Mom's looked like this one, same color:
I remember it having no power (compared to Dad's 59 Buick anyway, of which Mom called the color "Raspberry Puke", like this one)
and a really light tail end that required sand bags in the back for winter traction.
Ahh the good old days, sitting in the back seat where all of Dad's cigarette smoke would collect, getting nauseated on the twisty roads on the way to Seaside,OR.
Things got better later. When we moved from Oregon to San Francisco my dad had a series of lame company cars, but mom bought a 1970 Olds Cutlass S that belonged to the body shop manager at the local Olds dealership. She didn't like the baby blue '69 Pontiac Firebird convertible they offered her. She claimed it was because it had a few chips in the hood. I guess she thought it was too excessive. So she bought the conservative gold colored Olds with the brown vinyl top - and a 455 cubic inch engine
That was my ride in high school. It had drum brakes all around, with no power assist. Speedo only went to 120 and I pegged it more than once. This is the car I was in in the story I tell of being pulled over by seven cop cars and walking away from it without a ticket. Amazing I am still alive to talk about it.