A Lifelong Love Affair with Cars

1951 Fleetwood

Cars have always been a big part of my father's life. George once bought a house on Upton Street- one half of a duplex actually, which featured nine tiny garages in the back. Nine! Even before George owned his own car, he would steal his father Pete's car which was a 1930 maroon Chevrolet with black fenders. Pete kept his car in a garage about a block away from where they lived on Macomb Street so George had to swipe two sets of keys- one for the garage and one for the car.  Papou never did find out why that car got such bad mileage on a tank of gas.  He even took it back to the dealer to complain.

the car with bad mileage

George remembered every car he has ever owned starting with the Model T Ford he bought on the sly with money he had earned from picking up golf balls and selling newspapers. His father thought he was too young to have a car, but that didn’t stop George. He lied about his age, forged his father’s name, and got a permit when he was only fifteen. Then his friend, Fred Brown hid the car at his house down the street until it was too late for my Papou to stop the deal.

After the Model T, George upgraded to a 1927 Chevrolet 2 door coupe convertible and from then on it was convertibles all the way. To modify the Chevy, he went up to the Friendship Depot and scrounged up a straw bench from a retired streetcar. He then cut the trunk lid, reversed the hinges, and made a rumble seat. From then on George drove his friends to school at Western High and charged them for gas money.

Rose Papadeis and George on Macomb Street 1934

The next set of wheels was a 1932 DeSoto with black fenders. George bought that one from a chef from Altoona who was working for Papou at Macomb Cafeteria at the time. By now Goerge was married and needed more reliable wheels. This car suited the little family, but just before WWII broke out, he was able to swing a brand new 1940 Hudson V8 with back windows that buttoned up when the top was down.

The Hudson parked in front of the Washington Monument.

His first new car would have to last a while. After this factories stopped making automobiles and started making war machines. Those were dark days for my father, but it didn't stop him from dreaming. George pre-ordered four cars,  and when they started rolling off the assembly line after the war, he was ready.

The first was a 1947 green convertible Studebaker. A beauty.

 

But he sold it as soon as the 1947 green convertible Buick came in.

But he sold it as soon as the 1947 green convertible Buick came in. They just don't make 'em like this anymore. This was when form and beauty were valued over mileage.

He kept that one until the 1947 emerald green Cadillac showed up.

And that was the beginning of a long love affair with Cadillacs. In 1951 a pink Cadillac caught his eye. My mother's favorite color.

Here's a picture of my brothers looking out from the back seat long before seat belts were a thing.

My brother Pete unwittingly followed in George's shoes. Not knowing of Dad’s former escapades, Pete would climb down the tree outside his bedroom window on Davenport Street and “borrow” the car at night. The big difference was my brother got caught because our father was no dope and always checked the mileage on his car.

Pete was undeterred.  With the money he earned from a temp job at the post office, he bought a 1939 Buick, shaped like a torpedo, with an antenna running up the middle of the windshield. What little paint it had was blue. No brakes, no insurance, and, as per family tradition, it was a forbidden purchase. Pete's plan, not unlike our father's, was to park discreetly on another block. He got away with it, too, until Dad found a traffic ticket in his wallet.

For George, it was Cadillacs and only Cadillacs right on up to the 1970s when Cadillac had the nerve to stop making convertibles.  My cousin, Pete Sclavounos, managed to find George one last custom red Eldorado with chrome spoke wheels and custom grill. You can see how he felt about it.

George eventually got the fever for a new car again, but it had to be a convertible. That’s when my all American Dad converted to foreign cars.  Also he got the bright idea of buying my mother Bebe a  bright red convertible for their 71st anniversary even though she has always hated the top down due to the unspeakable things that could happen to her hair. My mother was always a good sport about her "gift" and would "go along with the program. She said she liked the color, too.