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t DON'T WANT A CM
EVER
Three out of four American families have automobiles. The family of Milton Mayer is the fourth. Mr. Mayer, a contributor to Harper's, Life, Reader's Digest, and other magazines, is an unreconstructed, last-ditch, bitter-end anti-automobilist. He is also an inveterate writer of open letters. In both capacities he contributes the following lighthearted footnote.
Automobile Manufacturers Assn. New York, N. Y.
Gentlemen :
I yield to no man, and to few women, in my admiration for the automotive industry. The very phrase rolls on my tongue like tokay. But I do not want an automobile just now. Or ever. I don't want a hydramatic, ultramatic, or numismatic automobile, a powerglide, dynaflow, airflow, 'flight, -flyte, or fleetline automobile, or even a Cadillac Debutante like the one I saw covered with leopard skins and white sidewall tires optional — optional like death and taxes.
I've had an automobile. There's a Ford in my past. I bought it for $100. It ran halfway out of the used-car lot and stopped. The used-car man had a tape measure, and the tape measure showed that the car was more than halfway out of the lot; it was mine.
I pushed it to the J. B. Johnson Automotive Service. J. B. Johnson himself was there. He opened the hood, wrinkled his forehead, and said, "It's the compression." "What's that?" I said. "Fifteen dollars," J. B. replied.
This happened once or twice a month. It wasn't always fifteen dollars, but it was always the compression. Then J. B. retired to Palm Beach and bought the old Flagler Place, which he renamed "Compression Cove."
I bought a Buick cabriolet for $200. This was an interesting model of a type you may not remember. You could look out of it both to the front and to the rear. You could even wear a hat while looking.
I walked this one into the S & S Garage one day in late April. "I think it's the starter," I said to Sam Schenck, the co-proprietor. Sam opened the hood, wrinkled his chin, and said, "It's
Reprinted by permission of Consumer's Union of U. S., Inc.