1948. I am 11 years old. Dad has a '34 Chevy. One night we all [six kids at the time] pile into the Chevy and make the long 15 mile trip to Joplin. We pull up in front of the most beautiful house I had, to my memory, ever seen. Dad knocked on the door, and in a couple minutes motioned us in. While he tried out this car, the GRACIOUS Lady, served hot coco to Mom and us kids. Dad bought the car, and what a car. A 1932 Buick that made the '34 Chevy look like a poor second. I guess that is where my love affair with Buicks started. Dad died in 1995 and the only thing he ever owned beside Buicks was an Olds and a Caddy. I have owned more Buicks than all others put together. The others were poor detours. Ben