Story by Jon Stalnaker AKA The Studebaker Dude
I was around five years old when my first recollection of Studebaker appeared.
The story goes that my sister Valerie, who was 10 years older than I, was sick in the hospital. She was the oldest of 5 children, and my father was what they used to call, a “body and fender man.” He could take the most smashed-up cars and make them look brand new. He was skilled in welding, shaping metal, and painting.
He was a master at repairing metal using lead, before Bondo had become readily available. He could fix anything and often did. He worked in a body shop and frequently purchased cars written off as total losses by the insurance companies. This was what he did for my 15-year-old sister when she was recuperating in the hospital.
He was visiting her when he helped her out of bed and took her to the window, where he pointed out a 47 or 48 Studebaker Champion parked at the curb. The whole front end was a different color, as he had just repaired a frontal collision that was more than the insurance company had wanted to pay for. He told her, “That is your car, and if you wet-sand the whole thing, I will paint it for you.”
She had till her next birthday to get it done, so it would be a nice car when she got her driver’s license. I was too young to remember that part, but my recollection steps in when it came time to sand it. I vaguely remember her and our cousin Alan wet-sanding the car. They had a bucket of water and plenty of fine sandpaper, and I remember them working on it. She had promised to drive Alan to high school for helping her do the sanding. They did, Dad painted it, and Alan had a ride to school.
Several years later, the seed of “Studebaker coolness” I remember the most was planted. Valerie drove it all through high school and took it to San Louis Obispo, where she went to college. She had to say goodbye to her car after my grandfather borrowed and wrecked it again. My father towed it home and fixed the bent metal, but by then the tired motor went belly up. It sat in our driveway for many years, but never got fixed. I used to sit inside it and pretend to drive. I would dream about how I would fix it up, but alas, it was sold off before I was able to drive.
I always remembered those days with fondness, and when I had the opportunity to buy a similar car decades later, I did. This one had a bullet nose, which was way cooler than the 47. The insides were similar, and they both had suicide back doors.
Unfortunately, by then, my father was gone, so I was on my own to make it pretty. I became obsessed and eventually made it an award-winning car. I also ended up buying a Studebaker truck that also needed some love. My wife often accuses me of loving my Studebakers. I always clarify that comment by assuring her that I LIKE my Studebakers a lot, but I LOVE her.
I got deep into the world of Studebaker, joining the Studebaker Drivers Club and becoming active in a local chapter and at the international level. My sister passed away before we moved to Oklahoma, but she was proud to take credit for planting the seed that got me so involved in the club. She did live long enough to see me appointed Director of the Pacific Southwest Zone. She was proud, and I enjoyed giving her the credit.
I was honored to serve the SDC, and I was looking forward to implementing some ideas I had to make things a little better. Unfortunately, along came COVID and a move to Oklahoma. I couldn’t keep the job since I no longer lived in the zone. I could have easily just enjoyed my retirement, but noooo, I had to dive right back in when another opportunity presented itself.
So here I am, getting busy again with a job that pays squat. But that doesn’t bother me. I still have a bunch of ideas that are shared by others on this Board of Directors. I still like Studebakers and want to do everything I can to make sure the Studebaker Drivers Club continues to exist long after the last person who was around when Studebaker was still in business is gone. I may feel my age from time to time, but many in this club look at me as though I am just a young whippersnapper, and that makes me smile.
