by Howard P. Johnson Jr.
This summer I had the good fortune to be able to buy a nice original 1950 Packard Eight, 4 door sedan. The car came at an especially busy time and although I looked it over carefully, there was more to it than I could see. One evening I was tired from work and decided to go out and sit in the new car. I rolled back the big garage door and admired the luxurious curves of its body in the moonlight. My hand on the cool of the big solid door handle, I turned on the interior lights and got in the back. The seat was so big I was sitting in it and so soft I could feel the day's aches melt away. There before me, lay the splendor of quality from 50 years past. The muted colors of warm gray wool embraced by gleaming mahogany wood grain. The rich felt of gently arching headliner, the twinkle of chrome trim reflected in the window glass, generous ivory knobs on everything. Rounded, padded and soft, comfortable, plush and roomy, a vent window for everyone. Up front, the giant steering wheel with form fitting finger grips and dazzling horn ring proclaims, Packard, and crowns the dashboard with its confident, mid-century design. Most of all, that magnificent slanted vie windshield looks out onto the darkened post WWII world.
I sit surrounded with all this gleam and glow of the past, the tactile sensations of cloth and perfume smells of the past; my grandfather is there at the wheel, with his pipe wafting the Prince Albert fragrance, life is good, there is a feeling of high expectations in the air, people are friendly, they call out to us. Time has stopped, my mother calls me, as she always did, and I am in another place, far away from today. A great feeling of well being comes over me and I am surrounded by the sweet memories of my past, I keep tucked away; now brought to life again by my Packard, - the time machine.
