Yesteryear Photos

The Cars of Yesteryear

How dear to my heart are the cars of my childhood. When fond recollection presents them to view:

The "Chalmers," the "Rambler" around which men wild would Foregather and marvel at features quite new.

The wide spreading "Knox" and the "White" that stood near it. The "Stevens," the "Pope" and the "Winton"-so swell.

Those curious gocarts, those funny old slow carts, those plenty of dough carts that pleased me so well.

The old "E.M.F." that hailed as a treasure. And often at night when I wanted a job, I found it a source of some pain and some pleasure, to pilot the thing through a curious mob. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing. And scattered the folks with a musical bell-That noisy oil boiler. That stubborn old boiler. That awkward old boiler, I thought was so swell.

That 1910 "Bluebird" with side lamps enormous. It lit from a match if there wasn’t a breeze; that big starting crank with a book to inform us, to "prime her a bit if she first tends to wheeze;" Those battleship headlights so huge but uncertain. Those Prest-O-Lite tanks which in fancy I smell-That 1910 buggy. So noisy and chuggy. That old fashioned car long before prices fell.

How well I remember one old Stoddard-Dayton. With big, brassy gearshifts outside of the car; It weighed several tons, but they called it a "phaeton." And when it went forth you could hear it from afar. An isinglass windshield it had, I remember-In summer it rolled up, in winter it fell-That old Stoddard-Dayton. That ponderous Phaeton-That red Stoddard-Dayton that struck me as swell.

A grand old Pope-Hartford, an emblem of riches, I still can remember in front of the bank; It never went far and ‘twas often in ditches. But just to possess it meant money and rank; It had a huge top which took three men to lower; Its two rubber horns scattered people pell-mell- That grand, old Pope-Hartford. That classy Pope-Hartford. That massive Pope-Hartford, distinctive and swell.

How dear to my heart are those cars of my boyhood. Things weren’t too easy for them, you’ll allow; They thrilled my young heart as most any new toy would-But, frankly, I’m glad that they’re not around now. They ran on occasions, on others they didn’t, and whether you’d get home you couldn’t foretell-

Those old hossless wagons,

Those early gas wagons,

They’re gone forever and ‘tis just as well.