Only recently have I actually looked at an advertisement for a 1950 Nash. When Dad decided to buy a car back in 1955, it wasn't the ads for the 1950 Statesman that touted comfort and 25mpg performance; he just wanted something that was useful and cheap- cheap was being the primary adjective here.

Our family never owned a car until 1955, which is about 17 years after Mom and Dad got married.  We didn't need one since Jensen's Thrift Store was right next door, and he delivered. Saint Patrick's School and Church was only a block away. A shoe maker, two barber shops, Deegan's liquor store, and Covatta's drug store were also within that block, and the Traction Bus stopped across the street. Dad car pooled to Montgomery Wards, chipping in a small amount to his trustworthy drivers for gasoline. What more did we need?

When Jensen's closed, it was time for a car. Dad bought the used black, heavily chromed 1950 Nash for $350. It was probably a great deal for a family of seven which fit neatly- 3 in front and 4 in the expansive back seat. Within a week of purchasing the vehicle in the summer of 1955, Dad, after lessons from his brother and our Uncle "Angie" and a few extras from Uncle Ed Guerin, took his driver's test and passed. He was ready to go, and all of us were ready to go with him.

The first big trip for the family was to Lake George to visit Uncle Bud, Aunt Cap, Harold and Earlene. They had been vacationing there for years, and now it was our chance to accept that invitation to "Come on up."

So, with almost two weeks of driving experience, we packed up for that trip to Lake George. We followed the map, route 9 all the way through the countryside from Waterford, through the city of Saratoga, and then came Glens Falls, and traffic!!!

One of the finer points of driving a stick shift is the delicate art of releasing the clutch, and accelerating for a smooth start from stop. This meant taking your foot off the break to accelerate. Dad had the opportunity to practice this maneuver repeatedly in the traffic on the bridge over the railroad tracks in what appeared to be heavy traffic in a rain storm. The upward part of the bridge was a significant challenge. It seems that Dad just could get to the gas pedal quick enough to prevent the car from rolling backwards before he let the clutch out. Sometimes, the roll was several feet, Fortunately, the vehicle behind us was a huge truck with a massive wooden front bumper. The trucker must have been in this situation before. We slammed into that bumper once, twice and more, until the trucker realized what was happening. He mercifully let the truck creep up close enough so the roll back was not so bad.  I remember looking out that huge back window, feeling very red (not nearly as red as Dad), and catching the eye of that kind, laughing trucker. All in day's work!

We soon arrived at the Carriers' camp on Lake George. The remembrance of the trip up and back blotted out all memory of the actual good time that we had there. Bud told Dad how to get to route 9N for the return trip to avoid both Glens Falls and Saratoga. This we did, and it was a nice ride in the country until…

Mom spied some beautiful Tiger Lilies blooming in a sand pit near the road side. There were no homes or driveways around, just an open abandoned area and then the lilies. Mom had to have them.  She ordered the car to stop, and some of us got out to help Mom purloin the Tiger lilies. More scarlet faces, but we got some, safely into the trunk, and they graced the backyard at 804 River Street in Troy for many years.

Sometime later, a problem arose with the Nash. The head gasket blew and had to be replaced. Dad was not mechanically inclined, but for some reason (probably dollars), he decided that he would replace the head gasket. Cars were simpler then. You could actually see the spark plugs, the edges of the head gasket, and you could almost stand inside the motor compartment to fix things. Don DeLee was running the gas station across the street. It was looking cleaner and had been paved since the Chapels owned the dirt covered station. DeLee and his boys providing tools and expertise helped Dad with the gasket. I do remember Dad pounding on the motor with a big rubber mallet either to loosen the head or to make a tighter fit. At any rate, Dad with his mind and muscle did fix the car.

For another year or so, we got by with the Nash, keeping it warm in the winter with an old blanket over the motor, forgetting about the blanket and the car belching smoke one morning as Dad drove us to Catholic High.

One Saturday morning, Dad drove us downtown to the Troy Record so we could pay our bill for the papers that we delivered. The car stalled and the motor flooded at the corner of Fulton and River Streets in front of Frear's. A tremendous down pour came at about that time. Dad was waiting for the carburetor to unflood. The rain and hail buffeted us, cars honked, the windows fogged up, we were shouted at- "Get a tow!" "Get that wreck out of here!" George and I ducked as we waited, and then Dad with a wonderful big smile began to sing. We thought he was crazy, but he assured us all would be well. A few minutes of singing, and the car started.
Eventually, the Nash was replaced. George remembers that he went to his interview at Siena in the Nash, all the way in second gear. Dad was going to have the transmission fixed, but when the stuck driver's side handle came off in Dad's hand one day, he looked at me with that funny smile, and said "Let's go get a new car." And we then had a '53 Plymouth.
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