The Diplomat had 1985 plates on it, and in the glove compartment was a map I once drew for Mom and Dad to get to our house from the interstate. Nothing else was inside; it was in fairly pristine condition, though it certainly wouldn't start, having sat still for a quarter century. This was Mom's car, the only automatic transmission we owned while she was alive.
Because we had the keys (thanks for sending them, Carol), we could unlock the steering column and the transmission wheel lock. Pulling it up onto the towing flatbed went very quickly.
Here the SVdP guy makes a slight steering adjustment as it heads up onto the truck bed.
Loaded and ready...
...to...
...go.
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