Betsy, My First Car at Yale

By D. Burr Robinson

Near the end of my freshman year at YALE in 1959, I knew I would need a car for my summer job when I returned to my home in Winona, Minnesota. Coincidentally, I happened to spot a note on the student message board from a professor from Sweden who was seeking to sell a 1953 Plymouth sedan for $170 to help fund his trip back home. The deal was closed and I became the owner of a car affectionately known as Betsy. At the time freshman could not have cars on campus, but fortunately I knew a student who lived in New Canaan who offered to store the car at his home. Unfortunately on the way home he rear-ended a car at a turnpike exit. Betsy had little damage, but the other car, which happened to be driven by the New Canaan Police Chief’s son, required repair. Happily, my father stepped in to settle the case with his insurance company and we were able to retrieve my car.

The plan for the trip home in May included three Yale roommates, Steve Wilson, Marty Ressinger and Arne Rhode, whom I would drop off in Chicago and then head home. The trip started smoothly but when we reached the Pennsylvania Turnpike, we had a flat tire. The low-cost way to fix this problem was to climb over the expressway fence and purchase a retread at nearby junk yard that fed off of travelers. At a gas stop midway through the turnpike stretch, the gas attendant insisted that he put the car up on his lift to show us that none of our tires had tread and to demonstrate that fact he poked a pencil through the holes to reveal the inner tube! Still intent on saving money we asked if we could make it to Chicago on our current tires and his response was, “Buddy, you can’t get out of this gas station!” We pooled our funds and barely had enough money to purchase one tire. What to do but call dear old Dad to have him wire the money (no Venmo or Visa back then…). We were traveling on Sunday of Memorial Day weekend and Western Union would not be open until Tuesday morning. Thus began a two day bout of sleeping in our car and one other made available by the station owner, who also figured out how to feed us with the promise of payment when the funds arrived via Western Union. As soon as the money showed up we were out of there, two days behind schedule and rather aromatic after spending a few days in the car without benefit of a shower.

Betsy served me that summer providing travel back and forth from Winona to Minneapolis until late in the summer when she got broadsided by a car whose driver ignored a red light and slammed into her. RIP Betsy.

PS When I returned to YALE the following fall, Marty and I pulled into the same gas station in PA in my new car to fill up and the attendant took one look at us and said, “Oh my gosh, you’re back!”

 
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