The first car that I outright owned was a 1961 Plymouth Wagon, that was given to me by my father. He was planning to scrap it, but thought I might get another year or two out of it. That car was butt ugly when it was brand new, and the rusted quarter panels didn't help it any. It had a hole in the gas tank that limited the fuel capacity to 3/4 of a tank and a rod that knocked out a constant warning of Maintenance Needed, it didn't need a warning light. About the second time I drove it, I came home, parked it in the driveway only to hear a crackling snap, and the left front side almost dropped to the ground, meaning a torsion bar had broken. I bought a new one and installed it with the car on a bumper jack. I have to admit, changing a torsion bar is a lot easier than a coil spring! For all of its quirks, that 318 was a beast even when it was only running on seven cylinders, but it always got me home... and I never had to worry about where I parked it or where I drove it, because it was a tank.