the headers, and M&H Racemaster slicks were tacked on the back. My brother and her squared off in the staging lane. He tried to psyche her out by holding back and not staging. She just pulled up and staged, leaving him sitting outside the line. With the headers off, the gutsy rumble was clearly present all across the race facility. Finally, he pulled up and the staged light went on. As soon as it did, Sarah jacked the Savoy up against the torque converter, holding about 1800 rpm on the engine. I could see my brother do a double take when she did that.

About that time, the Christmas tree (timing lights) began to count down, and then "GREEN!" That bright Red Savoy yanked its nose into the air with a bellow that put everyone in the stands up on their feet. A roar went through the crowd. Nothing like that had ever been seen like that here before. The left front wheel was practically off the ground. But, bless her, she held it straight and true. She hole shot my brother so badly he never caught her. About 1/2 down the quarter when the Torqueflite shifted into third gear, the ass end of that Savoy came up like a bee stung mule high tailing it for the barn. That is how much torque was generated by those engines. It just tried to twist itself out of its mounts, sending the power to the rear axle in such a way as to actually raise the back ends like they were going down a hill!

Sarah hit the timing lights with the fastest posted stock car time ever at that track. She pulled a 13.02 at 106 miles an hour. She pulled back to the pits and shut it off, the stock eliminator. My brother was so angry. He must have screamed all the way to the NHRA booth. He was going to file a protest. He had to put up 50 dollars to make Sarah tear down the engine to see if it was truly stock. He then marched over to her pits to tell her off. The only thing was that Dad and I were already there waiting for him. Dad and he got into a real shouting match. However, finally, they both calmed down. No one filed a protest, and Sarah kept her trophy. However, the very next week, my brother went to the track with a shiny Red Plymouth Savoy. He ruled. He pulled a season best 12.30 and 117.36 miles an hour near the end of the season. He never drove anything else but Chrysler for the rest of his life. I don't know what Dad had said to him later, but, to hear my brother, after that, you would think he damn well invented Chryslers.

By the way, some guy out on the West Coast named TOM GROVE set a new NHRA stock car record of 11.93 seconds at 118.57 miles an hour in July 1962. The Plymouth, named the "Melrose Missile" was the first car to break the 12 second barrier. What was lacking was the long muscle of the roundy tracks of NASCAR.

Summer time arrived and Dad began a flurry of trips to coincide with the pending arrivals of the 1963 models. He had planned on spending a week over in St. Louis, which always seemed to be the hot spot for selling Plymouths. He left on a Sunday evening. It was late Tuesday evening that he called my Mom and asked her to pick him up at the airport. We were all puzzled. When he arrived home, he was grim. He couldn't explain it, except that he felt something was wrong. He was right.

On June 15, 1962, my grandpa drove over to his brother in law's house in Tampa. Great Uncle Frank was sort of a relief valve when grandpa couldn't take too much more of grandma. The two talked awhile, then Uncle Frank went out to make some coffee for the both of them. It was 9:30 in the morning. Uncle Frank heard grandpa make a big sigh. It was grandpa's last sound. When Uncle Frank went back to his living room, grandpa was dead. He was 75 years old, and in good health. Since it was an unattended death, an autopsy had to be performed. He had experienced a brain aneurysm. No pain. Just left us.

As you can imagine, in things like this, it was hectic and chaotic. Grandma was not very good to begin with, and she was just lost. However, she did determine to stay with her brother in Florida. Secretly, we were all relieved. She was not a nice person. My dad said later that grandpa died in self defense. What a way to remember your grandma, huh? She was a pip.

After we got back , Dad withdrew from quite a few activities. The loss of his Dad had a profound effect on him. Even though Dad had run the dealership since mid 1947 with no interference from grandpa, it was still the fact that he was there and Dad could reach out for him. Now that bastion of strength was gone. Never realize what you had until it was gone. After that, Dad assigned quite a bit of his jobs to the General Manager. He stopped going all over the country for meetings letting the manager go in his stead, and even began to turn away phone calls from some of the big shots in the Chrysler company.

Grandpa's last will contained no surprises. Grandma was set for the rest of her life with annuities. Dad got the dealership. The other siblings were also well looked after. Me? He left me his 1960 DeSoto. Big, bad, blue, and beautiful. I couldn't take it. I just couldn't do it. Finally, in my own right, I made a deal with my Uncle Chet in Ormond Beach. He went and got the car. It would make a great museum piece, with about 5,000 miles on it. To be honest, I don't know what happened to that car after Uncle Chet got it. He never said, and I never asked.

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