Gypsy The Ford

BY ELIZABETH CLAY GARLICHS

Gypsy the Model A transported a family proudly through the mountains during the years around the Depression -- taking them high into the Smokies and off on Sunday afternoon picnic jaunts.

I reflect from time to time on that perfection of automobile engineering, the Model A Ford. Ours was named Gypsy, may he rest in peace. Gypsy took our family on 159,000 miles of high adventure while the Depression groaned and sagged its way to final recovery in World War II.

Gypsy faithfully took our family to school and work and church. Not of course "the quietest car you could own"... We left that distinction to the many chauffeured limousines in our town. And space was at a premium as well. The middle passenger in the front seat had to remain alert to dodge the gear shift moving about in its H-shaped orbit. Of the four or five people in the back seat, someone had to sit on someone's lap, making a double layer of legs.

In the "relentless pursuit of perfection," however, Gypsy had no peer. We were all together in that pursuit on Sunday afternoons in the mountains when the family loaded ourselves, our picnic basket, a watermelon, and The New York Times into Gypsy for a drive in the country where we sought out a meadow or wooded spot.

Even closer to perfection were our camping trips into the Blue Ridge or Smoky mountains. Model A Fords had no provision for baggage, but my ever-inventive father had designed a metal frame which fitted over the spare tire and rested on the back bumpers. Into this went our pots, pans, and provisions. An inconvenience often occurred in the form of a flat tire, in which case the whole thing had to be unloaded in order to reach the spare. The quilts and blankets we used for bedding were carefully folded and placed on the back seat with the result that those passengers rode several inches above the front-seat group. Miko, our small Brazilian monkey, moved ingeniously about the crowded car. Chico, our blue and yellow macaw, called out a hoarse "arrara" from his cage lashed to the front bumper.

We travelled in high spirits, singing a repertoire of popular songs and hymns. We were no doubt a striking picture. Gypsy had a sporting look, the stylish tan-and-dark-brown body accented with fringed green-and-white-striped awnings at each window.

How happy my memories of those trips! Our father had a talent for making any event an adventure. When Gypsy struggled on the rutted mountain inclines (some scarcely qualifying as roads in today's understanding), Dad called out cheerily, "Third Class, get out and walk!" The two youngest of us were let out to follow the burdened car on foot. As conditions worsened, we would hear, "Second Class, get out and push!" The older sisters scrambled to give hands and shoulders to force Gypsy through the impeded passage. Only in extremis did he resort to "Second and Third class, push! First Class, get out and walk!" At that point, Mother set out to pick wildflowers.

As noted, flat tires on a camping trip were an extreme inconvenience. On the memorable journey to my brother's wedding 100 miles from our town, Gypsy had five flat tires.

But in general the car was a beloved member of the family, to be treated with respect and affection. On our drive home from church on Sundays, we always took an alternate route to avoid the ascent of a long steep hill.

"I don't like to make Gypsy work on the Sabbath," Dad explained.

A particular highlight in Gypsy's life was the night the odometer reached 99,999 and turned over to 00,001. It was nearing midnight when we reached the town of Cowpens, S.C. until that night known only for being the site of a Revolutionary War battle. My father stopped Gypsy, startling us awake, and shouted, "Hoorah! Hoorah!" He urged us all out of the car, we took hands, and danced around Gypsy, singing the Doxology.

After that triumph, Gypsy seemed to age, developing little ailments, such as a reluctance to start in the mornings. It was actually a small problem. Since we lived on a steep hill, it was an easy matter to coast down the long grade until there was sufficient momentum for the engine to fire.

More serious disabilities ensued, however, and finally there was a terminal condition, followed by our sad parting with this dear member of the family.

Ah, Gypsy! Rest in peace.