This was the car I enjoyed most in high school. It was purchased from one of my Dad's co-workers at Met Life as my sister's car. Not sure if it was to replace the car that got stolen (a Buick?) from the local service station, later found in an orchard on the outskirts of town, with bullet holes and evidence that they tried to torch it. No one was ever caught.
Anyway, this was a sweet tan (ok, beige) color with black racing stripes. It had a small block V-8, a 302 I think, and a three speed automatic on the floor. After sister went off to college (Good ol' F.U.) it was mine for a while, until I got the cancer-ridden Camaro. Then my brother Robert (Bobby then) took it over.
It met a sad demise in Bruce Carr's driveway early one morning. It went up in flames and burned to the ground. All that was left was the shell and some seat frames. So sad. It got towed to our house and I recall seeing the remnants of my brother's silver key chain, melted onto the floor. Small bits of molten silver had been deposited as the fire raged.
It was a fun car, one I would like to still have. Then again, if it had been a convertible, it would be worth something today.
Oh well! Lots of good cars have slipped through my fingers over the years. It's hard to imagine anything we drive now ever having the cachet of some of the muscle cars we've owned.
A low, slow wave (and a tip of the imaginary hat to me brudder),
Joe Rocket
No comments:
Post a Comment