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Studebaker was not known for its station wagons. I think there were only a couple of the models manufactured in the '40s, with the last one coming off the assembly line in '53. Studebaker is long since out of business entirely. I was fortunate ... or unfortunate as it turned out ... to be the proud owner of a '50 Studebake woody station wagon, with the body designed by Cantrell.

It was a spiffy-looking car for its time, designed for rich guys and their wives to take the train station each morning. Then, while he went into the city for his high-paid job, she looked good taking the wagon shopping and to the country club. In my case, it didn't work out that way.

As a college senior on the GI Bill and a Navy weekend warrior, I was earning enough dough in 1951 to buy the wagon from a friend. Since he was broke and going into the service, I volunteered to take over the payments of about $35 a month. So, for about six months, I tooled around the campus in my woody trying to look rich to the girl students. It worked pretty well, although when I did score a date, I must have disappointed many girls. I didn't have enough money to go beyond a shake and a burger.

I enjoyed unwrapping my graduation cards in June '51, except for the letter that recalled me to active Navy duty for the Korean War. I was assigned to report to the Naval Air Station, Corpus Christi, Texas, the following week. I loaded all my belongings into my spacious woody and took off on the 2,000 drive from Pennsyvlania.

After filling the tank several times and checking the oil, I noticed that the oil dip stick was showing a serious loss. The Studebaker was only about two years old, but the original owner had rolled up nearly 100,000 miles of hard driving. He was an avid hiker and skier, so there had probably been a lot of hard mountain road climbing to make the car start burning oil so fast.

A few hundred miles later, it seemed I was burning more oil than gas, so I got a brilliant idea. I filled a large jerry can ... five gallons ... with oil, so that the gas station stops would be less frequent. I put the jerry can in the trunk and was on my merry way. After I had crossed the Louisiana border into Texas, and still with another 500 miles to go, it happened.

I was tooling along when a truck pulled up close behind me and the driver made loud honks directed at me. After cursing a bit and slowing down to let him pass, I looked back from my rear view mirror. The entire passenger section in the woody was a mass of flames.

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