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(Reprinted here with permission from Jim E.)

Duane was dating one of the Samsel girls, who was in nurses training in Billings. Her roommate came down to Powell for the weekend, or her sister was going back to Billings with her. Cannot remember the girl details. So Duane talked me into taking the girls to Billings topless, via Yellowstone and Beartooth Pass. The car topless, that is. And with Duane and one of the girls enjoying the sun and scenery from the rumble seat.


The night before we left, I decided to replace the dried-up and cracked original steering wheel with a big beautiful wheel from a Buick Roadmaster. The splines fit fine, but the hub was thicker. I could barely get the post nut started. No time to trim the wheel hub on the lathe, but shucks, the splines were plenty tight.

With a late start (women!) and too many stops along the trip up the North Fork (men— telling women where we had shot an elk or skied or caught a fish!), dusk was dusking before we even started up the pass. So we put up the top, closed the rumble seat, and squeezed the four of us into the front seat. There was no "back seat" in a 1937 Buick Roadster. And the front seat was narrow. Nicely narrow, if shared with soft young nurses. And of course no room to steer with both hands. But we made it safely up and over and down the Beartooth pass—rather rapidly because there was a Sunday night curfew for student nurses—and began to pull out of the Deaconess parking lot, headed for a coffee and pie and thence to Powell.

As we pulled out, the steering wheel came off in my hands. Got stopped safely. Decided we wanted a more brightly lit place to work on the project, so I clamped a pair of vice grips on the steering post, used that to steer, gave the wheel to Duane, and started driving downtown to find a well-lit gas station, preferably one with a good brass hammer we could borrow.

As we drove along, people started honking, blinking lights, pointing, and laughing. I looked over at Duane. He was leaning out the window with the steering wheel, pretending to steer and sometimes waving it. I wonder what he would have said to a cop, had we met one?

And just out of curiosity, Duane, didn't your Chevy coupe have a rumble seat?


- Jim