Aug. 1-2, 1970

After Nate’s rough week with his rural paper route, we took a much-needed break over the weekend – not that there wouldn’t be plenty of studying for both of us and also the difficult weekend paper route. But we hoped to do two happy things: investigate new car possibilities and attend a party given by one of Nate’s law school buddies.

Dad had asked us to do some vehicle research, so we started with the dealerships in town. Since we didn’t have children, we thought it might be one last chance for a sports car and set out with that in mind.

We learned, however, that the only good lookin’ American sports car was the Corvette… way out of reach. Muscle cars abounded: Pontiac GTO, Chevy 409, Ford Thunderbolt, Chrysler Charger. But those had no appeal.

Finally one frustrated salesman said, “Why don’t you look for a foreign car. But be careful. Most shops won’t work on them, since they need European tools and stuff like that.”

When we tried to follow up on his suggestion, all we found was a VW dealer. The sales guy there told us about VW’s sporty Karmann Ghia but didn’t have one to show us. In another showroom, though, we found something that had instant appeal – a Fiat 1245 Spider, made in Italy.

It was love at first sight. But we couldn’t even think about buying it till we sold the Mustang. We called Dad to say our research was complete and gave him the specifics, emphasizing that it was an economical car nothing like our other sports car, the Corvette.

He asked lots of questions, but the price seemed realistic to him, and he didn’t try to dissuade us. This was impressive from a man who had always and only bought American.

For him the main selling point was the Fiat’s excellent gas mileage. After all, gasoline had risen to 36 cents a gallon. “Just get busy and sell your Mustang,” he said. “Then we can move forward.”

That evening when we readied for the party, we were in good spirits. Nate’s old friend Bill from college grad school counseling days (now head resident at Bromley Hall) had invited a group of former counselors for a get-together in the dorm apartment.

It turned out to be a festive time reconnecting with many who had graduated and left the area. Although beer flowed and cigarette smoke filled the room, the conversations were fascinating – a patchwork quilt of what 20-somethings were thinking in 1970.

I spent a great deal of time with Bill’s beautiful dog, satisfying my longing for snuggle-time with Baron.

We knew we’d probably never see this group of pals again, so I brought my camera, inviting Nate to take pictures of everybody. And as always, he took a bunch of me.

“A friend loves at all times.” (Proverbs 17:17)