PageCorey's
1967
Page
My First Car...but it's not a Chevelle (story)
In
the beginning...
Back
in 1987, turning 16 was a big deal. Not
the least of which was getting my own set of wheels.
Unfortunately, my "savings account" was a little low on funds. To my
amazement, my grandparents stepped forward and said I could have their 1977
Chrysler Newport. Their thought was
that because I had mowed their yard and performed endless hours of menial labor
for them since practically the time I could walk (plus the fact that they wanted
to trade it in, but the dealer said he couldn't give them anything for the car)
that I could have the Chrysler. In all
honesty, I was truly grateful. After
all, it ran, the back seat was big enough for...well...it was BIG, and it could
easily accommodate all my friends for cruising. But, after a while, it became apparent that a 4-door, maroon
on maroon land yacht with a white landau top and wheel skirts wasn't exactly the
greatest handling or performance machine. It
was equipped with a 400ci Chrysler, but it was stifled with so much mid 70's
pollution control that I doubt it could wheeze out 150 HP. That,
plus the fact that the thing had to have weighed 5000 pounds dry made it a slug
in any respect.
After
about a year, my driving skills had improved...after all, if you can pilot a
22-foot long car around town, you drive anything.
I talked it over with the grandparents and they assured me that it would
be OK if I try and sell the car and get something more "kid friendly". So, after going over every square inch of that thing (and
there are a lot of square inches) with all types of cleaners, waxes, polishes
and protectants, it actually had a shimmer of glory close to it's former self.
Just
as I got ready to run my For Sale ad, another ad caught my eye...'65 GTO, runs,
needs minor work, $1000. All I
could think of was cruising down the road in the vintage 60's iron.
Of course in my mind, "minor work" meant a good wax job, and
for $1000, it must be a 396 tri-power equipped car.
So hurried and ran my ad in the local paper for two weeks...77 Newport,
$1000. For 13 days, no one even
called about the beast. On the last
Sunday the ad was to run, one couple called.
They had been in a wreck in a 70's Cadillac and the police told them that
if it had been a smaller car, they would be dead...they were looking for heavy
iron!
After
giving the car the once over and going for a ride, they shot out an offer of
$750. Of course, I was giddy with
excitement and the prospect of scoring 750 big ones toward something...ANYTHING
else. But my mom, who was handling
the deal, said, "No, we really need to get the $1000 out of it.
Why don't you talk it over and think about it for a while”
I
was devastated...I could just see the sale going down the pipes and along with
it my dreams of the Goat. The couple left...never to be seen again, I thought.
Then, about 1/2 hour later the phone rang again..."Yes, we still
have the car"..."You have $1000 from the bank"..."OK, we
will get the title and meet you at the notary"
SOLD!
I
picked up the phone and buzzed in the numbers for the Goat owner in so fast, I
thought the buttons might fall off the phone.
"Yeah, I sold it about 3 days ago"
...devastated. Well, even in
1988, a $1000 GTO isn't going to hang around forever.
I kept up my search for a couple more weeks, trying to decide if I would
have been better in the maroon monster or on foot like I was then.
With the arrival of the next weeks paper, another ad caught my eye...67
Chevelle, freshly rebuilt 283, turbo 350, $950. After doing some convincing about the merits of a freshly
rebuilt engine and assuring my mom that "Turbo 350" did not mean the
car was turbocharged, we made the 40 mile trip to look at the car.
At first, I wasn't exactly familiar with the '67 body style.
My high school buddy, Ryan, who was along for the ride, was trying to
describe it in terms of his 72 Chevelle, but I just couldn't picture it.
When
we got to the guy's house well after dark, I first caught a 3/4 view from the
drivers rear side. It was awesome!
The car had 245/14's on the back, but for some reason, they sure seemed
wider than that. Then I looked at
the front of the car. I loved the
way every corner of the car ended in a sharp, knife like point...truly evil!
Looking at the car from the side, I finally figured out why the rear
tires looked so big...the car had a rake to it that would insure any loose
change ended up under the pedals in the front floor board.
It sure seemed like there were weeds as tall as the hood, while the trunk
was at eye level for some shorter men!
After
the obligatory once-over/dipstick smelling/tire kicking we ask for the test
drive. For some reason, the guy was
a bit reluctant to turn two 17 year olds loose for a test drive, but instead
took us for a ride. Pure Joy!
The stereo shorted out, and the dash lights flickered on and off a couple
of times before resuming their dim orange-yellow glow, but we could see the oil
pressure gauge hitting 60-70 psi in mild cruising and the sound from the over-cammed
283 slobbering out of the dual glass pack mufflers was enough to make me drool.
Back
in the garage, my friend and I assured my mom that this was “the one” and
even at $950, a bargain. As the seller came back into ear shot, she walked around the
car once, poking at some of the dents and loose bondo, and asking things such as
"where are the seat belts", what would it take to make the brake
lights work" and "where is the passenger door handle"...you know,
silly things that we had overlooked. She
looked right at the guy, starts fanning out some cash and says "I can give
you $750 cash, tonight". $750?!?
