[second wife of Mason D. Wiysel]

 

The Charleston Daily Mail (Charleston, West Virginia), October 29, 1941

 

Woman Gets Big Fish

 

Albuquerque, N.M. (UP) -- Add Albuquerque to the list of the nation’s cities in which a woman is the champion angler. Mrs. Mason D. Wiysel, who took up fishing because her husband is an ardent fisherman, caught a record-breaking 45-pound catfish at San Marcial. The fish was 4 feet long.

THE MARION STAR THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 1977, PAGE 22

 

Elsewhere In America

Studebaker Tradition Survives

 

By Jules Loh

AP Special Correspondent

 

Union, Neb. (AP) – Life seems to lose its urgency, out here where the placid Platte flows into the meandering Missouri. At least Ray Wiysel thinks so. Ray Wiysel is the Studebaker dealer.

 

“I’ve been a Studebaker dealer since 1939.” Wiysel said, wiping calloused hands on a grease-stained rag. “It was a good business then and it is now, I see no reason to quit.”

 

“Besides, when I sold cars to all those people all those years they depended on me to keep them running. Well, here I am.”

 

Yes, here he is, and his Wiysel Auto Service letterhead still has on it that slender encircled S monogram and the sign outside his crowded showroom says: Studebaker – Authorized Sales and Service.

 

Hasn’t he heard?

 

“Of course, Studebaker made its last car in 1966. Actually, when the company moved to Canada from South Bend, Ind., in ’64 and started making cars with Chevy engines, I knew it would collapse. My last call to Studebaker was to cancel an order for three ‘64s.”

 

“But instead of folding up, I bought out the parts departments of other Studebaker dealers. I have a pretty good supply, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Wiysel led the way through aisle after aisle of auto parts arranged in bins. He paused at the hubcaps. To a middle-aged memory, it had the shock of being suddenly surrounded by long-forgotten friends.

 

“Here’s a hubcap for a 1934 Commander,” he said lifting it out of the bin as gently as if it were crystal. “I shipped four of these to Winnipeg, Canada, the other day.

 

“Here’s one for a ’32 Rockne. I just sold one for $25. Probably cost less than $2 when that car was new. So, you see, the Studebaker business reaches back a long way.”

 

Ray Wiysel is 67. His affection for Studebaker reaches back a long way.

 

His grandfather, a blacksmith and carpenter, built wagons for the Studebaker company in Arkansas. Ray Wiysel never met his grandfather but knows all about the wagons through family lore. They were big, sturdy vehicles, pulled by eight head of oxen, haulers of logs.

 

A Teutonic pride in craftsmanship turned out to be a family trait. Ray inherited it from his father, a cabinet-maker, and his grandfather.

 

Ray sat out to become a master mechanic. He still remembers his first major automobile overhaul, done at age 17. The car was a Studebaker. A 1918 Big Six touring car.

 

Ray’s son, Larry, 38, is keeping the family tradition alive.

 

Like his father he is a mechanic without peer and also a loyal son of Studebaker. He drives a 1963 Studebaker Avanti, but sparingly; it only has 13,000 miles on it. It’s worth, he said, about 10 times what he paid for it new. He isn’t inclined to sell.

 

In Ray Wiysel’s office hang two plaques, one given him after 20 years as a dealer, the other after 25, “in recognition of loyal business association.”

 

Studebaker never really knew how loyal.