Walter H. & Walter P.
Walter H. Gentry’s first automobile was a Maxwell touring car.
A touring car was a four-door open car with folding top and “isinglass curtains that you roll right down in case of a change in the weather.”
A forerunner to the closed sedan,
today we’d call it a four-door convertible, such as the Lincoln that President Kennedy was riding in that day in Dallas.
As you got up in price, instead of “touring car” they mighty effect “phaeton” after the horse and buggy days.
A touring car rode five people, two in front, three in the back; but there were seven of them, five Gentry children, and seems to me mama said some of their cars had jump seats (look it up) to accommodate all.
These days they’d have had a station wagon or Suburban, eh? Or minivan.
These days they’d have had a station wagon or Suburban, eh? Or minivan.
Before the Maxwell, Daddy Walt rode a bicycle to and from work, Gentry Bros. Loans and Pawns downtown Pensacola, where he was in business with his brothers Lee and Elbert.
Only remember Uncle Eb, found his grave at St. John’s Cemetery my last time in Pensacola. When he died in 1943 he was the oldest man I could imagine, seventy years of age. He lies not far from Mamoo and Daddy Walt, so I’ll call on him again!
Judging by condition of his grave, no one had visited in half a century or more -- pathetic thing about cemeteries, seen worst right here in P.C.’s Greenwood. Clinches my decision that my ashes (“cremains” is a ludicrous term that feigning-somber Eeyorish funeral directors say with hands folded, mouth sad, eyes lowered as you write your check) be scattered in places I’ve loved, including on my Bay down front.
Only remember Uncle Eb, found his grave at St. John’s Cemetery my last time in Pensacola. When he died in 1943 he was the oldest man I could imagine, seventy years of age. He lies not far from Mamoo and Daddy Walt, so I’ll call on him again!
Judging by condition of his grave, no one had visited in half a century or more -- pathetic thing about cemeteries, seen worst right here in P.C.’s Greenwood. Clinches my decision that my ashes (“cremains” is a ludicrous term that feigning-somber Eeyorish funeral directors say with hands folded, mouth sad, eyes lowered as you write your check) be scattered in places I’ve loved, including on my Bay down front.
My mother remembered days when after work her father would pick up a huge oyster loaf at a delicatessen on the way home, and come cycling up to the front door with supper. Seeing that their first car was early twenties, that would have been nineteen-teens or early twenties. I could go there. Man, could I go there.
Mama said their second car was identical to the Maxwell, a blue Chrysler touring car rebadged from Maxwell after Walter P. Chrysler took over.
Walter P. Chrysler was a railroad man who came into the car business because he was enchanted with a car he saw at an auto show.
A brilliant entrepreneur, Chrysler became head of Buick, GM vice president, involved with Studebaker and others, in mergers, acquisitions and reorganizations of the manufacturers of Chalmers motorcars and Maxwell that he merged into Chrysler.
A brilliant entrepreneur, Chrysler became head of Buick, GM vice president, involved with Studebaker and others, in mergers, acquisitions and reorganizations of the manufacturers of Chalmers motorcars and Maxwell that he merged into Chrysler.
Daddy Walt was fifty when I was born, died at ninety when I was forty. All his cars were “Mopar” -- Chrysler, DeSoto, Imperial, Plymouth, never a Dodge Brothers car for some reason.
The one exception was a two-tone red Auburn sedan in the mid-thirties. My mother said it was a beautiful car, 8 mpg, did not stay in the family long.
The one exception was a two-tone red Auburn sedan in the mid-thirties. My mother said it was a beautiful car, 8 mpg, did not stay in the family long.
All these pictures are early Chryslers, mostly touring cars. Maybe Airflow and later Chryslers another day.
Maybe not.
TW