Country Squire . . .

These are Ford Country Squire station wagons, produced by Ford Motor Company from 1951-1991.

Grampa Shush used to buy these, and only these.  He was sold on the Country Squire.  Out of everything out there on the market, the Country Squire was the only car ideally suited to his purpose, which, above all else, was fishing.

1960

1962

We used to joke that if it rained late in the day, Grampa would get home late from work, because he'd stop to fish in the puddles on the way home.  He kept a 5 hp Mercury outboard motor, a gas can, life vests, two tackle boxes, a paddle, a creel, and three fully assembled, rigged, ready to use fishing poles in his Country Squire at all times.  Just in case.

You couldn't get in the backseat from the driver's side because the fishing poles blocked the door.  The reel ends were in the bottom left side in the farthest back corner as they could go, and the poles extended beside the back seat, across the window in the rear door over the driver's seat with the far end tucked in right next to the sun visor.  Always three poles- one for salt water, one for fresh, and one for the kid (me, or one of my brothers) who got lucky enough to come along.  

Sometimes, my dad would go.  That was always good for a laugh.  Grampa was serious.  Fishing took intense concentration- the slightest dip in the rod tip, the smallest jiggle at the bait, and Shush was poised and ready with the net.  He caught fish on purpose.

My dad, on the other hand, caught fish by accident.  No sooner did he put a hook in the water and he was asleep in the front of the boat.  Sometimes Shush would rock the boat violently, just to wake him up. 

It really annoyed him that dad didn't take it as seriously as he did.  Guess he figured dad had been raised better than that, and we should be too . . .

Sometimes he'd go to Lake Quanapog and rent a rowboat.  Sometimes he'd go to the end of 1st Avenue and rent a rowboat there.  Once he retired, he had his own boat, kept at the City Point Yacht Club, under the Kimberly Avenue Bridge.  And he'd go fishing two or three nights a week after work, lots of Saturdays, and on vacations.  And lots of times, he'd take one of us along, occasionally two, but never all three of us.  He was a man who knew his limitations.

Once he took me and my big brother to Sheepshead Bay in New Jersey and we went deep-sea fishing.  We all caught a bunch of blue-fish, and grampa won the biggest fish pool.  When we got home we cleaned 'em and mom cut them in half and put them in the freezer.  Otherwise, they didn't fit.

I think about him whenever I see a boat, or a fishing pole.

Or a station wagon . . .