My first car was a ’65 Pontiac station wagon that I shared with my brother, not stylish, but functional (sort of). Gray in color and partially rusted, it had seen better days. Something seemed to fall apart every week. The driver side window wouldn’t roll back up; manually powered of course. The ignition was located in the dashboard. It fell right through the dash one day when I put the key in. Secured only by hanging wires, I had to pull it out from underneath to start the car. And alas, the muffler finally gave way while driving; I was about five minutes from home. I didn’t know what to do and got so nervous I just dragged it the rest of the way. I’m sure sparks were flying everywhere. In essence, we were driving around in a tin can that was slowly falling apart, but we didn’t care. We were young and we had wheels!
The only more important thing than having a set of wheels was blaring some good music. The AM radio dialed into the airwaves that were picked up by that lovely antenna on the driver’s side; you know the one that people would adorn with little flags and streamers. But the radio signal wasn’t always clear and you could lose a good station if you were out of range. So, my brother decided the sound system needed an upgrade and proceeded to install an 8-track tape player. He somehow managed to fit it underneath the dash with connecting wires to two large stereo speakers that took up the entire back seat. It was sight to see; what an eyesore. The tape cartridges alone were about 5 x 5 inches. Space was limited, but the sound; priceless. We had wheels, music, and a taste of freedom. Driving to nowhere with the windows down and the volume turned up loud enough to feel the vibration and the wind in your hair; not a care in the world. It was epic!