#1947 Dodge

[rollerman1]

[goshyesvintageads]

Chrysler Corp, 1947

[vintageadsmakemehappy]

1947 Dodge advertisement

[uscarssince1935]

1947 Dodge Custom Convertible

My tumblr-blogs:

www.tumblr.com/germancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/frenchcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/englishcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/italiancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/japanesecarssince1947 & www.tumblr.com/uscarssince1935

[coolvintagecars]

Dodge (1947)

[niftyandinterestingstuff]

1947 Dodge

[frenchcurious]

Dodge 1947. - source Auction Bay Kenya.

[39-47dodgeplymouthfargo]

1947 Dodge tanker truck

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Outside the AMC Box: 1966 American Motors AMX II Concept

Posted on March 19, 2024 by MCG

To create the AMX II, AMC design chief Richard Teague reached outside his own styling studios and brought in independent designer and builder Vince Gardner.

In his long tenure as vice president of design at American Motors from 1964 to 1983, Richard A. Teague earned a reputation for working outside the box. This constant drive to be different could be seen, for example, in the four Project IV concept vehicles his design staff prepared for a 1966 promotional tour, with displays in six major American cities. For one of the Project IV cars, the AMX II, Teague reached outside the box a little further and brought in an independent designer, Vincent E. Gardner.

Among car designers, Vince Gardner had a remarkable skill set. In addition to being a talented stylist, he was also a highly capable clay modeler and fabricator. As a kid fresh out of high school, he prepared the clay model for the 1936 Cord 810, working alongside designer Gordon A. Buehrig. His own design credits include the 1947 Gardner Special, the 1953 Vega sports car, and the 1964 Mustang III, while the 1962 Thunderbird Italien and 1968 Dodge Charger III are among the concept vehicles he constructed for the automakers.

While the AMX II was Gardner’s creation, it didn’t look at all out of place among the other three Project IV concept vehicles, integrating nicely. (See our feature on the Project IV Cavalier here.) According to the American Motors press materials, the AMX II was intended to expand on the theme of the AMX sports car concept, which made its public debut in the Project IV program

Eight inches longer than the AMX, the AMX II included room for four passengers and a generous trunk. (AMX stood for American Motors eXperimental.) Though it almost doesn’t look it, the wheelbase was a full 110 inches, with a shape that could remind you of the 1967 Mercury Cougar, though it’s slimmer, less chunky.

Features included hidden headlamps and windshield wipers, while an automated circuit locked the doors when the AMX II was moving. At the rear was was a safety tail lamp arrangement with green, yellow, and red segments for driving, slowing, and braking. However, it seems many of these features probably existed only on paper.

Like the other Project IV cars, the AMX was not a running vehicle, but merely a fiberglass studio glider with no drivetrain or running gear. There was no real interior, either, only a black sillhouette panel inside, just under the beltline, to fill the cabin volume. Like so many pushmobile show cars, the AMX II served no real function once its display career was concluded, so it was more than likely scrapped soon after.

[mulderscully]

i've forgotten if they're green on they're blue (3/5)

tags: firstprince. rated e. eventually smut. multichap. timeloop/magical realism. chrismas fluff. multiverse. book/movie smash up.

summary: When the worst snowstorm New York city has had since the Great Blizzard of 1947 snows Alex and Henry into their Brownstone, Alex falls into a bizarre dream and awakens in a world much like his own. Only it seems like he's suddenly five inches shorter, five years younger and why is Henry the only person who can tell? 🎄

AKA, Movie Alex falls into Bookverse before he and Henry get together.

[CHAPTER ONE] [CHAPTER TWO]

There are two possibilities:

1. Alex is dreaming a very, very vivid dream.

2. He died and went to Hell.

His list is short but it feels complete. Option two may be slightly dramatic, but he can't think of another reason he'd wake up to a world where Henry is not almost his husband.

For fucks sake he's already begun dodging the countless cake jokes he's sure will be launched at them until their golden anniversary. It's not like the wedding is tomorrow, but he's already started calling Henry his husband in his mind, has done so for a while. Pretty much until he felt like if one of them didn't propose he was going to to have to wire his mouth shut to avoid it slipping out before they had a chance to talk about it.

