By Dr. Bruce Smith ——Bio and Archives--September 19, 2023
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Historical artifacts are often the product of circumstance and fate. The further we go back in history, the rarer are historical artifacts. Stuff deteriorates, rusts, rots, burns, fades, gets buried, and becomes food for bugs. Go back to the medieval period and documents are fairly abundant but incomplete and sketchy. Go back to the ancient period and artifacts are much rarer, much less complete, and very sketchy. In grad school we used to poke fun at the people working in medieval, but especially in ancient history. We would crack jokes about the discovery of a new potsherd in Ur or Timbuktu that had made it necessary to change all the history books and print new ones. Did you hear the joke about the archaeologist out in the desert in Mesopotamia who stubbed his toe, looked down, and said, “I could use a ziggurat about now?” Okay, I made that one up, but one has to be dedicated and often just plain lucky to find major artifacts from the ancient world.
Long before thinking of majoring in history at a college I was already fascinated by it. I had watched the turmoil around the world for ten years with my dad as tutor before I took the SAT. I grew up in the world of Depression era parents who were born in the early 1920s, were teenagers during most of the 1930s, and who experienced World War II first hand. Everyone took the local paper, the Courier-Times, in our little home town of New Castle, Indiana, but my dad’s folks also bought the Sunday Chicago Herald-American. In their house it was assumed that every dutiful citizen should be well-informed at all times. To be well informed meant knowing current events and history, too. With luck, one could see bad stuff coming before it sneaked up on us.
In the grandparents’ house and in ours there were old family things that we kids learned to cherish as they did. There was talk of the old days when my grandparents and parents were kids. They had come out of the history of the past. History was to be found, I began to understand, in all kinds of places.
Both my grandfathers worked at the Chrysler machining and forging plant in New Castle, so it was always of interest to hear talk of cars and trucks. As a boy of the 1950s, nothing could have been more natural than this interest in cars.
There were scattered photos that, along with the stories, helped me peer back into history before my time. There was one of my maternal grandfather at the wheel of their ’34 Plymouth 2-door sedan. I heard about the 1920s Chevrolet he had owned with the squeaky brakes. On the other side of the family there was a more complete series of photos showing the family status symbol. From the 1920s there was the Chrysler 65 and the Chrysler 72. Later was the ’37 Chrysler Royal and the ’48 Chrysler Windsor. All were used when he bought them. I rode in and remember the ’48 Chrysler and a ’48 Plymouth and all those that followed. Here was a whole new category of history, the history of cars.
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As I neared high school age the desire for mobility and a car grew rapidly. Before I had my driver’s license my dad had told me of an old car in a barn owned by a relative. I had been in that barn a couple of times but had never thought of looking for a car instead of the cattle. Sure enough, we went over and pulled out a dust covered ’37 Plymouth sedan that was 30 years old. I gave $150 for it and we towed it home. It was well preserved, having been dry for many years, and with a little work, it started and ran. By the time it was 31 years old it was my daily driver to school. Years went by. About the time it turned 45, it was deteriorating from sitting outside. I gave it away, hoping it would be saved somehow. I had no garage or barn for it.
Small historic artifacts, even if numerous, are pretty easy to store. If they’re from important ancient civilizations, there can be interest and funding to preserve them and keep them for all time. Large historic artifacts like old cars and trucks present a different problem. They’re not easy to store. When they sit outside they may persist for a while, but unless they’re in the desert, moisture soon becomes a problem. Desert sun becomes another problem. They settle into the ground, groundhogs and squirrels and mice move in, and rust eventually conquers all. As with documents and artifacts, the problem is always storage.
Family interest in cars and trucks has been a tradition that still endures. Members of my family who carry on that interest often exchange pictures and stories from swap meets and car shows. Hemmings Motor News does great work to keep the interest in old cars going. One of these stories had a comment that really struck me. It was part of a story about how to get young people interested in old cars.
“I think the biggest factor . . . is housing. Simply put, in much of this country, especially in places that have historically been meccas of car culture like the Bay Area, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and the PNW, it is not possible for the average young person to have a garage they can store a car or parts in. I'm 37, and have been in the hobby since childhood: my parents were both hot rodders and road racers, and my father still drives a heavily modified 1993 Nissan Sentra SE-R at age 78. When they were my age, in San Francisco on two part-time college professors' wages, they were able to afford a single family home with an attached garage for their 1959 MGA and 1971 Datsun 1200 race cars and spares. Today, only very rich tech workers or people with inherited wealth can afford anything like it.” (Early Bird Swap Meet, a Pacific Northwest Fixture, Could be Gone for Good)
It’s true. To work on old cars or other large artifacts requires storage space that doesn’t have to be used for other things. It’s a way to preserve our interests, our family history, and the relics of Western Civilization. Why do people call it junk?
There are different ways to pursue an interest in old cars and trucks. I once found a classic car in a barn, so I’m a sucker for barn find shows. Junkyards make me crane my neck or just pull over to gaze a bit. Traveling back roads one can sometimes find older cars and trucks just waiting for a benefactor with housing to arrive. You never know what you might find out there! Go to a local cruise-in and look for tail fins and wood spoke wheels. Tractor enthusiasts often call their artifacts Old Iron. Find them at the county fair or old settler reunions. Around Memorial Day, The Fourth, and Labor Day, watch for old cars on trailers headed to car shows.
Junkyards and fencerows could be your key to studying the past. Whatever happened to Grandad’s ’39 DeSoto? Maybe it’s time to get started on some plans for that shop!
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Dr. Bruce Smith (Inkwell, Hearth and Plow) is a retired professor of history and a lifelong observer of politics and world events. He holds degrees from Indiana University and the University of Notre Dame. In addition to writing, he works as a caretaker and handyman. His non-fiction book The War Comes to Plum Street, about daily life in the 1930s and during World War II, may be ordered from Indiana University Press.