I wasn't a Nash Rambler specialist, if you will. Most of my knowledge came when my Aunt Verna flew in to our place near Chicago and I, freshly-minted driver license in hand (so this must have been in '64), drove her to Kenosha to pick up the new car at the factory. I remember getting nasty looks from employees when I referred to the car as a Nash Rambler. Evidently Mr. Nash and Mr. Rambler had already consummated their corporate divorce.