[READ ON AO3]

[abarbaricyalp]

I want to know more about the 40s AU, please 🙏🏾

Hey! WIP Game

Thanks for asking about this one! I've been holding this one close to my chest for a while now because I wasn't sure I was actually going to post it, but the more I work on it and love it, the more I think I will. I have literally checked out so many books on so many subjects for this fic. I've been watching documentaries and movies for months. I looked up fashion references even.

This is a fic set in 1947 that imagines that Bucky and Steve survived the war and also that Sam does, because in this AU he was a pilot with the Tuskegee Airmen. They meet at a jazz bar where Sam is singing with a band that Gabe is also performing with. They learn to trust each other and heal together while falling in love. It was supposed to just be "Bucky falls in love with jazz singer Sam" but now it's about music and race and queerness and disability and trauma and loss, and things that divide us and the things that make us the same.

I dunno maybe that sounds pretentious

.

“Sam!” Gabe whistled, dodging his way through the milling crowd, pulling Bucky with him by the shirt tails. Bucky batted his hand away as they slowed down so he could actually tuck his shirt back in. “Sam, hey! I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

Hanging off the side of the stage, the impossibly handsome, sad singer was chatting with the keyboardist and sharing a cigarette with him. Both men looked over at Gabe, then at Bucky. The singer’s eyes narrowed a little. He waited until Gabe was closer and then said, “I told you to stop bringin’ folks around.”

And Bucky knew exactly what he meant. He knew that he stuck out in this small club. He’d tried to argue with Gabe when they’d walked in but Gabe, as usual, was even more stubborn than Bucky.

“You still need a horn player on Friday?” Gabe asked in that way of his that said he already knew the answer and knew he had won. Bucky was too familiar.

Sam scowled at him. “You know I do. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I didn’t.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with him tagging along,” Gabe continued. “Bucky, this is Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Bucky Barnes. He was in the Howling Commandos with me. At Azzano with me,” he added meaningfully.

Sam’s expression only softened by a degree. “What do you know about music?” he asked.

Bucky’s gaze flickered around the club. He wanted to run, but Wilson’s gaze had him pinned down like a butterfly in a case. “You’re good,” he ventured. “Untrained, but good. You didn’t learn up here though. Cut your teeth somewhere else, right? You don’t sound like New York. And your band hasn’t caught up to you yet either.”

Gabe snickered beside him and clapped Bucky, then Sam by the shoulder. “I’m gonna go talk to D,” he said. “I’ll be back if I hear any glass breaking.”

Bucky and Sam both rolled their eyes. “I wouldn’t ruin my own club,” Sam said with something almost like a sneer, but too proud at the same time.

“It’s not your club, Sammy,” Gabe chuckled. “Delroy!” he called, waving a hand in the air and then beginning to weave through the crowd to reach the other trumpet player.

“You’re really good,” Bucky repeated after he couldn’t pretend to still see Gabe’s shoulders through the crowd. “You started with church music, right?”

Sam’s pianist had disappeared at some point, left Sam holding the cigarette. He took another draw off of it and seemed to be searching for a way out of this conversation himself. “Yeah. My daddy was a preacher. I was in the choir soon as I could hold a note.”

Bucky nodded. “I used to play piano for Steve’s…for the church my friend attended when we were younger. Fell out of it once I started working.”

Sam flinched as Bucky said it and his eyes went to Bucky’s missing arm. And Bucky, for the first time since he’d lost it, felt like someone actually saw what the absence meant, even in this small way. “Have you tried since?” he asked.

“Nah,” Bucky said, tried to play it off like his heart wasn’t desiccating in his chest. “I’ve never had my own and I ain’t been much of one for the clubs since coming back.”

“How?” Sam asked. His tone was a little sharp, but more in its confusion and a little bit of desperation than anger. “How could you stay away?”

“I guess I just ain’t like you,” Bucky admitted. “Music’s deep down in your soul. I can hear it when you sing. It wasn’t really like that for me. I just liked it. Like to listen to other people. Don’t gotta do it myself.”

