THE AMPHICAR

I borrowed this from a web site. It was the easiest way for me to explain the AMPHICAR 

My dad bought his red Amphicar in 1963. It has passed hands a few times. First to my brother and now to my nephew. Unfortunately the restoration of this treasure is not a job for a young father trying to raise 4 kids. It will have to wait. Perhaps it will be his "retirement" project and that is several years away.  However the stories still live on and I intend to blog about them some day. But for now here's a brief history of the Amphicar.

The Amphicar was built in Berlin Germany. The years of production were 1961 to 1968. The production totaled 3,878 vehicles before it was shut down. Of these, 3,046 Amphicars were imported into the United States between 1961 and 1967.
The Amphicar was the only civilian amphibious passenger automobile ever to be mass produced.  It uses a rear mounted 4 cylinder British-built Triumph Herald motor producing 43hp.
The Amphicar's electric system was supplied by Lucas and is a 12 volt positive ground system.
Some of the components were made by other manufacturers such as Hella and Bosch.
The Amphicar has a top speed of 70 mph on land water and 7 mph on water. I've been told that was where the model 770 came from.  The land transmission was a 4 speed plus reverse and the water transmission was a 2 speed transmission that was only used in the Amphicar. It had one forward speed and one reverse. The water and land transmission could be run separately or together. This came in handy when launching or retrieving the car from the water.
The front wheels acted as rudders while the car was in the water. It was propelled by two nylon propellers.
The U.S. Government's EPA and DOT regulations that went into effect beginning with 1968 model year vehicles caused a major financial disaster for the Amphicar since the USA represented about 90% of all Amphicar market.
The plant closed in 1968.

Stay tuned. The entertainment will be worth the wait. Here's a taste of what's to come.

<getting stranded outside of the break water in Lake Michigan

<fish jumping into the "car"

<tail gaters getting wet when dad turned on the bilge pump

<seaweed hanging from the props as we drove down the highway

<Great Aunt Aggie panicking when the car hit the water

<forgetting to lock the door seals before entering the water

< and much MORE:-)

THE PICNIC

You can imagine that summer days here evolved around being outside all the time. When the storms came, it was best to be on land and inside. However one day when we happened to be in town, my mom insisted to my dad that we pack a picnic lunch and take a ride out to the island. My dad tried to tell her –“NO CONNIE”, that’s a really bad idea. But the little Sicilian had to have her way. So dad reluctantly gave in. Let me preface the next few comments with the fact that my mom was afraid of the water and couldn’t swim. Can you see where this is going? 

OK – so off we go. We get out to the lake and proceed to unload the car, load the boat and head out for the 20-minute trip across the lake. This is a very small lake, but remember we had a very slow boat.  We no sooner entered the body of the lake, from the channel and the skies opened up with a vengeance. Mom was terrified. The waves were lapping over the side of the boat and the rain felt like needles on our skin. She kept begging dad to turn around and go back to shore. By this time we were equidistant from either the landing or the island. No way was he going to turn around. He got his “IRISH UP” and calmly told her, “You wanted to come out for a picnic and that’s what we’re going to do” Needless to say the day took a dive from that point on.  We got to the dock of the island looking like four drowned rats, chilled to the bone.  We unloaded the boat, got into the cottage and dad started a nice hot fire in the old cast iron potbelly stove, –which by the way – is still the only source of heat out there.  Mom unpacked the picnic “fixings” and OH OH – she had forgotten a key ingredient  - BREAD for the sandwiches.  By this time dad had downed a couple of PBRs (Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, for those of you unfamiliar with nectar of the gods in Milwaukee.) He was feeling a little happier now, so off he went, without complaint, back to shore and the little convenience store down the road from the landing. Well it just so happens that this “convenience store” was just an addition to a local watering hole.  So naturally dad had a couple more PBRs before he headed back across to the island to his VERY UNHAPPY wife. This all took at least an additional hour. By the time he got back we were all starving, but at least the sun was shining and dad was a “wee bit happier”.  Dad handed mom the bread, and emboldened by nectar of the gods, simply told her – “ Connie, if your head wasn’t attached to your neck you’d have forgotten it”.  Thank god that it was JUST bread that she had forgotten and that my uncles were always sure to have a few cold ones on ice, JUST IN CASE, some one decided to drop in.  There may not have been bread on hand, but there was always ice cold BEER nestled seductively in a 50 # block of ice in the icebox.

