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The 1956 Powell Sport Wagon is one of the most unusual and rare vehicles to emerge from postwar American automotive history. Built by Powell Manufacturing Company in Compton, California, the Sport Wagon was a hybrid of sorts—a mix of prewar car parts, handmade craftsmanship, and industrial ingenuity. Powell, originally a manufacturer of scooters and light delivery vehicles, decided to enter the automotive market in the mid-1950s with a utility vehicle aimed at budget-conscious buyers and small businesses.
What set the Powell Sport Wagon apart was its construction method. Rather than designing an entirely new car from the ground up, Powell used refurbished 1941 Plymouth chassis and drivetrain components. These were chosen because of their availability, durability, and cost-effectiveness. Customers would even provide their own used Plymouth as part of the purchase deal. The vehicles were then stripped down, reconditioned, and given a new custom body made by Powell’s team.
The body was a hand-built steel and fiberglass affair with slab sides, a horizontal-bar grille, and minimal ornamentation. The design had a utilitarian, almost homemade appearance, which contributed to its charm and quirkiness. A signature feature was the built-in tube compartment on the side of the body—designed to hold fishing rods or other long items—making it a favorite among outdoorsmen.
Mechanically, the Sport Wagon was powered by the same flathead inline-six engine from the 1941 Plymouth, producing around 87 horsepower. It wasn’t fast or flashy, but it was dependable and relatively easy to maintain. The vehicle came in two-door pickup and wagon versions, both designed to handle light hauling or recreational use.
Only about 1,200 Powell Sport Wagons were produced between 1955 and 1957, making them extremely rare today. They never caught on in a mass-market sense, largely due to their unconventional design and the limited capacity of the Powell company, but they’ve gained a cult following among collectors and fans of oddball or vintage utility vehicles.
Today, the 1956 Powell Sport Wagon stands as a fascinating piece of mid-century automotive experimentation. It reflects a time when small companies could still break into the car market with creativity and resourcefulness, and it remains one of the most unique vehicles ever built in America.

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This is the remarkable face of legendary scout, Texas Ranger, and raconteur William A.A. "Bigfoot" Wallace, who arrived in Texas in 1837. Here's a great story as told by Bigfoot himself:
‘One evening I rode up to my shack as usual and tied my horse to the door and left the dogs outside with him and shut up everything tight and snug. Sometime during the night I heard the dogs whining and they kept it up. They could scent an Indian half a mile away and I knew something was wrong or they would not keep whining.
I slipped over to the door and opened the portholes and looked out but could not see anyone or anything, but I was satisfied that there were some Indians around somewhere. I closed the porthole and went to moulding bullets for dear life. When daylight came I cautiously opened the door and looked out in every direction but saw nothing. Then I took my gun and buckled on my revolvers and went around the shack and down by the corral and found that all my horses were gone. The Indians had taken up four posts at the back side of the corral and cut the rawhide and let out all the horses and driven them away.
I followed their trail a mile until I came to a mot of hickory and some distance away I saw a smoke. The ground where l was standing was covered with hickory nuts and I stooped and began filling my breeches and shirt with hickory nuts two or three inches thick all around my body. I was a sight and looked like a giant—could hardly waddle along. There was an old log lying near by and I led my horse up to it and managed to crawl through the high grass.
When I came within good shooting distance I sorta raised up and saw two big bucks standing up and all the rest were down around the fire cooking their breakfast. I raised my old smooth bore rifle and drew a bead on the biggest of the two and let him have it. He jumped up in the air and yelled and he fell dead. I loaded me again while the whole bunch yelled and grabbed their bows and arrows. They tried to locate me, but they did not see the smoke in the grass. I raised up again and let the biggest one have the next shot and they saw the smoke and began circling around and shooting at me. I straightened up and pulled my two revolvers and they kept up a running fight. They must have shot a hundred arrows at me but they would strike the hickory nuts and bounce off. They must have thought I was the devil, for as soon as they had tied the two Indians on the horses they broke away and did not take a single one of my horses.'"
---- Bigfoot Wallace relates a tale to "Captain Smith," excerpted from a 1924 Frontier Times magazine article

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