Sam shook his head and leaned back on his hands, blowing a line of smoke towards the roof. “I thought I’d never want to sing again when I got back but as soon as I heard a saxophone, I needed to join in. Sometimes I wish I could quit. The noise, the crowds, this whole world, it’s all designed to fuck me up now, I think. But I can’t stay away.”

Bucky nodded. He hadn’t been out dancing since he’d gotten back and he was half terrified of what tonight was going to bring, but so far it had only kind of started to scratch at an old itch he had pushed down into the meat of him. Now it was rising back to the surface in an unignorable way.

“How do you know Gabe?” he asked, trying to drive the itch away again. “He mentioned he met you after the war.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He took another drag from his cigarette and blew it towards the ceiling again. On one hand, Bucky appreciated him smoking away from him. On the other, he kind of wanted Wilson to blow it directly in his face.  “I was a pilot. He was looking at the 332nd, trynna recruit us for some kind of special operations division he’s heading up. I told him I wasn’t interested, but he found me at a place like this and we got to talkin’ about other things. You know he was a horn player?”

Bucky nodded. “He kept his trumpet on him until we were captured,” he said. “Hell, it might still be with the military if anyone went to clean up our encampment,” he said.

“I’m sure Gabe’s already been botherin’ people trynna find out,” Sam snorted. He put out the cigarette in an ashtray on the stage, tucked up in the case for some stringed instrument that Bucky hadn’t seen. “You’re gonna keep comin’ around with him?” the singer asked as he got ready to stand again.

Bucky took a step back, though he wasn’t sure why. “I mean, I really wasn’t planning to, but you know how Gabe is,” he pointed out.

Sam frowned a little before he gave in. “I’ll make sure the guys at the door know to leave you alone.”

Bucky stopped himself from looking back at the entrance. He hadn’t noticed anyone when they’d walked in, but then he had come in with Gabe, so that was probably why. “This your club or something, Wilson?” he asked with a teasing kind of half grin.

“It’s close enough to home,” Sam said with a shrug. “I’ll see you around, Barnes.” He pushed himself to his feet and called over to his pianist and trombonist.

For the first time in a very long time, Bucky’s heart tripped in his chest in only a good way.

[rollerman1]

[rainbowriderjt]

Cool 1947 Dodge!

[tamorasky]

Rise to Me Chapter 41 - 1947

Summary: 1947. It had been nearly four years since she had received a letter from her sister. Now with the end of the war and her impending wedding, Anna Rendelle is more determined than ever to find her sister.

1943. All her life Elsa Rendelle had been told to be good, know her place and to marry well. When an opportunity arises to make something of herself, finding herself in Occupied France as a part of a larger network of secret agents.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Elsa/Honeymaren, Anna/Hans (Briefly) 

Arras, France – June 2, 1947 There’s a lump in his throat as he stands across the street from the apartment. The worry that the flowers in his hand are wilting is long gone as he debates whether to enter the looming building. Would she even want to see him?  It had been nearly two years since Will left Arras and Antoinette along with it. He should’ve begged her to come with him to England, but recalling the strong-willed woman, he would not have had a chance.  Pushing down his doubts and anxiety, Will rushes across the street, dodging the traffic. He catches the door as a resident leaves the complex. A sigh resounds in the lobby as he looks up at her apartment's never-ending spiral of staircases. Recalling that she lived on the top floor. 

Continue Reading Here!!

[uscarssince1935]

1947 Dodge Deluxe Club Coupé

My tumblr-blogs:

www.tumblr.com/germancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/frenchcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/englishcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/italiancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/japanesecarssince1947 & www.tumblr.com/uscarssince1935

[praxcrown5]

Carstober Prompt 26: Leak

An excerpt from my Doc fanfic. Year is 1947, and a 9 year old Hudson Longhauler got caught up in a sting operation meant to catch a group of wanted moonshine runners.

No art with this one, sadly. Definitely want to at some point...but don't have the time rn.

After what felt like a lifetime of speeding through the pitch-black woods, dodging trees and giving their shocks the workout of their lives, Ghost called for everyone to regroup in a small clearing.   

