We’d settled into post-war prosperity. American factories churned out the greatest product in the world, steel, and that material rendered up an astonishing array of wide cruisers.
Some, like Cadillac and Lincoln, steered toward folks with money. Chevrolet and Ford were cars for those who one day would move up to a Caddy or Lincoln. Plymouth?
Well, grandma drove one. The principal parked his in front of the school. With a limited number of trim styles and a standard six-cylinder engine, the car wasn’t going to win races – or set hearts racing. Plymouth was reliable, not reckless.
But they got you where you were going. This 1950 Plymouth Deluxe clearly got someone to the back yard, where it stopped and now collects leaves in its bumper apron. Maybe those tree stumps keep it from rolling away?
Grant Park, two miles east of downtown Atlanta.
(Photo by Junkyard Correspondent and Seasoned Journalist Steve Visser.)
It Was Running When I Parked It 