"O Captain! My Country Squire!
I remember the night my father brought one of these home.
A black 1962 Ford Country Squire. Red vinyl interior. Woodgrain sides that shimmered under the carport light like polished oak. Just a test drive—but to a wide-eyed kid in Virginia Beach, it might as well have been the Queen Mary pulling into port.
Back then, dealers let you take a car home overnight. No paperwork. No pressure. Just: "See how it feels." So my dad—quiet, practical, and usually…"
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