O
Orange 01 SS
Guest
I still remember the day my dad brought this home. It was 1978 and I was five. I really didn’t think that much of it. It was kind of different than most cars we had around, but dad bought and sold lots of cars, so this one probably wouldn’t be around long either.
But then we started using it. Every weekend my dad and I would get in the ’61 and “ride.” We’d go look at used cars, or scour junkyards, or go to the car races, sneak tacos before dinner, or get lost on purpose. I was in my first street race riding in that car. It gave me my first rides at over 100 mph on the back roads in Nebraska. My dad would tromp it sometimes just because he knew I loved getting slammed back in the seat. I know for a fact that my scrawny butt has left a mold in the passenger seat of that car, because I rode in it more than anyone else in its history—including my mom!
If we weren’t doing that we were working on it. At first I just sat on the toolbox and watched, but then I started helping out. Over the years I spent a lot of time under the pancake hood; under the dashboard; under the car. I’ll bet between my dad and me, we bled a gallon of blood out of our knuckles working on that thing.
When our family went out, it was my dad in the driver’s seat, my mom in the passenger’s seat, my sister on my mom’s lap, and me on my little orange pillow on the hump. My rule was, don’t kick the shifter! My mom never drove, because even though the car is a Powerglide, she claimed she can’t drive it because she can’t drive a stick.
Nearly everything that happened in my life that I can remember happened while this car was around, good or bad. My friends used to hide behind it in the garage when we played “guns.” My dad picked me up from Elementary School in it. Later, I drove my wife away from the church when we were married in this car.
So here we are in 2003. The car hasn’t changed much. Same old paint. Same dim, yellow T3 headlights. The orange pillow is still there. My mom still thinks it’s a stick. I don’t have time to ride around much in it anymore, but once in awhile we still take a daytrip. My dad still calls me when something breaks on it, and we go to work. It’s nothing too special. Just an old, original 283/230 ’61 Vette that runs the best on cool days. But we still get the “thumbs up” every single time it leaves the house. And it’s more than just an old car. It’s a member of the family.
Anyway, here it is. Sorry for the bad scans.
2000:
1978:
But then we started using it. Every weekend my dad and I would get in the ’61 and “ride.” We’d go look at used cars, or scour junkyards, or go to the car races, sneak tacos before dinner, or get lost on purpose. I was in my first street race riding in that car. It gave me my first rides at over 100 mph on the back roads in Nebraska. My dad would tromp it sometimes just because he knew I loved getting slammed back in the seat. I know for a fact that my scrawny butt has left a mold in the passenger seat of that car, because I rode in it more than anyone else in its history—including my mom!
If we weren’t doing that we were working on it. At first I just sat on the toolbox and watched, but then I started helping out. Over the years I spent a lot of time under the pancake hood; under the dashboard; under the car. I’ll bet between my dad and me, we bled a gallon of blood out of our knuckles working on that thing.
When our family went out, it was my dad in the driver’s seat, my mom in the passenger’s seat, my sister on my mom’s lap, and me on my little orange pillow on the hump. My rule was, don’t kick the shifter! My mom never drove, because even though the car is a Powerglide, she claimed she can’t drive it because she can’t drive a stick.
Nearly everything that happened in my life that I can remember happened while this car was around, good or bad. My friends used to hide behind it in the garage when we played “guns.” My dad picked me up from Elementary School in it. Later, I drove my wife away from the church when we were married in this car.
So here we are in 2003. The car hasn’t changed much. Same old paint. Same dim, yellow T3 headlights. The orange pillow is still there. My mom still thinks it’s a stick. I don’t have time to ride around much in it anymore, but once in awhile we still take a daytrip. My dad still calls me when something breaks on it, and we go to work. It’s nothing too special. Just an old, original 283/230 ’61 Vette that runs the best on cool days. But we still get the “thumbs up” every single time it leaves the house. And it’s more than just an old car. It’s a member of the family.
Anyway, here it is. Sorry for the bad scans.
2000:
1978:
... I was born and raised in 17 County (York) but used to run a lot with the "Platte Valley and the Cornhusker Corvette Clubs" back in the late 70's & early 80's as well as the Souix Falls Corvette Club 
