Ask The Man Who "Still" Owns One
1951 Packard 200  

By William C. Larmore
Marietta, Georgia 

I have it all! In this year, 2008, I will number 91 years of age, be married 59 years to the same much-beloved wife, deeply appreciate four children, two grandchildren, and probably lose what is left of my mind over our seven unbelievably beautiful and brilliant little great grands.

This year of such laudable mention, 2008, I am also enjoying a 1951 Packard automobile. Yes! I have one, a huge gleaming black four-door model 200 sedan, and I was driving it just this week. I can hear your mental arithmetic grinding as we discuss the matter, and you did hear right. Packard is the make, 1951 is its year of origin, while 1955 is the year I bought it. That was many years ago, and it figures up to a mighty long time to keep a car, especially for those loaded folks who change their cars whenever the tire tread gets thin. Still, some of you may vaguely remember the wonderful make, and a few of you specially lucky ones may actually have had one in your garage back in your "becoming" years. If so, then you should remember that proud slogan, "Ask the Man Who Owns One!"

In 1955, just before the Packard came into our family, our 1946 Chevy was sounding like a junk grinder, and that was on its good days! My daily trips in it from our home in East Atlanta to my place of employment at Lockheed Marietta, plus my wife's frequent dashes to the nearest medical clinic with our four kids, had become about as relaxing as snake-handling.

One never-to-be-forgotten July Saturday morning in 1955, I had been up since daylight changing the generator brushes on the old Chevy, only to note that the fuel pump was leaking. It would work for a while yet, but with gasoline at 28 cents a gallon, I couldn't afford to let it drizzle long! Gadzooks! What remote and expensive Chevy part would give out next, and in what lonely place might we be with the four kids when that happened? At that point, what fragment of judgement I had left deserted me altogether. I stalked into the house and informed my wife Eloise that I was going out and look for another car.

"Fine!" she answered. "Just go ahead. When you get back, you can park the new car and come in to help me figure out the down payment on orthodontic braces for Cathy's teeth."

My confidence built up by this assurance, I strode manfully out of the house and went down on automobile row in Atlanta. I had looked in several used car lots without seeing many chariots any better than mine when I noted the name Packard carved in stone over a huge double doorway on Spring Street. I couldn't afford a hub cap off a Packard, but I still went in as if mesmerized.

The display floor was empty, and I found to my sorrow that Atlanta Packard Motors was not just dying, but had died and the remaining staff were at the sad job of closing out all remaining stock. In the used car lot, I found myself looking at the most beautiful mechanical monster I had ever seen, a like-new 1951 Packard 200 four-door, with only 24,000 miles on the odometer, all inspections noted and at a give-away price of, if I remember correctly, 500 dollars plus my wreck. I drove it, and I was hooked. I was in love! I gave the salesman ten bucks to hold it and herded my poor old Chevy home where I rushed into my wife's presence with the great news. She, being busy feeding our kids and wiping little noses and bottoms, took the news with less than frenzied excitement, but gave me the go-ahead, somewhat.

"Bill," she said, "if you and Lockheed can pay for that rich-man's car on a poor man's salary, then go ahead! But you are going to have to take out a credit union loan to get it, and the minute you take food out of our children's mouth to keep the thing, it's gone!"

Suffice it to say that all members of my family remained well fed, and the Packard served as our loyal and highly trusted family car for more than fourteen years before it was retired by a late model Ford that was up to date but down in durability.

As I drove the purring old giant just recently, I felt the thrusting power of the great straight-eight engine through the huge steering wheel and the foot controls. I looked out across the long hood over that gleaming Cormorant hood ornament and suddenly wanted to share my thrill and appreciation with others whom, like myself, are not buying green bananas these days.