"It could happen to you"
Fiction by Jimmy Scurry  

About six months ago I was traveling from Washington, D. C. to my home in South Georgia. After a full day and a half of the Interstate, I decided to finish my trip on some slower county roads.  Once you've had your cruise set at 80 mph for hours on end, it takes a little time to adjust to 50 and 55 mph. You think that you could get out and walk that fast.  

I don't remember the road number I was on. I was just below Atlanta and as long as I headed south, I figured that the road number didn't matter much. It was spring time and the country side was magnificent. The different colors of blooms on the trees and smaller plants would take your breath they were so beautiful.  In the small cities and rural areas folks were out working in the yards or just sitting on porches. I slowed my vehicle even more just to take in the serenity of it all. My windows were down, my radio was off, and springtime fragrance filtered through my car.  I've heard people call this God's country, and this day I truly believed it.  

I was especially interested in some of the old houses, or should I say some of the old southern mansions. If you've ever traveled through middle and southern Georgia you know what I'm talking about. Any body with credit can build large "new" houses and really impress their neighbors, but to see a real southern mansion is a treat.  I felt so good and the day was so perfect that the thought crossed my mind to just stop and visit with some of these folks. However the reality of living in the 21st century prevailed, and I was content with just looking. I didn't want modern day folks in old southern mansions thinking that I had gone completely crazy.  

I was just cresting the top of a hill when I noticed to my left a nice old house with several small run down buildings around back. Just before I passed the front of the house I noticed an old lady in the back yard trying to control a small trash fire with a rake. The last thing I thought I saw was her fall down near the fire. I was going slow enough that I was able to make the turn in the drive way with a little dirt and gravel flying.  I pulled as close the house as I thought safe, stopped, and ran around the house to the back yard. Sure enough, there she was trying to scoot away from the fire that had already scorched part of her frock. I grabbed the rake, got the fire under control and the lady directed me to a water spigot and hose at the other end of the house. I immediately wet the area around the fire and sprayed some water on her dress. She wasn't near tears or anything but I could tell she was relieved and very grateful that the scare was over.  

I helped her up and sat her in an old metal chair on a small patio near the back door of the house. Once she caught her breath and realized she wasn't hurt, she asked me to have a seat in the swing next to her chair. She thanked me of course, and we started some small talk. She was nearly 80, had lived in this old house all her life. She was the last of eleven children living, and even her dad was born in the old house. She went on and on. It seemed that once she started talking she didn't want to stop. I certainly wasn't in any hurry so I was enjoying our conversation. Her name was Arlena Marie Sanderson. "Folks call me 'Lennie,'" she said. She was a fascinating lady and the more she talked the more I felt like I was listening to a history book.  

After a few hours of listening to her talk, half dozen of homemade cookies, ice cold well water, and three glasses of the best sweet tea I've ever had, she finally asked me to tell her about myself. Each time I mentioned anything that sparked a memory of hers, she interrupted me to tell me another story.  That was OK, because I was doing just what I liked doing. During one of the few seconds I got to say something, I mentioned that I loved old cars.  

She got up, stepped off the patio, and said, "Come with me young man." I could tell by the tone in her voice that she thought she really had something for me to look at.  Until then she would call me by my name, now it was "young man".  

I followed her to one of the old buildings I mentioned earlier and helped her open one of the old wooden doors that scraped the ground as we swung it open. It was getting late by now so with the limited light all I could see was something that looked like a car covered with old bed sheets. As she directed me to an over-head light, one thing that caught my eye was an obvious pair of fins on the back of this thing, what ever it was. The bulb was only about 40 watts so I still couldn't tell what we were about to uncover.  I was still trying to stay calm, but by now my interest and excitement meter was cranking up. I said, "What you got under these sheets Lennie?" 

  She said, " Before you uncover it, get those keys hanging behind that board over there-- in the corner next to that old cabinet.  There was a small Studebaker emblem attached to the key ring.  Lennie said, "You take the covers off the front and I'll get the back. As I slid a large sheet off the hood of this thing, I couldn't believe my eyes. My excitement meter was in the red and I don't even remember removing the other sheets.  

