1963 was a great year in my life. Earlier in the year my Mother had re-married and I loved everything about my new Dad. One of my favorite things about him was the beautiful 1962 Chevrolet Convertible he had. At the time, my whole world evolved around riding around in that car with the top down.
Late September my family decided we would ride down to Surf City, North Carolina. The ride was awesome, as there is nothing like feeling the exhileration of fresh air all over you. We had a great time at the beach that day. I looked forward to the ride home. About halfway back to Durham (where we lived), we ran into a violent storm that included strong wind and torrential rain. Our convertible’s worst nightmare came to pass. Trying to get the top back into place proved to be a nightmare as it got stuck and would not return into a locked position. Finally, after all of us were soaked, the top was secure. A couple of miles down the road, the unthinkable happened. The top ripped wide open just as the rain got worse. There we were, 75 miles from home with a ripped rag top with pouring down rain. My Dad kept driving trying to hold one piece of the top. Mom trying to hold another piece. In the backseat, my brother and sister and I were trying to hold the rest of the top the best we could.
We made it home, soaked to the core of our being. The inside of our convertible just as wet as we were. From that experience until today, I have not looked at convertibles the same way that I used to.