I remember a story that happened to me way back in my high school days. I grew up on the East coast in the Pennsylvania area. Back in the sixties when I was in high school there was not a heck of a lot to do in a small town. Drinking beer and trying to look cool were the norm. It was a long way from the sixties sex and drug revolution you read about in books. The only hippies we ever saw were on the big Zenith black and white TV that dominated the living room of the old house I grew up in.
The one thing I did have to look forward to back then was getting my license. That not only meant being able to actually get a car, but also all the freedom that went with it. To a small town kid like me that was huge. The other thing was that I was always a bit of a gear-head. When I turned 16 I got a job in a local garage owned by the father of a friend of mine from school. I basically cleaned up the place and was trying to learn welding and basic machining at the time. I was always hanging around the machinists and mechanics, trying to learn everything I could. I was also fascinated by all things mechanical. My big hope was that by the time I was old enough to get my license that I would have enough money for a car.
There was one other reason I wanted a car I might not have mentioned. Besides the fact that I was a car nut and the freedom and all that other crap, there was a big reason. That would be to impress girls. Well, really one girl in particular. Her name was Debbie Anderson and she went to the same high school. Actually, everybody in town went to the same high school. In the small town where I grew up, there was not a heck of a lot a guy might have to impress a girl except a car. At least that's what I always was led to believe.
Debbie was one of those girls that every guy in town thought about. It seemed that way at least. For good reason, I might add. Debbie had that sort of long blond hair that hung all the way down her back so that is sort of bounced off her perfect ass as she walked. I am quite sure to this day that if you look up "Perfect ass" in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Debbie Anderson. Her body as a whole was so perfectly formed, it was hard to even notice her gorgeous big blue eyes or her full lips that sort of pouted in a way that said "Kiss me."
Another reason why I needed a car was to ward off the competition. Competition in this case meant another guy. His name was Jerry and his last name was some Greek name I never could pronounce. Acropolis or Metropolis or something. Sounded Greek to me. His family owned the only diner in town, the place where literally everyone from criminals to cops hung out. Owning the only diner in town meant the family had money. More money than brains I always thought, but that would be a whole other story. For his 17th birthday, Jerry got a brand new GTO. A 1965 Pontiac Tempest GTO in metallic blue with the 389 Tri-power option. The kind of car guys like me, and most everyone else in town, could only dream about. It had factory bucket seats, the Rally cluster package with all the gauges and the first AM/FM radio I have ever seen in my life. I mean the first AM/FM radio I have seen period, not just in a car.
The problem here is that once Jerry got this car, his already big over-inflated ego just seemed to get even more inflated. Like someone attached it to an industrial air compressor. He was on the football team, probably because his parents made a large cash donation to the school and he was sort of smart. Smart in a sort of geeky, makes you want to kick his ass sort of way. He too had his eye on Debbie. After all, he may have been a total asshole, but he was a guy.
I had known Debbie practically all my life. We grew up in the same small town where literally everybody knew everybody. We had actually dated a bit, but never seriously romantic. Teenage stuff. Jerry and his family only moved into the area about five years before, presumably to open the diner. Since Jerry got his GTO, there was no doubt Debbie was paying him more attention. Heck, everyone in town noticed that car. It was hard not to notice a metallic blue GTO in small town Pennsylvania. Someone once told me it was the first 1965 Tri-power 389 in Pennsylvania. His parents supposedly paid the dealer a shit load of extra money to get it. I had no reason to doubt it.
Just when I thought things couldn't get much worse, they somehow did. While coming out of school one day, I saw Debbie getting into Jerry's new GTO. I was heartbroken. I always thought she really liked me, but now I felt I really didn't have a chance. It was more than a month away before I could even get my license, let alone a car.
I tried to immerse myself more into my job at the garage where I was working after school. I tried to get the thought of Jerry and Debbie out of my mind but it was hard. I needed something to come along and give my spirit's a boost.