I could tell now, that sweet old lady and I just uncovered a 1957, Studebaker Hawk. In the dim light, the gold color looked a little faded. By now I was shaking with excitement and nearly fainted when Lennie said, "Pat the gas real good, crank her up, and back her out."  

As I opened the door and sat inside, I knew that Lennie really did have her something here. I just didn't know how much-- until I turned the starter and this thing started to rumble. Lennie had managed to open the other wooden door without my help, and as I backed out it struck me what I was driving. This was a 1957 Golden Hawk, emblems and gauges trimmed in gold, gold horn button, all the interior perfect as far as I could tell, and a 4-speed transmission that felt new.

I backed completely out of the small building and stopped to let her idle and warm up. I nearly fell down getting to the hood to open it. Sure enough there it was, a 289 V-8 with an original blower, chrome rocker covers, breather, and chrome radiator shroud. Once in the sun, the gold color shined like new money, and the body looked flawless. The wire-spoked rims and radial tires were perfect.

Lennie must have seen the look on my face because I know  I was grinning like a mule eating briars. She said, "I really need a few items from the grocery down the road... if you don't mind taking me. I can't drive this one any more because of the floor shift and it sure needs running some."

At this point all the blood had left my face, and I couldn't get around to the passenger side quick enough to open the door for her.  I was so excited that my foot kept shaking on the clutch and I nearly stalled the engine more than once. The next ten minutes were some of the best of my life. Driving a 1957 Studebaker supercharged Golden Hawk with a four speed transmission, you just can't put it into words.  I couldn't help myself and once I tacked the Hawk to nearly five grand.

That was the only time Lennie raised an eyebrow. She said "Dave, (that's was her husbands name) used to drive her fast, but it's been so many years I've lost my nerve." I reluctantly slowed down, but it didn't take anything from my experience of driving this classic.

At the store, all I could do was walk around and rub the Hawk.  Lennie smiled as she returned with a small sack of groceries.  I opened the door for her and we headed back to her house. She didn't say much on the way back so I just enjoyed the sound and the feel of the Hawk. I kept the RPM's down, and even then we arrived at her house way too soon. As I started towards the old building Lennie said, "Just leave her out for a while."

I helped her with her groceries and we decided to sit down for a few minutes before I had to be on my way. It was getting late in the evening, and I still had several hours of driving left.

I tried to dominate the rest of the conversation talking about old cars and bragging on the Hawk but she interrupted as before and told me all about the Hawk's history. Dave had bought the car brand new somewhere around Atlanta, and drove it until it came time to restore it. Just a few years before he died, he had it professionally restored with many extras to make it better and safer to drive. She mentioned a few things he had done to the engine and didn't know some of the terminology, but I knew!  Just after dark when the conversation eased up, I told Lennie I needed to start heading home. I offered to park the Hawk back in the building and cover it up before I left.

The next thing that happened made my knees weak and I had to sit down, or I would have fallen down. Lennie said, "Honey, would you like to have that car?" After stuttering for nearly ten minutes and half heartily trying to convince her not to part with it, I said, "Of course I would love to have that car!" When I was finally convinced in my heart that she really wanted me to have it I said, "OK, how much?" It was obvious that Lennie didn't need any money, so I won't even tell you how much she let me have the Hawk for. I will tell you this, it was well below what just the engine was worth.

She gathered up all the paperwork, and as we were signing it, she started crying. Then I started crying. She was sad, I was crying from excitement. The only thing she made me promise was that I would come back maybe twice a year with the Hawk and carry her to the grocery store and spend an evening with her. That was an easy promise, because in just a few hours I had come to like her as much as I liked the Hawk. I told her I would like to leave my car there and drive the Hawk home. I would come back in a few days with a trailer and get the other car. She agreed, we said our good-byes and I headed home.

