I came across this image, and others on the vintage site linked above, because I was making notes for a future story where I wanted a young woman traveling in an old car, and I wanted a car whose name would both trigger a science-fictiony association and be "a man's car". The Rocket 88 fit the bill pretty well; it was one of the first cars with a V-8 engine and other power embellishments, and is now regarded as an early outlier for the "muscle cars" from other makers that started coming on market in the mid-1950's. But I did a double-take when I did an image search and saw some pictures of the 1950 "fastback" model of the Olds 88.
Because I recognized that distinctive sloping trunk lid. And I remembered that my grandfather had owned a car with that same trunk lid. I'd always remembered that it had been an older Oldsmobile, but I'd never remembered the particular model. And, after I got older and became aware of the Hugo awards, I'd remembered that a car with a Hugo-like ornament on its hood had been around while I was growing up, but I hadn't remembered it as being Grandpa's Oldsmobile.
My grandfather died when I was in sixth grade, I think in late 1963, and I had never remembered him as anything other than as a frail old man and, in his last several months, a dying old man. So it was a bit of a shock to realize that Grandpa might have been driving a muscle-car all those years. My grandfather as a bad-ass? As a tough guy? Hard to picture. Even in older family photos, he was thin and non-intimidating, not the type of person you'd expect to see in a fight, not the type of person you'd want on your side in a fight.
Or maybe you would. Because there was one family story I heard from my mother decades after Grandpa had died, only once, and only in very brief form. Probably because it was, at heart, a pretty ugly and very discomforting story. But it showed that when someone tried to harm his children, my grandfather -- and a length of wooden broom handle -- was capable of cold-blooded and deliberate violence.
(I was actually planning on using this family story, with a number of changes and expansions, as the basis for the next story on my "to-write" list.)
So maybe my grandfather really was, or had been, a bad-ass tough guy. And maybe, on those times when I rode in Grandpa's car to the store or other relatives' homes, I was riding with a Hugo on the hood! Probably the closest I ever got to a Hugo.
(Although I was told, back in the 1970's when fandom was a lot smaller and I was a much more active fanzine publisher and letterhack, that I'd once come within a few nominations of being on a Hugo ballot for Best Fan Writer one year. But "within a few nominations" probably doesn't count for much, then or now.)