When reading colleague John Cannon’s column in Wednesday’s newspaper, I was reminded about some of the cars of my growing up days.
Much like John, I was not a car man and, really, still am not.
One of the first cars I can remember driving was a hand-me-down, if you will. It was a 1967 Ford Falcon and before it was handed down to me, my brother had painted it Dodge Purple. Bless his heart.
So the Purple Falcon was one fightin’ machine. It did have an eight-track player in it and we flat wore out the Elton John tapes, singing to the top of our lungs wherever we went. The Purple Falcon wasn’t exactly a chick magnet either. The roof had dimples in it from where one of my brother’s wacko friends jumped on top of the car one day.
The Purple Falcon was also not the easiest car to get in and out of. That’s because the passenger side door didn’t have a handle — you rolled the window down (that’s right, rolled it down) — and reached out and opened the door from the outside. You had to slide over from the passenger side to get to the driver’s side because that door didn’t work from the outside, only from the inside.
It was like a Chinese fire drill just to take a ride. But it got us where we were supposed to go — most of the time.
It was also not a car that you’d want to challenge anyone to a race. It was a four-cylinder chug-a-lug that’s get-up-and-go had already got-up-and-went long before the keys were put in my hands.
I’ve never had a “fast car” and really never wanted one. The fastest I’ve ever been was the 100 mph that came with buddy Bill Hornbuckle behind the wheel of a 1970 green Camaro. We hit the century mark on a trip to Richmond one weekend and everything in that car was shaking.
Most of the cars I’ve ever owned aren’t even registered to go 100 mph, not that I would have the guts to drive that fast anyway.
My life wasn’t always filled with clunkers.
There was the occasion when I got to drive the family car — a light yellow Plymouth Satellite that mom and dad bought brand new. Compared to the Purple Falcon, this thing was a dream to drive.
Later we had a new orange Volkswagen — a Super Beetle it was called — that actually served me pretty well for several years, including some of my college days that included 2 1/2 years of commuting to Morehead State. All I remember is putting in $3 to $5 early in the week and not having to stop for a fill-up again until the next week — even after driving to Morehead for three days each week.
I also remember practically freezing in the winter because the Beetle didn’t have a radiator and therefore not much of a heater. You were either freezing cold or burning hot.
To that point, my cars were more like a rainbow — purple, orange and yellow — but none with a pot of gold waiting. Not even a bag of Skittles.
One of my best used cars was a 1972 white Chevy Impala that was a nice machine. It had power seats and a big engine. The car had some power and was a smooth ride but looked more like a family car.
My first purchase of a new car was a maroon Chevy Monza that cost less than $3,000. It was pretty stripped down but looked kind of sporty. It was standard transmission, which made it seem a little more sporty. But it didn’t have an air conditioner. The only “extra” was an eight-track player and radio. That was a must.
Before I was married, my wife-to-be and I went to Florida with her parents. We followed them in the Monza. Before we left the house, my wife’s father — not knowing what kind of car I was driving — warned me that he followed the speed limit. I told him that was fine with me. After all, the Monza wasn’t going to break any land records anyway.
The closer we got to Florida, where his parents lived, the harder it became to keep pace with his big Buick. With the pedal pushed to the floor, my four-cylinder Monza was falling woefully behind him. We had to signal him on the CB to slow it down a little. We all still get a laugh out of that one today.
Since then my choice of car has improved with a run of Camrys being our vehicle of choice. Of course, there’s also still a 1996 green Saturn in the driveway, too. But at least I’ve replaced the eight-track with a CD player.
MARK MAYNARD can be reached at mmaynard@dailyindependent.com or (606) 326-2648.
