It was a dark and storm night in August 1956 (actually, it was a very clear and cool night). I was 22 years old and the proud owner (me and the finance company) of a 1951 JAGUAR, an XK120, black with Mirchal three-bar headlights. I had looked at six or seven models on various used car lots in the Twin Cities and settled on this one. My father didn't think much of it. "Not very practical in the winter". My mother thought it was cute. I thought it was the absolute last word in BRITISH FIRE POWER. The direct descendent of LIMEY racing heritage. I had read about the 1952 run of 100 M.P.H. for seven days and nights at the Montlhery track, and was positive that THIS was the car for me. I was BORN for this car. This rocket ship was BUILT for me!
These were my thoughts as I sped through the cool night air on my way to Milwaukee. My buddy Danny was being discharged at Fort Sheridan, just north of Chicago after two years in the Army and a stint in Japan. I said I would pick him up, have a fun time in Chicago and then head home to Minneapolis. It also would give me a chance to get to know my two-week-old sports car better.
I drove for three hours and when the sun came up I was still 80 miles from Milwaukee. Remember, these were pre-freeway days and the super highways were the equivalent of Highway 100 today. From Milwaukee to Chicago I drove a racetrack called highway 41. I put my foot in it and at 85 M.P.H. was passed by a big, gray 1949 Cadillac. Well, Hell . . . this is what I've been waiting for! I put the pedal to the firewall and topped out at 123 M.P.H.... the fastest I'd ever been in my young life. I was in heaven, with the engine at full song. WHAT A CAR.
It was good to see my "Long Lost Buddy." He told me he had a great time in the army and that he wouldn't do it again for $10,000. Also, he had heard that THE place to pick up girls was at a big dance hall in Lake Geneva." All the Polish girls from Chicago went there." Before you could say William Lyons, we were off to Lake Geneva.
It was a fine warn night, the top was down and the road was dead straight...but hilly. The speed kept climbing. We were cresting the hills at 70 M.P.H, and then picking up speed on the downhill side, as the narrow-beam headlights swept down the road. This was like a fun carnival ride.
As we floated over the top of the next hill the headlights lit up seven or eight cows at the bottom of the hill, standing in the middle of the highway. I hit the brakes and in the next half second…I contemplated taking to the grassy ditch, but I figured the windshield was not a very good roll bar. Then I thought of aiming at the dead end of bossy, so as not to hit a glancing blow and cause the Jag to slew sideways and maybe roll. But then I figured we’d be decapitated by a set of teats! Then one of them started moving and I spied a small slot. We might be able to make it through!
The slot wasn’t wide enough and there was a terrific BANG as we clipped Miss Guernsey in the head. We were a quarter of a mile down the road by the time we stopped, hearts pounding, and starting to breath again.
We sat there on the dark road in silence 'til we realized the engine was still running and we were still alive. We got out of the car to view the damage and I was fully expecting to see a horn hole through the sheet metal. The left front fender was bashed in. We pulled the jack out of the trunk and pried the dented fender off the tire, and drove on to Lake Geneva at 20 M.P.H. We never did go back to see if the cow had survived (I hope she wasn’t killed). I think we danced with some girls at the dance hall, but the evening was pretty much a blur as we thought about how close we came to being killed. The trip back to Minnesota was uneventful.
The US Army called me in the spring of 1957 and I returned the XK120 to the finance company. A dumb thing to do…but then hindsight is always 20/20. Plus the fact that there were quite a few sports cars around on the used car lots. She was a beautiful car and I hope she’s still on the road somewhere.