![renault-4cv-1950-9[1].jpg](https://www.akronlife.com/downloads/6526/download/renault-4cv-1950-9%5B1%5D.jpg?cb=ece23383f87875ad110c2b61bbeba426&w={width}&h={height} "renault-4cv-1950-9[1].jpg")
Everybody remembers their first car. Even if you can’t remember your spouse’s birthday or the name of your first dog, you do remember your first car.
I enjoy approaching people at parties who don’t seem to be talking to anyone and asking them what their first car was. And boy do they open up—about their cars, their wives, their children, etc. Even old folks living in a retirement home can often remember their first car when they can’t even remember what day it is. There is something magical about a first car that few other things can match. For one thing, if you are a teenager, a first car means freedom for the first time from the direct control of your parents. And for everyone else, it means the freedom to go where you want to go, when you want to go.
My mother was in her 90s before she reluctantly gave up driving. Her first car was a 1950 Mercury, which she deemed the “devil car” because she failed her first attempt at getting her driver’s license in 1952; her second attempt was in 1962 when she did pass and enjoyed her freedom just like a teenager.
My first car was a 1949/50 Renault 4cv. Never heard of it? Well, neither had most people when I bought it in 1956; I was 15 and a car nut through and through. I had been interested in cars from a very young age. As a child, I looked forward to the car dealer’s introduction of new cars. But when I met Thom Gregor in the tenth grade, that interest exploded into an obsession. He introduced me to sports cars and Formula One racing. His sister owned an MGTF in which we sat in the driveway many a day and practiced double clutching the four-on-the-floor gearbox. I almost flunked out of geometry that year only because the geometry book was just the right size in which to hide a copy of Sports Cars Illustrated.
The Renault 4cv was a car shaped like—but smaller than—a VW Beetle, with a rear engine that was water cooled and a 3-speed on the floor. The engine size was 750cc’s, with overhead valves (modern for the times) and a 6-volt battery. They were advertised in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s on the back cover of Popular Mechanics and other such magazines of the day. The ads showed a man in a suit stepping out of the driver’s door—called a French door because the French were the only ones to use this design—which opened outward with the hinge built into the B-pillar. The 4cv was advertised for $1,295 when VW Beetles were selling for $1,700.
My son-in-law, Jamie, warned his son, Griffin, that you don’t want to fall in love with the first car you see. But Griffin did: a Mustang convertible that had a flat tire, ripped top and cruddy interior. I made that mistake when I found a 1949 Renault 4cv for $75. I had $75, and I wanted that car even before I saw it—especially before I saw it. It ran okay and shifted alright, but the body was eaten away by rust, so when you opened the door, the whole body sagged. I don’t know what my father was thinking when he let me buy it on the spot. At the same time, Twin Coach in Kent was making a sports car powered by the engine and drive train from the 4cv. They had several Renault 4cv body shells sitting alongside one of the Quonset buildings the company owned. They were happy to sell one of the body shells for $35 and asked if we wanted more.
During the summer of 1956, my dad and I took the parts off the rusted car and transferred them to the good body shell. Dad did most of the work while I held the flashlight, but during the day when he was at work, I would take the incomplete car out around the dirt roads that snaked through our neighborhood where nobody lived. By my junior year, I had gotten my driver’s license and awaited the completion of my car. One day I got more adventurous than normal and drove into Kent. I tried to go on the back roads and avoid traffic but found myself on the hill leading up to the Masonic Temple with a State Trooper right behind me. The tiny car had no muffler and not much of anything else. When the Trooper pulled me over for loud exhaust, I knew I was doomed to jail time. But the Trooper only looked under the back of the car and wrote me up for a loud muffler. Had he looked further, he would have seen that the 4cv also had no front fenders nor any headlights.
My interest in cars over the years has lead me to create six businesses in the automotive aftermarket. I’m out of that now, but I still have an interest in cars. My current interest is old race cars. If you know of one hidden in a barn somewhere let me know.
Enjoy the Monaco Gran Prix, The Indy 500 and the Coca Cola 600 on Memorial Day.
