In September of 1957, when I was 10 years old, I was "working" at my dad's Texaco station one Saturday when the bell rang signaling that a customer was arriving. I ran out front, expecting to pump some. 29 cent gas and found my self face-to-face with a gorgeous black, full fendered '32 Vicky. Red wheels with trim rings, caps, wide whites, and a red roll...
read more...