One of the lasting memories I have as a kid, is traveling in our 1960 Dodge wagon as we made our annual pilgrimage to Cape Cod for the summer or visited my grandparents during the holidays in Worcester, MA.
I should add here that, during the time my parents owned the Dodge there was a total of 8 family members plus our dog Candy, on these treks.
Most times I chose the last seat in the back…you know, the one that always faced the traffic. I could be somewhat removed from my peskier brothers sitting back there.
Most of them were prone to car sickness when traveling in the “way back seat” as they called it, so they avoided that seat like the plague. So I pretty much had it to myself, except when Candy decided to join me.
That Dodge really earned its keep over the years. Not only did it haul us to the Cape for seven consecutive summers, it also towed a 15 foot boat and motor. During these road treks, the car wasn’t the only thing fully packed. The boat itself also served double duty as a utility trailer and was packed bow to stern with assorted summer vacation necessities.
When we visited my grandparents during the Easter and Thanksgiving holidays, my Dad would always stop, at the same Cities Service gas station on Rt. 9 in Auburn. Sitting in the “way back seat” I actually had a front row account of what went on. I remember the sound of the gas traveling down the filler tube, that fresh gas aroma, the ding as each gallon passed by and the mesmerizing effect of the spinning balls on the gas pump that indicated that the gas was quality mixed or some other public relations promo.
The summer of 1967 was the last summer we traveled to the Cape in that Dodge. My parents, who by now had bought a second car, split the passenger list between the two cars and I got to ride up front with my Dad in the Dodge.
Now I’m sure many of you, like me, associate a certain song with a certain memory.
For me I will always associate “Midnight Hour” by Wilson Pickett with the sight of a heavily smoking 1951 Studebaker. That car was in front of us, spewing its heavy plume of blue smoke as we approached the Branford, Conn. tolls, that summer of 1967. This song happened to be on the radio as I spotted this spectacle and is now forever recalled in my mind every time I hear “Midnight Hour.”
