Pioneer Antique Automobile Club
                   of the Mid-Ohio Valley


Classic Car Stories...

as told by our members



By Steve Carroll


The SUPER 88

I was too young to remember the day my parents bought a brand new 1957 Oldsmobile Super 88. But, since they kept it for a number of years, it seemed as though I grew up with that car much as a newborn would grow up with an existing household pet. I was already a car guy by the time I could walk. My Mom was always quick to remind me that I had the largest collection of “Matchbox” and “Dinky” toy cars than any other kid around.

By the time I was five years old, I somehow knew how special that Super 88 really was. You see, it wasn’t just my “Father’s Oldsmobile”, it was a Sapphire Mist Metallic Blue Super 88 hardtop coupe with the vaunted J2 optioned engine and triple panel rear windows. The 1963 Corvette split window coupes that appeared six years later didn’t have anything over this Oldsmobile’s unique three window split backlight in terms of the cool factor. Not only that, the J2 option, with its high compression and triple carburetor setup, turned the Super 88’s 371 c.i. V-8 into a speed monster befitting its name - the “Rocket 88” or just “Rocket” as it was referred to by car enthusiasts familiar with Oldsmobile heritage.
         

In 1958, the U.S. Army shipped my Dad, with family in tow, to Germany. The Super 88 went with us. By that time, Germany had a well established road network called the Autobahn. When considering the Autobahn, just about everyone thinks of it as being similar to our Interstate network here in the United States, but with a twist - No Speed Limits! Now, my Dad was about the farthest thing from a car guy one could imagine, but back then, even he definitely understood a match made in heaven when it presented itself. And that match was none other than a high performance 88 paired with roads without speed limits. In the late 50s and early 60s many Europeans who were fortunate enough to own Porsches, Mercedes and BMWs would run their cars wide open on the Autobahn with an air of superiority where they gobbled up the preponderance of Volkswagens, Simcas, and Fiats lumbering along at half their speed. But there was a big blue American demon lurking among them whenever we traveled from one base or town to another on the Autobahn. That big blue demon was, of course, the Super 88. When my Dad opened up that J2 equipped V-8 with triple carbs gulping copious amounts of air and dual exhausts barking out high decibels, I watched with delight from my perch on the backseat as the needle on the speedometer easily passed the 100 mph mark. Even more satisfying was turning around to see Porsches and Mercedes quickly disappearing through the 88’s rear triple window. In my young eyes, nothing in the world could touch the Super 88. Of course, my Mom had an entirely different take on these Autobahn speed runs. While my sister and I were screaming from the back seat to “go faster Dad!”, my Mom was yelling at him to “slow down!”. For some reason, Mom was always a spoilsport that way. No matter, by the age of 7 my fate was sealed. My worship of our Super 88 along with a trip to the famous Nurburgring Formula One race track near our base, turned me into a future dyed in the wool, go fast, car guy.

Over the next couple years, the family Oldsmobile started getting a bit long in the tooth and in 1962, the Army reassigned my Dad to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Little did I know, the days of the Super 88 were numbered as my parents were making plans to sell the blue bomb in
Germany and purchase a new car back in the States. I cried the day a stranger came to take the 88 away. It would be left behind in a foreign land never to be seen again. My Dad attempted to placate me by claiming that the new owner would continue to conquer all on the Autobahn in our absence. His words fell on deaf ears. I was heartbroken.

Soon after we arrived back in the U.S., I checked into a second grade class at my new school. My first day in the strange classroom went okay but when the 3:00 bell rang I was glad it was over. My Mom was waiting at the front of the school to pick me up and said “come on out to the parking lot and see our new car; you’re going to like it.” Having studied all the car magazines I could get my hands on, I had a fairly good idea of what the possibilities were for a suitable replacement for the beloved old 88. So, in eager anticipation I excitedly followed her to the lot. As she approached a new, boxy, drab colored, 1962 Chevy II Nova station wagon and opened its driver side door, I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing ….”Wait!, What?!, Noooo!!!” The all conquering Sapphire Mist Metallic Blue Super 88 hardtop coupe with J2 optioned 371 cu. in. Rocket V-8 and gorgeous triple split rear window had been replaced by a six cylinder grocery getter! And out of the mouth attached to my 7 year old brain came a scream exclaiming those all too familiar juvenile words of protest: “AW MOM! IT’S NOT FAIR!!”

I walked home from school that day.

SUPER 88 Number Two
Col. Carroll may be gone but his spirit lives on with this newly acquired 1957 Rose Mist Rocket Powered Super 88 Holiday Coupe).
By Curt Fouse
1941 Studebaker

If I wanted to drive a car, I would have to go to the friendly Nash dealer's used car lot and try out one of their trade-ins. As soon as school was over with, and I got a full time job, I went to the Nash dealer and bought a good running 1941 Studebaker. It had been used by an Army Captain in Puerto Rico. It was not rusty, but the hot sun had really faded the paint. A neighbor man painted his house with a Sears diaphragm compressor and spray gun. I asked if I could borrow it to paint my Studebaker. He said he didn't recommend it, and would never paint another house with one, but if I wanted it, I could take it. The Studebaker had a 6 cylinder flat head engine.

After a few months and steady employment, I went back to the Nash dealer and traded the Studebaker for a 1946 Nash Ambassador. Next, was a 1947 Chevy Fleetline. By this time, winter was upon us. I quit my job, put my tools in the trunk, and drove the Fleetline to Florida.


1946 Nash Ambassador


1948 Chevrolet

I did have a couple of nice toy pedal trucks and cars, compliments of Santa Claus.


By Russell McDermott

This is my Granddad, James E. Morr, enjoying a drive with my grandmother, Mary Schadd Morr shortly after they were married in 1911. The car is a 1904 Orient Buckboard built by the Waltham Manufacturing Company. To the best of my knowledge, this photo was taken in Creston, Ohio.

1915 Ford Model T Touring and 1904 Orient 

My grandfather had this article published about his Orient and his 1915 Ford Model T Touring. He purchased the Model T new and would not hesitate to drive from his home in Creston to Erie, Pennsylvania to see his friends from when he worked as a telegraph operator on the railroad. He enjoyed many miles in this car.

Ford Model T, Ashland, Ohio

This photo was taken in the early 1960s. My granddad drove the car quite a bit. When my granddad passed away in 1988 at the age of 99, the car was given to me by his son, Glen. I have owned the model T since then and will be passing it down to my son, which will be the fourth generation owner.

By ???...who will be the next contributor???