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I was in the back seat when we wrecked. A T-bird blew a red light and we T-boned them. My grandpa broke all his ribs, my Dad snapped his arm off at the shoulder. My brother and I flew into the back of the front seats and ripped the skin off our knees. We were going about 45 or so. It was a scary experience. I still remember most of the details of that day. It was a cold November day in 1964 in Kent Ohio. View full size.
Oh my, that Chevy looks just like the 1956 210 4-door 6- cylinder (no "V" on the hood) my Dad had when I was a kid and the car in which I learned to drive at age 11 - with "three on the tree".
I remember many summer road trips in the late 1950s, when we travelled hundreds of miles to our camping destination on two-lane blacktop. I often stood on the rear seat, leaning over the front seatbacks, watching the world roll by.
Safety standards sure have changed, for the better.
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