Ragtop Romance
of Mine
By Norman Hill
W
hen I was really young,
I used to know all the
automobile models, and
would point them out
when my parents and
grandparents were driving. But
somewhere between late high school
and early college, my car passion,
as it were, turned to convertibles.
To be fair, these weren’t just any or
all kinds of convertibles. After all,
even Volkswagen makes convertible
models. No, the objects of my
affection were the big, boat-like
kind. These were the kind that
former auto executive George
Romney derided as “gas-guzzling
dinosaurs.” My goal was to own
one of these in the non-too
distant future.
In the interest of full disclosure,
I’ve always been a mechanical klutz.
I never had any intention of learning
how to fix a convertible, how to
restore a convertible, but in general,
100
just driving and looking and
admiring one of them.
I’ve heard them denounced as merely
a “rich man’s plaything.” But in my
case, these words came from a car
salesman who was trying to steer
me towards closed top sedans he
had in stock.
When I was in early college, one day,
I saw a stirring sight indeed drive by.
I thought, “What is this magnificent
boat?” Actually, it was a 1961
Lincoln Continental four door
convertible. The top was down,
all of its lines were clean, from
hood insignia to the rear tip of
the trunk. I stood there for some
time, awestruck. With difficulty, I
returned my focus to schoolwork.
Once I was out of school and the
Army, and was earning a living,
I started the quest for a giant
convertible. In the U.S. at that time,
only Lincoln made four door
convertibles. But I knew that
Cadillac El Dorados were very classy
also. Not too long after, I struck my
payload. At a suburban dealer, a one
year old, low mileage Lincoln
Continental convertible was
available. I swooped down
and bought it, without any
price negotiation.