That event happened about three weeks later. I was working in the garage learning some basic machining, as usual. It was a Thursday afternoon, I still recall all these years later. A customer came in the shop that would change my life. Before I could even see his face, I noticed his car. I generally do that anyway, no matter what kind of car it is. But this day, even more so. This customer pulled into the shop with a 1961 Chevrolet Impala SS 409. White, with red bench seats front and rear with the big Impala insignias emblazoned in chrome. You know the car. The one the Beach Boys sang about, "She's real fine, my 409." Yea, that car.
I started a conversation with the owner as soon as I got done staring. The owner was an older gentleman. I kept thinking what an old guy would want with a car like that, but looking back, the guy was probably 20 years younger than I am now. The guy had brought the car in for some belt squeal, no big deal. 409's were always wearing out something, the damn things had so much torque. He told me he was from out of town and was here visiting family. He also told me the car was for sale.
That last bit of info hit me like a five pound sledge. I stood there for a few minutes completely speechless. When I did finally gather enough nerve to ask him how much he wanted for it, I found out it was a bit more than I had managed to save while working at the shop. I told him I knew someone who would be interested, and took down his name and number. I knew somebody who was interested alright, me. My only hope was that my parents would lend me the difference.
That night I pleaded my case to my parents. I was only short a couple of hundred dollars but that was fairly big money back then. After a bit of negotiation in which I promised I would do everything from mow the lawn to paint the house for the rest of my natural life, I finally had success. I was elated that evening. It was still a couple of weeks before I could get my license, but I was ecstatic. I called the owner and told him I was buying the car. For the next couple of weeks I could barely sleep.
When I finally got my license and the car I remember I spent the whole day cleaning and Simonizing every inch. Believe me, there was a lot of car to wax. You could probably put one of today's cars in the trunk of that thing. I even got the narrow white walls spotless.
I remember my first real drive in the thing. I picked up my friend Jimmy Miller and we drove it down the main drag through town. It had the Borg-Warner four speed and the beast had so much torque it could spin the wheels in second gear for about a mile. Well, one wheel anyway. Those were the days before positraction. I could lay single patches of rubber at will. I felt so cool.
The next day I drove it to school. I felt so proud driving my own car. That day when I got out of school, I drove slowly through the parking lot past all the other guys and girls. I had my friend Jimmy Miller in the car with me. Him and I were pretty inseparable at the time. As I slowly made my way through the lot with the windows down and the radio on, I came across Jerry and Debbie getting into Jerry's new GTO. I slowed to a crawl as I eased past, hoping Debbie would see me. She did and she averted her eyes when she saw me. Jerry noticed me slow down and came up to the car.
"What do we have here?" He asks somewhat sarcastically.
"What does it look like Jerry?" I replied.
"What did your grandmother die and leave you her car?" Jerry asked with a stupid grin on his face.
"Look Jerry, this car can beat your car any day!" I shouted back, somewhat tauntingly.
"Oh yea..." He paused as he spoke, "How would you like to make a wager on that?"
I glanced over at Jimmy for guidance. He was staring out the passenger window probably hoping this was all a dream.
"Sure!" I shouted back, "What do you have in mind?"
I was hoping nothing. I clearly had a bad case of �more balls than brains' at the moment.
"Fifty bucks." Jerry replied with a big shit eating grin, "Fifty bucks says my car can beat yours, sucker."
"Your on." Those were my famous last words for that afternoon.
We arranged to meet later that night at an old road that led to an abandoned coal mine. That was where everyone raced their cars at night.
Jimmy didn't speak much as I drove him home. Something about me being an idiot I think I heard him mutter under his breath. He was probably right. In fact, I was sure he was right. The 389 Tri-power had more torque and less weight than my 409. I didn't even know where I could come up with the fifty bucks. Heck, that was a lot of money back then. You could buy the used Plymouth of your choice for fifty bucks.
I dropped Jimmy off at his house. He told me I was an idiot once more before getting out of the car and heading towards his house.