One's first car often represents the first concrete step into adulthood, and even with its defects and idiosyncrasies, it is revered in memory as a symbol of freedom. The idol, be it ever so humble, that occupies my particular pedestal is a copper-colored rather battered four-door Morris Minor 1000. Hardly a symbol of glamor by today’s standards, in its day in the 50’s it was a car that inspired the fiercest loyalties.

Based on a design by Alec Issigonis (the blueprint was accused of looking like a “poached egg”), it was initially rolled out in Britain in 1956 and by the late 60’s when production had ceased, over 850,000 units had been sold. It was a car that never sold very well in America and my uncle was one of the few people I knew, when growing up, who owned one.

The Morris Minor group of cars was revolutionary in those times because it was a reliable and economical family car. Many were the times more than seven of us were cramped into it for short trips – the world record was a passenger load of fifteen I believe!

It was a big day for me, when as a college student in the 60’s, I had scraped together enough money to fund my purchase – I worked part-time in a cafeteria to save twenty dollars, which along with a ten dollar loan from my sister was enough for me to buy a second-hand 948 cc Morris Minor of my own. I had read somewhere that when Sir Issigonis was designing the car prototype, he called her the “Mosquito,” but I fondly christened her by the more dignified and feminine moniker of Amanda.  

Amanda, being rather the worse for wear, could technically run at a maximum of 80mph, yet rarely made it to more than half that. She badly needed the face-lift of a paint job and large sections of her interior could have benefited from replacement. But I was happy to take her frequent coughs and sputters and occasional breakdowns with a philosophical sigh because the feeling of freedom she gave me was priceless.

Sadly after only two years of being together, Amanda’s life on this planet came to an abrupt end one fall when a massive tree hit by lightening during a storm crashed into her and squashed her almost out of recognition. Since she was parked and empty at the time, I suppose I have to be glad no one was hurt. But it was a heart-wrenching day for me when she was hauled off to the scrap yard.

The thing I most remember about Amanda was her spaciousness and she had a personality that was equally big. It reminds me of a story I heard somewhere about the guy who had his Morris Minor stolen. A cop called him to tell him that his car had been used in a bank robbery and the guy exclaims, “Wow, you mean it was used as a getaway car?”

“No,” replied the cop. “It was used to block the road”.