In the summer of 1969 I fell in love for the first time. I didn’t realize it then, being only nine years old, but it was a love that would last for a long time. It was true love. She was seven years old when my father introduced us and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Sure there have been others since then but you never forget your first love.
We spent all our time together running around in the field next to my family’s home. My sister teased me and made fun of her unusual name, but that didn’t bother me because I was in love… with my Studebaker.
She was a 1962 Lark four door with a six cylinder engine and automatic transmission. Oh sure her fenders might have been a little bit rusty and the tires were bald, but she ran great. My father had traded an old motorcycle that was sitting rusting in the basement for the Lark. My brother had a 1963 Rambler station wagon, and we would spend all day racing around in that field. We wore down a pretty good track too. I remember Dad bringing home a five gallon can of gasoline for each of us almost daily (of course it was much cheaper back then).
I drove the Lark around that field for two years, by which time I could see over the steering wheel instead of looking between the wheel and the dashboard. After two years the car was getting in pretty bad shape but the old six cylinder still ran great. We found another rusty ‘62 Lark that had a froze up engine and bought it for ten dollars. After switching the engine I drove that Lark for two years.
Other field cars came and went, but I’ll always remember my first Studebaker. I’ve been a die hard Studebaker fanatic for quite a few years now and I’ve probably had over twenty Studebakers of all different models since that bring great memories to mind including my first Avanti that I bought in Florida in the spring of 1991 and drove home to Pennsylvania. Of course there are a few more I would like to own but no matter how many I ever have or how nice they are none will compare with the first one in my memory. Every time I go to a car show or flea market and I see a Studebaker or parts for one my mind wanders back to the memories of a nine year old and a rusty brown lark with bad tires. The rotted muffler and torn upholstery were like new to a kid who drove around in circles all day or until the daily allotment of fuel was burned up. The Lark would sputter to a stop, secure in the knowledge that the boy stretching to see over the steering wheel was happy, and it had given all it could for that day… or at least until Dad came home from work with more gasoline.
This is a revised version of my article which was first printed in "Turning Wheels" magazine and in the book "A Studebaker Family Album" in the 1990s
Contents copyright Madd Doodler Publishing 2010
