Gregg D. Merksamer
PCS Life Member / PCS Publicity Chairman / PCS Ele
One place I 'm an anomaly in this crowd is that I grew up in the suburban village of Scarsdale, New York with no connections whatsoever to the funeral or EMS professions (my dad was a broker on the New York Stock Exchange). As soon as I became old enough to ride my bicycle a few blocks, I nonetheless recall being facinated by this ancient Cadillac ambulance with a bright blue metallic body and white roof (looking back now, a '56 Superior as some body panels were evidently fiberglass) that the Scarsdale Volunteer Ambulance Corps had just retired and parked in the Heathcote shopping center parking lot across the street from their tile-roof, Spanish style HQ (originally built in the 20s as a commuter rail station) when they put a dark green 1969 Miller-Meteor into service. When the squad bought its first Ford van around 1975, I also recall them enlarging the center garage door.
By the time I reached high school during the era of diminished expectations in the late 1970s, I was quite the artistically-inclined “algebra notebook” auto designer. Though I'm not sure when I bought myself a copy of Tom McPherson's "Bible," I did have most of the other Crestline titles in my library (in fact, I still refer to these more frequently than any other auto history books). Whether it was in Tom's book or the other Crestline titles I first saw them, the thing that fascinated me the most about pro-cars was that the coachbuilders constructing them seemed completely dedicated to satisfying individual customer tastes and requirements regardless of cost, time or difficulty, proudly maintaining carriage trade traditions of craftsmanship that most auto enthusiasts assume were lost forever when the “Golden Era” of custom-bodied passenger cars from firms like Willoughby, Judkins, Murphy, Brunn and LeBaron came to an end in the 1930s. In spite of this, I didn't actually join the PCS until 1992 or thereabouts, shortly after tracking down Walt McCall for historical perspectives to give direction to my Pratt Institute Masters of Industrial Design Thesis project, which ultimately saw me come up with 21st century takes on Henney-bodied Packard hearses.
By the time I reached high school during the era of diminished expectations in the late 1970s, I was quite the artistically-inclined “algebra notebook” auto designer. Though I'm not sure when I bought myself a copy of Tom McPherson's "Bible," I did have most of the other Crestline titles in my library (in fact, I still refer to these more frequently than any other auto history books). Whether it was in Tom's book or the other Crestline titles I first saw them, the thing that fascinated me the most about pro-cars was that the coachbuilders constructing them seemed completely dedicated to satisfying individual customer tastes and requirements regardless of cost, time or difficulty, proudly maintaining carriage trade traditions of craftsmanship that most auto enthusiasts assume were lost forever when the “Golden Era” of custom-bodied passenger cars from firms like Willoughby, Judkins, Murphy, Brunn and LeBaron came to an end in the 1930s. In spite of this, I didn't actually join the PCS until 1992 or thereabouts, shortly after tracking down Walt McCall for historical perspectives to give direction to my Pratt Institute Masters of Industrial Design Thesis project, which ultimately saw me come up with 21st century takes on Henney-bodied Packard hearses.