My first car was a 1947 four door blue Plymouth. The car cost me fifty dollars, and I lost my virginity in this car.
My father found the car for me. It belonged to a friend of his who had died and left the car. I bought the car from his widow in 1962 after I turned sixteen. I paid for the car myself. I was working nights in a Mammoth Mart where I ran the concession stand and sometimes the grill.
The deal was that I had to pay for the car, insurance and any gas I used. My father would teach me to drive. It goes without saying that it was a stick shift.
The car was in mint condition until I rammed it into our garage door while attempting to park it after a training session with my dad. He was not happy about the garage, but it did little damage to the car. The car was built like a tank. This was accident number 1.
I had three accidents in this car.
The second accident was when I ran over some rough roads and ripped the bottom out of the oil pan. Stupid me. I tried to keep driving to get home until the engine froze up. We had the car towed. My uncle and I dropped the oil pan later on and put new rings and rods in the engine. It did not quite run like new again, but it did run.
The guys on the corner loved the car because of the big back seat. It was like a small sofa. Guys would borrow my car to make out with their girlfriends. Back in the sixties, the choices for making out were very limited.
Cops would patrol the local parks and harass you if they found a couple in a car in any stage of undress. Parents of course back in the sixties did not condone bringing your girlfriend home for such activities.
Thus, a big dark sofa in the back of a car parked someplace inconspicuous lent itself to many an endeavor. That back seat is where I lost my virginity. I did not know the girl’s name and never saw her again. She was just one of many girls who stopped by our street corner periodically for a midnight tryst. The guys all knew that I was a virgin and as the window steamed up in the car, I could see a few of the assholes trying to peek in on me. My “first time” left a lot to be desired. I learned from this that sex means a great deal more when love is involved.
The third accident with this vehicle happened this way. I was coming over a rise in a rural road when a friend and I were out just tooling around. I did not see that there was a stop sign at an intersection. It was actually obscured by a bush. I thundered into the middle of a main road and ran smack into a car with a family in it. The impact rolled the other car and did quite a bit of damage to my car. By some fortune, no one in either car was hurt. It could have been a tragedy but fortunately for all, it was not.
The police were called. An ambulance was called. I was in a bit of shock and so were some of the other people. I received a summons for reckless driving and had to appear in court. The judge decided that I was not at fault. I decided to junk the car. The guys on the corner wanted me to get it fixed but I was tired of the car. You can guess why they were very disappointed.
My next car was a 1954 two door Mercury coupe with a 256 cubic inch engine with a two barrel carb. This car saw many a drag race down Pedersen strip at night. We would bet money on who would win. I took on many a small block 283 Chevy and 289 Ford and beat them. It was easy to get them to put up the dough since most thought that since their engines were bigger, they would blow me off easily. I always won if they had two barrel carbs but occasionally I would race Chevs or Fords with a 4 barrel carb. I only won about ½ my races with these guys.
I left this car when I left home one night and joined the military the next day.
Other guys I knew had cars I could only dream of having. Corvettes and even Jaguar XKE’s were all owned by some guys I knew who had parents with money. I could only dream that someday I could afford to buy one. To date, I have never owned either, though I did buy a used Porsche 924 a number of years later.
Of course, my real dream was that I could pull up alongside some cool looking girls from Dean Estates and say, “Hi babe, want to go for a ride with me?” They would hop in my speedy sports car and I would drive by the corner and the guys on the corner would all drool while envying me my car and my new girlfriends.
There is a link between cars and men and women. The ads show it. The movies show it. But does real life show it? Do beautiful women and beautiful expensive cars have some type of symbiotic relationship? Will you really get the woman of your dreams with a Ferrari or Lamborghini?
I think it is another form of brainwashing. Not all people succumb to it. But as a young man, I was conditioned to believe that money, fast cars and beautiful women would make me happy and successful. Jesus could preach poverty and charity all he wanted to. I would choose fame and fortune. Only years later did I realize that Jesus and all the great prophets were wise. Unlike Madison Avenue they were not trying to tell us that buying more things would make us happy and successful.
I must ask this question. Do some women buy expensive sports cars to snag the “man of their dreams?” I doubt it, but who knows. I would imagine women are also brainwashed into thinking that Fame and Fortune will guarantee them happiness.
I wonder if I would have been more attracted to Karen if she had owned a Pagani Zonda or a Bugatti La Voiture Noire.
But how long can a relationship last if the foundation is built on a Ford F-150 Raptor R or a Dodge Ram 1500 Tungsten?
I am not really sure. I would have to know how many miles I could go before needing a new model. That pertains to the vehicle and not my wife.
As far as Karen goes, I would say that she is an “Oldie but a goodie.” By all means, a keeper.