Again I was devastated...I could just see someone else piloting this fine
machine. To my amazement, the guy
said, "750? OK, let me
get the title" Holy Crap...*I*
was going to be driving this thing home!!!
After
getting the last bit of deal making out of the way, finding out which two wires
to touch together to get the windshield wipers on, and being assured that we had
enough gas to make it home since it was now about 10:30pm and all the gas stores
were closed, we started out. My
right foot was literally tingling, just waiting to goose the throttle, or get in
it a little heavy to hear the tires chirp into second gear, but I thought I
better play it cool and prove that I was responsible enough to handle the
*massive* 283 cubic inch power plant. Especially
with mom (in her 5.0L powered '87 Mercury Cougar!) right behind us.
With Ryan riding shotgun, giving moral support, we worked our way through
town coming to full and complete stops at each stop sign, then hit the open road
maintaining a safe and sensible speed (for the first time since who knows
when!).
Our
luck faded somewhat when we hit a massive summer thunderstorm.
The torrential downpour made it hard to see into the inky darkness 10
feet in front of us even after Ryan fished around on the floor and found those
two special wires (out of dozens) that delivered the juice to the windshield
wipers. No sooner had we got all
that cleared up and took note of all the leaks that the driving rain was finding
in the 20 year old chassis, when I saw red and blue flashing lights come
barreling up behind us. We slowed
(although I doubt we were even going at such a death-defying speed as the 55 MPH
limit would allow) I pulled off the road with my heart pounding...just the
thought of getting pulled over for the first time, in a car with no license, and
with my mom trailing right behind us. To
my amazement, the lights, which happened to be on an ambulance, went flying
right by us. Wahoo!
My confidence restored, we hit the open road again!
With
a dozen more miles behind the rear bumper it looked like smooth sailing on home.
We had just run out of the rain and were shaking the feathers dry, so to
speak, when all of the sudden "...………." Nothing!
The gentle glass pack induced rumble that had been pushing us down the
freeway just stopped as if someone had hit a switch. Out of instinct, I popped the transmission in neutral and hit
the starter again..."Crrrr...rrr...rrr" "Crrrr...rrr...rrr"
"Crrr...rrr...rrr" Well,
it was obvious *something* had happened...it was also obvious to my mom too,
which made me feel 10 times worse...yep, we sure picked a pearl out of a pigs
butt! About three more hits on the
starter and all we had was the sickening "click...click...click" dead
battery! We decided that the best course of action was to all pile in
moms car, go on into town and wake Ryan's dad up to have him come tow the car
home with his car hauler...Which he did selflessly!
After getting the beast home and giving it a couple more quick checks
with no luck, I decided I had been on enough of an emotional roller coaster for
one day and hit the sack!
The
next day I woke to Ryan pounding on the door..."Lets see what's wrong with
this thing!" What the heck
does he mean? As I opened my eyes
to the light, it took me a second to remember..."Oh yeah, it wasn't a
dream...I really do have a dead Chevelle in the garage!"
After doing some trouble shooting, we began to get the idea that the car
wasn't getting gas...bad fuel pump? plugged filter?...would you believe an empty
tank and a gas gauge that still read 1/4 tank?!? After raiding the lawn mower gas can, we once again had the
283 doing the "rumpity...rumpity...rumpity" dance out in the driveway.
Well,
to put an end to this story before the earth falls into the sun, I spent the
next three years pouring buckets of blood, sweat, and tears into that car
(mostly in that order) When the
time came to finally shoot the color on, I chose a new 1992 "Teal green
metallic" and we shot everything...bumpers, trim, molding, everything.
Together with the new custom dove gray interior, power windows, power
seats and a host of other goodies, the car was actually fun to drive, and not a
bad effort for a couple of high school kids.
Just about the time I really got it livable, college came along.
My initial plans were to get home every weekend to drive the thing...but
those dreams quickly faded when I realized that:
a)
it meant being subject to more of the "where are you going", what are
you doing", "when will you be home" routine
b)
By being home on the weekend, I was missing out on the great college fur
c)
I needed money for college more than I needed that car
It’s
been over 10 years since I turned the keys to the original '67 over to some
stranger in exchange for $3000 college money.
About a year ago (nearly 15 years after our maiden voyage), my same high
school friend, Ryan, calls me up and says, “I know where there is another
’67 sitting…the guy is asking $800 firm”
Well, it took me about two seconds to decide to head to U-haul and rent a
car trailer then swing by the bank and pick up some cash.
So here I sit… another '67 Chevelle sitting in the driveway just
waiting for the gentle caress of air tools, plasma torches, welders and
grinders. A little older and a lot
wiser…or maybe that is the other way around?
Either way, I’m planning to make the summer of 2003 the summer of the
Chevelle!