 It was a lovely ”picnic”.  We NEVER did that again.  J

Uncle Phil

 

Uncle Phil was my favorite uncle. He was a bachelor and had a lot of time to dote on me - J I think his purpose in life must have been to take care of others. He cared for grandma, my great aunt and even a childhood friend of his. It seemed like his mission in life to always be “doing” for others.

I always looked forward to him arriving at the landing where I’d pick him up for his weekend get away. He came bearing goodies from my mom and dad. He did this every weekend. He’d arrive after work on Friday night and head home late Sunday night. He’d spend his weekends taking care of what ever needed to be “taken care” of.  Remember my brother and I were on that island with only our grandma and aunt Aggie. So when uncle Phil arrived it meant driving us to the little town of Delafield to do some grocery shopping. Stopping at the icehouse for a new 50# block of ice for the “ice box”, and also being our transportation to church – every Sunday.

 We also had to make a Saturday run to the dump in another small town nearby.  That was a very special time off of the island. Uncle Phil would stop to visit “Uncle Tom” – his nickname for a local bar. He’d throw back a couple of cold ones, give us some money and off we’d go to the drug store. In those days – drug store – meant a place to get ice cream. My brother always got chocolate malt and I always had a chocolate ice cream soda. It was our standard menu. When we had finished our treats we’d meet uncle Phil, hop into the old Ford, drive to the landing, pile back in the boat and head back to the island.

 Sometimes we’d meet people at the landing who had come out for the day. We’d take them across the lake in our little wooden rowboat. By this time we had graduated to a BIG outboard motor. A shiny new 51/2 HP Johnson had replaced the little Elgin. It made the trip so much faster – NOT.

Then the fun began. We’d be in the water all day if grandma would allow it. But the most exciting thing for me was when Uncle Phil would get in the water with me and drag me around in the inner tube. He’d pick me up and drop me like a cannon ball. I’d squeal for more and beg him until I wore him out.

The rest of the family was usually sitting near the dock, drinking beer or water or “whatever”. As the sun started to set Uncle Phil would build a bonfire and then take me along to find some very green willow branches. That done – he’d drag out his army knife and whittle away the bark. This became our stick for roasting marshmallows. He even had his own technique for that. The trick was to get the marshmallow flaming until it was charred. Then he’d peel off the char and roast the mushy inside again. Those were by far the BEST-roasted marshmallows ever.

I have many stories about this special Uncle. Sadly he died way too young at the age of 57. His death was tragic and even after 37 years I still feel the void in my heart. I wish my daughters could have known him. He was a good, kind hearted, hard working and decent man.

Time to Start

I have finally made that step toward saving my memories, before they are gone forever. Please be patient while I navigate my way around this adventure.

"Buckley's Island" was my own little haven of peace and innocence as I grew up.  I never understood why my school friends were so jealous of my summer vacation. I guess I just thought that every little girl had her own private island where she'd spend the days swimming, boating, playing and sleeping.

The adventure began every year on the day after school let out. My uncle bachelor uncle Phil would bring Grandma and my aunt Aggie to our house, pile us and all of our worldly possessions into that car and off we'd go for our summer island escape. Mom and Dad would stay in the City and work while we were safely snuggled under the watchful eye of a doting Grandmother, a crabby old great aunt, an attentive uncle and a loving aunt.

The adventure would start with the trip across the lake to get to this little slice of heaven. There were times when we had to row the boat, but then we got "technology" in the form of a 3 horsepower outboard Elgin motor.  We were - living the high life - when that arrived.  It would take several trips back and forth to get all the "bodies" and all the supplies over to that island. The weather never stopped us. If we were headed to the "lake" we were going to get there come hell or high water.

My mom sent enough food along to feed an army. It was a good thing, because on the weekends we usually had to FEED an ARMY, as the relatives would arrive to enjoy a break from the hot city. . Those weekends will be the source of a lot of my memories

These are memories that my own children will never experience. They missed out on so much because we moved out of state, when they were little girls. They do remember the swaying trees, the lapping of the water against the boats, the "grand breeze" that skipped across the hill and the lovely sunsets from the vantage point a this little piece of property in the middle of a small lake

I'm stopping for now, because I have to get my mind a little organized. I want to be able to share the full experience of this time in my life. This will keep me busy for months to come.