They loved that old Biscayne
It followed them home like a loyal pet.
Greg and I married in 1969, while we were still in college, and we had absolutely no money. Frankly, we probably wouldn’t have been voted most likely to succeed in the marriage department, but we got married anyway.
A good portion of our wedding gifts came in the form of cold, hard cash. We used $600 of it to buy a 1964 Chevrolet Biscayne with manual transmission. I had to drive it home because Greg didn’t know how to work the stick shift. (I taught him later.)
We kept that Chevy for more than 10 years, and it served us faithfully through all those Chicago, Illinois, winters. We drove it from the hospital after the births of our two eldest boys—and would’ve done the same for our third, but he was born at home.
It was a sad day when we had to let the Biscayne go for something newer and more dependable. We took it to the salvage yard with a heavy heart.
About a year later, we moved to Texas, where one day out of the blue we got a call from the police. We wondered which law we’d broken, but it wasn’t that. It seems the salvage yard had sold our old Chevy, but our names were still on the title. The new owner had driven the car from northern Illinois to the Dallas suburbs, and then had abandoned it when the Biscayne died on a stretch of Texas highway that was only about 20 miles from our house. We felt bad not rescuing it when it had come so far. It was almost as if it had followed us all that way.
Even now, we can hardly think of that car without getting a bit misty-eyed. We’ve had other, sleeker vehicles since, but none imprinted itself on our hearts like that old Biscayne.