Foreword:
There was a moment in my life when I realized that I would have to forego my allegiance to American-made automobiles due to my 30 mile commute and their tendency to leave me stranded on the roadside. When I made the switch to Japanese vehicles, I was intentionally hard on them because I thought they were meant to take abuse. The ending result for me was a string of Japanese vehicles which also left me stranded. I was less than pleased and felt betrayed by both automakers. So, in a rebellious move, I sold my ’88 Celica and bought a vehicle from one of Detroit’s golden eras, a ’66 Mustang. To everyone’s disbelief, I made a profit on the exchange. I drove the Mustang everyday for two and a half years. Through blizzards, thunderstorms, with no a/c, no power steering or power brakes or power windows or power locks. Even though she needed paint and blew smoke all over town, she ran strong. Usually, if there was a problem, I learned to fix it myself. One day while driving to work, I was startled by a loud explosion in the engine bay. I literally thought someone had shot the front of the car with a shotgun from a Brentwood hilltop. I was stranded once again and very late to work. The next week, I took out a loan on a newer Japanese vehicle. It was the first time I had a car loan and, though it would have made more sense financially to sell it, I held on to the Mustang. I learned that by parking it, I could see to its needs when I had the time and that way my needs wouldn’t always have to come first. It’s been 8 yrs since I bought that car, and the longest relationship of my life so far. Below is one of the many anecdotes which have graced my life since the ownership of this car….
For a few weeks now, I’ve been working on my ride.
New front struts. Yep, just put ’em in.
New gas tank. Just finished on ‘er today.
Took my car for her first spin with the new tank.
We made it about a quarter mile… then she cut out on me at a stop sign.
I walked back home, got the other car, drove to the gas station,
got more gas, put that in the new tank. Nothing.
So I began to jump her off with the other car.
Over my shoulder I hear a soft voice,
“Do you need any help, son?”
I turn around to see the coolest Ford Fairlane of all time.
It was a vision of America: Red, White & Chrome.
It had 20-inch chrome rims–American Torq-Thrust–and she rumbled real nice.
Richard Petty was driving it.
The sun beamed down behind him and his car,
and if I didn’t have on my mirrored aviators,
then I would have been blinded by it.
Jesus had sent me the angel of automobiles, specifically Ford automobiles.
I literally kinda waited for my vision to get a little wavy or something.
He was a Godsend, but he also kinda looked like a mirage.
Really cool, but almost unreal.
He got out to have a look.
He was about my height, but wiry, which made him look lean and mean.
He had a stogie in his mouth and it remained there.
It was cher-root tobacco, and it smelled damn good.
Something about the ride, his look and the stogie told me I was in good hands–
as if his knowledge was fathomless.
When we realized it was too big a problem to fix in the street,
I told him I would just take it to the best wrench in town.
He said, “You know Steve?”
I said, “Uh, yeah. For about 15 years.”
“I just gave him a trophy for his Chevelle.”
“Steve has a Chevelle?”
He asked if I had a way to tow it.
I told him Triple-A.
“Wait here!” he said.
So I did.
Ten minutes later, he comes back with another Ford, a pick-up, and a 20 ft. auto-carrier trailer. Can you believe this guy?
Then he says, we’ll need more guys to push.
There was a kid in the street…
“You, go get your daddy and have him come push this car.”
Then he got another Mustang owner from across the street to come out and push with no shoes on. No shoes on!
So, we got ‘er up on the trailer no problem.
I hopped in the truck and we were off to Steve’s.
There was a bible on the dash.
We talked the whole way, and he pointed out
every remotely cool car on the street.
Dropping it off at Steve’s was no problem,
and after he told me about the three other fabulous Fords from the 60s
at his house, I insisted I come take a look.
Every one of them has 20″ rims, the wagon, the sedan, the Fairlane.
The sheetmetal is straight as an arrow on all of them.
I kept bumping into his Harley collection to look at his cars.
Finally, he shows me the drag car… a ’69 Mustang. He dropped a 460 in it and slapped on some Cobra Jet heads. It took him four years to build it.
When he fired it up, it sounded like Kingdom Come. It was a groundshaker!
He dropped me off at the house, and his parting words were,
“Come to the Show ‘n’ Shine this Friday, maybe we’ll get you a trophy!”
“All right. Hey, I might bring a date,” I said.
He laughed. “I might bring three or four!”
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