VW BUS WAS PART OF THE FAMILY 
This column originally appeared on Wicked Local.

Sometimes cars become members of the family. 

After two ‘63 Ramblers, a 1965 Chevy Bel-Air station wagon, a gas guzzling 1973 Ford LTD Country Squire Wagon, an old Dodge Pick-up, a Dodge Coronet wagon, a white Rambler American, and even a Triumph TR-4, my father finally brought home the car that would eventually serve as the Gillespie family vehicle:  a butterscotch colored 1973 Volkswagen Bus.  

He had passed on the chance of getting a VW Bus once before, instead choosing a Dodge Pick-up truck purchased from Forge Motors on Route 18 in East Bridgewater.  “That truck had a crack in the engine and always overheated.  I tried to take it back, but Forge Motors would have no part of it.  The guy was a crook,” according to my father.  Roughly two years and three serviceable cars later, he finally took the proverbial bait and purchased a Volkswagen Bus.  He found the Volkswagen at a tiny dealership on Bedford Street in East Bridgewater, located between the old fire station and the “Olde” Joppa Grille.  In order to get the bus he traded a ’65 Rambler, an extremely dependable car (as long as it was not raining), along with $900.00.  “The bus was very unusual,” remembers my dad.  “It had an automatic transmission, which was unheard of for a car like that at the time.  It also had a Porsche twin carburetor engine.  I was really impressed by the Porsche selling point, but eventually the joke was on me.  It would cost three times as much every time I had to have it repaired because it needed all Porsche parts.” 

That Volkswagen Bus quickly became an adopted member of our family, and although we only owned it between 1975 and 1980, my memory of it is as synonymous to my childhood years as our house, the dog, my baseball glove, and my two sisters.  “We did just about everything in that thing,” according to my father.  “It had lots of room, was economical by standards of that time, and could go anywhere.”  The Volkswagen Bus took us to Niagara Falls, made several journeys to Plum Island, took two summer trips to Sebago Lake in Maine, traveled back and forth to Wild Harbor in Falmouth, and made many trips to Horseneck Beach in Westport usually followed by visits to Lincoln Park where I was convinced by my sister to go on the roller coaster even though I didn’t quite meet the height requirement – coincidentally the last actual roller coaster I have ever been on.  We often drove it with the sliding side door open, giving the bus an adventurous jeep-like feel even though it was one of the most ridiculous, awkward looking vehicles on the road.  The bus took us skiing, carried a piano to our house, and served as my father’s work vehicle.  He moved the spare tire from the back storage area to the front emulating the design of the older versions of the VW Bus for protection in the event of a front end collision, and constructed an extremely bizarre roof rack built with a combination of old ski racks and wooden planks.  The bus also had a distinctive “Go Fly a Kite” sticker on the back bumper from a kite supply store in Newburyport.  It was a hard vehicle not to notice.   Notorious for its lack of heat due to the rear engine, air-cooled design, my father built a floor to ceiling, cardboard partition including a sheer plastic window between the front of the bus and the passenger section in a somewhat futile attempt to maximize heat.  “Once we were coming back from Waterville Valley.  It was so cold inside the bus that ice was forming on the inside of the windshield.  Due to the wind-chill, it actually became colder inside the Volkswagen than outside – which was already freezing.” 

 “We had lots of good memories with that bus.  It was very utilitarian, very useful.  Everything could be packed into that thing including the dog.   She had lots of room to roam around and make herself comfortable.  She loved to travel in it.  It was all good memories with that Volkswagen. ” 

By the fall of 1980 I was entering the seventh grade, my dad sold the Volkswagen Bus in favor of a sporty 1978 Honda Accord, and my parents had informed us they were getting a divorce.  Suddenly, it seemed, we were no longer kids.  My sisters were now high school age and I had the intuitive gut feeling that the better years of my childhood had probably rolled away with our Volkswagen Bus.  We were now beyond the point of traveling together on family excursions, and the feelings of stability and unity that had somehow been fostered by the strange design of that bus were no longer there to bring us together.  

I don’t remember what eventually became of the bus, the person who bought it, or even watching it drive away.  I was probably getting acclimated to the unfortunate adult reality of having to move forward. 

It is impossible, however, not to look back and think of growing up without the presence of our 1973 Volkswagen Bus.  In many respects, that bus became a member of the Gillespie family.  “It was my favorite car,” says my dad, incredibly, 37 years later.  “Not because of its inherent usefulness and it was certainly not my favorite car because it was cheap to fix.  It was my favorite car because of the good memories we had with it.  It was like our home on wheels.”