Hud collapsed into a resting position and closed his eyes, taking in a few deep breaths to replenish his oxygen reserves.  He was so tired he probably could have just gone to sleep right then and there…but instead he just focused on breathing as it seemed to help the spinning in his head. 

Ghost hunkered down next to him, leaning heavily against his flank.  His wheels were shaking, and Hud watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, surprised that the older car seemed…terrified. But before he could do or say anything, Cass and the others rolled forward so that they could huddle around the two of them, their breaths coming in short, fearful gasps.

After about ten minutes, Ghost finally spoke.  “Kid…” He considered Hud out of the corner of his windscreen.  “I don’t say this lightly…but ye saved our lives.”

Murmurs of agreement resonated around him, and the young Hudson felt a sense of pride swell within him.  The ATF had anticipated the logging roads being used as escape routes…what they hadn’t counted on was insider help, and Hud knew the roads around Dawsonville better than he knew his own family.

“Alright…y’all,” Ghost pushed himself upright with effort.  Reluctantly, the others followed suit. “Sound off.”

“I’m ok,” Flips said wearily.  “Gonna have to get a bunch of dents pounded out, but I’m good.”

“Otto?”

“Tank’s busted,” He turned indicating his missing decklid.  The steel cistern inside had been shot up, and the contents lost to the woods.  “My shocks and struts are done for, too…”

“Cass?”

“Bullet wounds…” She grunted.  “Lots of ‘em…but don’t think any got past my armor.”

Hud studied her damaged flank and winced.  Superficial or no, there were so many bullet holes that the sheet metal looked like hardware cloth. 

���Wilkis?”

“Fine.  Lost my blade to that stupid log pile…”

Ghost nodded, satisfied.  He turned to look at Hud.  “How ‘bout ye, kid?” He asked, gently. “Ye alright?”

Hud nodded, wearily.  “Yeah…I’m…”  He took a breath to gather his thoughts and take stock of his body.  “Pretty sure my right, front shock assembly is busted…maybe the axle too.”  He pushed himself upright, and another pain made itself known, this time on his right-side door.  “I took a rifle round to the door right at the start.  Hurts like hell…”

Ghost’s expression shifted from compassionate to alarmed in the blink of a shade, and he urged Hud to make a half turn so that he could study the wound. 

His shades widened to their limits.  “Wilkis, what all kinds of medicine ye have in your kit?  Reckon we need a replenishment ration or three.”

Wilkis rolled forward to get a better look at Hud’s door…and paused, shades widening in an expression of horror.  He detached one of his spare tires, turned it right-side up and pressed the emblem in the center. The side of the cover opened on a hinge, revealing a hollow interior filled with all manner of chemicals, tools and dressings.  A pair of assist arms emerged from his front left fender, and he wasted no time in fishing out a spray bottle, and unmarked metal cylinder, and a large, foil pouch that he tossed over to Ghost whom caught it with his teeth.

The other cars crowded around them, looking concerned.

Confused, Hud angled his rear-view mirror so he could see the wound and had to fight the urge to scream.  The entire door below and behind the wound was coated with a blue-black fluid, and there was a small puddle of it on the ground underneath him. 

Hud’s brain went numb.

He was leaking hematoleum, a semi-living, oil-like fluid that their internal systems needed to function properly. 

For him to be leaking it in such a quantity…the bullet must have hit something important.

“Can I get some room to work?” Wilkis snapped and everyone backed up a body length.  Flips and Otto looked visibly shaken and Cass had this sorta thousand yard stare…like she was re-living a horrible memory.

“Here kid…drink this.”  Ghost said, dropping the pouch near Hud’s front end. He pressed it with his tire to gently inflate a plastic spout.  “This will be the worstest thing you’ll ever taste, but it’ll help.”

Hud looked down at the bag, then back at the wound, then up at Ghost.  “I…” He said, reversing slowly on shaking tires.  “I-I need to go home.”

Wilkis stopped him with a tire.  “Kid, if you don’t let me treat this…you’re not gonna make it home.”