GOT A FEW comments about my column in Tuesday’s Whig about trading in the old car for new(er).
Several people said they relate.
“I have an old truck that sits out back. I start her up twice a month just so the battery doesn’t die,” one man said. “I just can’t get rid of her.”
Everybody has car stories. My first car, a gold Dodge Colt, rusted from inside the wheel well and collapsed, forming a triangle from the hood on down. My parents had a Dodge Dart with a great white canvas top that my sister wrecked on some back road, and I can remember two or three monstrous station wagons carting the family of seven around.
My best buddy had an old sled of a car that finally gave up the ghost, and I begged him to put it in the backyard so his mom could plant flowers in the engine block.
I’m not a car guy, just somebody who wants to get back and forth in one piece. Maybe with a little style, that never hurts ….