I had mixed feelings the rest of the trip concerning what had taken place. One minute I was sad, the next I was thanking God, the next I was nearly in tears, and on occasion I was speeding. Any time I wanted to get back to reality, all I had to do was punch the accelerator a little and the Hawk came to life.

I made several trips with my wife to see Lennie over the next few years, and we loved every minute of our visits. Just last year, Lennie died and was buried next to her husband in middle Georgia.  The Hawk is doing great, and I drive it nearly every day. I'll never forget the little old lady that give me a Golden Hawk, just for helping her put out a fire.

A month after Lennie died I was contacted by her attorney and was asked to meet him at her house the following Monday. It seems that since Lennie didn't have any family living at the time of her death, I was mentioned in her will. It stated that as long as I keep the Golden Hawk, I would be sole beneficiary to her house and 400 acres of land there in middle Georgia. My wife and I immediately packed and moved to Lennie's mansion and lived happily ever after.

Buzzzz! The alarm clock seemed to be louder this morning than normal. Boy, "What a dream!" I told my wife as we started preparing for work. She asked what it was about.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."  That evening, we got home from work I said, "How would you like to take a trip to middle Georgia next weekend?

  Jimmy Scurry

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"Memories of Mom's Studebaker"
Jimmy Scurry 

I don't have near as many stories about Studebakers as I do other cars due to the fact of growing up around Fords.  My brothers were die-hard Ford fans, so most of my love for cars as I was growing up was for the old Fords.  There were a few Chevys, and once we owned 1948 Dodge, but they were just used to get by until our next Ford came along.

I was born in 1952, but by the time I was ten years old I knew the make and models of most cars of the 1950's. We were very poor, and most of the cars we could afford were at least 10 years old or older, so by the time I was able to drive, a 1955 or '56 Ford was my dream car. I knew nothing about Studebakers until my wife Vicki and I bought one.

I kept thinking, surely there had to be a Stude somewhere in my childhood.  I can't believe I was nearly 40 before my first encounter.  After days and days of trying to pull up some childhood memories, I finally remembered the following story.

As children we were always playing in any car we were allowed to get in. I remember some of the best times were when mom would be buying groceries and we would be in the car playing, hoping she would take her time and not return too soon.  We would turn the steering wheel wildly, try to tear the gear shift lever from the column, and make serious sounding engine noises.  We would pump the gas pedal, turn and pull all the dash knobs, press the brake pedal, blow the horn, and do all the things the grown ups do when they're driving. Maybe that’s why old cars didn't get good fuel mileage and the batteries didn't last too long.

Mom and dad divorced when I was six, and all us innocent kids lived with mom.  Mom worked all the time, but she made time for a few boyfriends. When I say a few. I mean it. Can you imagine dating a woman with five rug rats running all over the place? Ages ranging from 13 to five.  We would never decide how much we liked any particular boy-friend until we saw the kind of car he drove.

I must have been around 9 or 10, when I remembered momma coming home in a very different car. I was sitting on the front door steps when she pulled into the front yard.  This car really caught my attention, because the front end was low and sleek looking. It looked very fast and even for a 10-year-old I could tell something was different about this car.  It was either two tone brown or a brown and yellow, as I said earlier, it's hard to remember 40 years ago. I knew the different sounds of a six cylinder and a V-8, and this car was definitely the latter. It had a low rumble sound, and lots and lots of chrome.

Momma drove the car for only a few weeks so my time spent riding in it was limited.  I can remember that the inside was beautiful.  The dash and trim were brown with matching seats. One of the most impressive things was the gauges.  They were round with golden arms, letters, and numbers. It was a standard shift on the column and seemed to have plenty of power.  I was always encouraging mom to go faster, and it was effortless for this car. It was a 2-door with fancy wheels or hubcaps and I think it had the wide white wall tires.  It came into my life and left so soon I didn't have time to fall in love with it like the old Fords.  

Now that I'm a lot older and have been around Studes for a while, my guess is this car was a 1953-54-or 55 Commander coupe.  It could even have been a 1955 President, I don't know. 

Jimmy Scurry