One man’s car is another man’s low rider

She just walked away from it.

It was 1956 and my 18-year-old oldest sister parked her 1937 Ford sedan in our back yard and she never drove it again. Never mind it was almost twenty years old and her very first car. A dusty relic far as she was concerned. A rolling museum antique.
Many of her high school friends were driving late model two-tone colorful new Fords and Chevys.
One not so good habit of my older sister was she would rather spend her loose change on finding new cuisine and eating out with her school friends instead of changing the motor oil. Even for an almost 20-year-old vehicle; treat it right, change the oil, and it might live a long time. But it wasn’t a shiny two-tone beauty.
But there it sat. None the less, my dad who was a motor fixer genius, borrowed a chain hoist, rigged up a sturdy support in our garage, pulled out the engine, and along with my brother and myself helped my dad overhauled the flat head V8 motor. An activity we engaged in twice. And each time it started up right away on the first press of the starter button. Boy howdy!
This blue four door sedan was in reasonable condition. No rips or snags in the upholstery or headliner. The chrome bumpers and chrome grill had sheen with little rust. There were no dents or damage to its body. And get this, what was amazing the tube type Philco radio would switch on and after a minute or so warming up still worked.
Then one day without any discussion or warning my dad sold it to a kid who wanted to chop the top and turn it into a ‘lowrider’ and sold it to him for 200-bucks. Oh, my goodness Henry Ford.
The real sad fact is today in good condition a 1937 Ford sedan could be sold for a good six figures to someone who restores antique cars. Jay Leno, come and get it! But Okies have little presents of mind nor a sense of value. Darn! Had I spoken up at the time, it could have been mine to drive to school and keep. Oh well. Maybe in my next life. Doggonit.