Your name is Eddie Sisteohen and you crash weddings. Somehow you were able to get yourself photographed and remembered by the mother of the bride. You lived in a photo memory keepsake for years and years and years until, one day, Dolly and Bill looked through it and together couldn’t figure out who you were. You ended up in a flea market, in a box of other photos left to fade away. Then on eBay you surfaced once more. Now you’re on my blog some 66+ years from the day of this wedding. Bravo Eddie. Nicely played.
Eddie’s “time machine” is a Ford Sedan, 1949 or 1950.
You’re on vacation, you’ve ridden in the car for 1,100 miles, you’re tired, hungry, and need a restroom… and you’re sorry. Wait a minute, “sorry?” Sorry for what exactly? “Sorry for what I’m about to do to my husband, Roy. Now let me out of this trunk!” “Roy? LET ME OUT!!! Roy Beckett, YOU LET ME OUT THIS MINUTE!!”
Trunks were exceptionally large in the 50s. Large enough in this 1956 Ford Fairlane to carry all your luggage AND still have room for your wife!”
Half a pound of tuppenny rice
Half a pound of treacle
That’s the way the money goes
Pop goes the weasel
This is Leonard (well, it could have been), and Lenny gets the CLY (Car Lover of the Year) Award for coming home from work and immediately breaking out the Simoniz to take care of a large, greasy bird poop splat on his hood — all while wearing a dress shirt and tie — and while completely ignoring his son and the little birthday balloon in his hand. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a textbook car lover you’re looking at.
INTERESTING LITTLE UPDATE: The kid sadly never knew his father, but grew up to be a successful author and penned several books on the art of parenting. The dad got divorced. The mom got his shiny ’46 Ford.
This photo caught my eye for a host of reasons but the biggest one was this guy here, not exactly your typical lumberjack stereotype climbing into a Mercury at what appears to be a sawmill operation. I’ll repeat that. A Mercury at a sawmill. What??
My guess is that he doesn’t work there. That he was on his way to the big city when a porcupine jumped out in front of him forcing a sharp and sudden left down Rte. 36 and ended up six miles outside of Nowheresville.
Scared, confused, and running low on gas, he dove into a sawmill to ask for directions. The owner of the sawmill wished him luck as he directed him back to Hwy 36 then snapped this photo before he pulled out.
That….. or….. maybe this: His wife took this photo because she is fond of logs and thought this picture would look nice on the mantle.
“Honey, pull off to the side of the road,” she said. “I wanna take a photo of the cows,” she said. “Back up! More!” she said. *POP* SSSssssssssSSSSss. “What’s that noise?” she asked. #@%( *$#@!!
The tire is flat. The car is a 1940 Ford Coupe.