My first car car was given to me by my father, who coincidentally had the same name as I do – Karol with a “K”.  Dad and I laughed and called it the Morris Minor minus motor because it was so gutless but adorable.

Flower Power

I am sad that I do not have pictures of out Morris Minor convertible  to share,  which was  turquoise blue. This one is close.  What a machine!  Those were the days of .19 cent per gallon for gas.  This car probably was capable of running for a week for 38 cents.   The year was 1965.  While in high school and trying to emulate the hippie movement, Dad allowed me to paint ” flowers” on the dash of the car.  Suffice it to say, it was brilliant and notable to say the least.   I felt I had arrived as a flower child.

On a trip to Santa Cruz to party with a friend, we donned army helmets with twigs in them and brilliant pants.   My friend and I were on our way to  pot party, with a little grass stashed in the Morris Minor.  Imagine two gals cruising the Summit with the top down in army helmets and Uncle Sam flag pants on a warm summer evening.  The CHP imagined that as well.  I was pulled over  on the down side on the Santa Cruz Summit, when flashing lights appeared in my rear view mirror.  Uh Oh!   I had cause to be concerned about having a little grass stashed in the car.   Busted???   After scrutinizing the flamboyant car, the officer informed me that I was speeding,  I gladly accepted the ticket and went on my way.  When I told my Dad, who was a gentleman to say the least, he was angry that I had received a ticket, because he felt that the Morris Minor was not capable of doing 55 on a downhill run.  He decided that this was an injustice and suggested that we go to court and fight the matter.  So it goes…..We did and won!   My father was in the haberdashery business and dressed to the “9’s”.  As for me,  I left the Uncle Sam pants and helmet at home.

Sadly, late that year, the Morris Minor was stolen.  We were all in  remorse, until the CHP called and informed us that the car was recovered on Highway 17 (now 880).  It had run out of gas and was abandoned along side the freeway.  Alas, Morris came home and we all celebrated.