A few days ago I wrote about a little reminiscing, and in that trip to the past I mentioned my 1967 Ford Mustang.
It was a very peasant little memory and I was happy to share it with my friends and regular readers to my blog.
I get a lot of comments about my posts, mostly by email as it seems not a whole lot of folks want to comment on the blog itself. That's ok with me, because for the most part the emails I've gotten are positive and I'm not really seeking recognition anyway.
But I do get some negative stuff. Most of that is pretty hilarious. I'm saving a whole slew of them and will post them on a later date. Mostly its stuff like "Ah, you're full of shit! You've got to making this shit up!"
Well, I DO NOT make any of this stuff up. I may omit names and places, and change some stuff around slightly (for obvious reasons) but I never make any of this stuff up.
So yesterday I get this email.
This guy must read my blog every day and formulate his hate mail for hours. I have no idea who it is, but besides being borderline illiterate, has no idea who I am or what I've done, so in essence he talks like a man with a paper asshole, to quote my Dad.
"Tom, you NEVER had a 1967 Mustang! Stop your lying!"
Oh really, Asshole?
Look up at the picture. There it is. That picture was taken in my best friend's driveway sometime in the summer of 1983. The roof is half red primer, half red paint because I was in the middle of re-doing the roof because the white vinyl top was trashed. It's missing the hubcaps from the driver's side because they were stolen earlier that year.
Typical of Mustangs, both rear quarter panels were rusted and filled with bondo, as were the front shock towers loaded with rust also. Both front floorpans had holes so big I used to toss my beer cans out that way and would get splashed with water sometimes during a good rain.
My brother and I had just recently re-did the whole top end of the 289 CID V-8 because it was burning about four quarts of oil a day and would leave a huge cloud of grey smoke on my block every time I started it, but it ran cherry after we did the valve-job. It had a Ford C-4 automatic transmission that shifted squirrelly from a standstill when it was cold. At the time I wished it had been a 5-speed, but thankful now that it wasn't because my left calf would have been enormous and I'd have never gotten it out of second gear living in Philadelphia.
I paid $750 for it from the neighbor who lived across the street from me. I can't remember her name, but if you'd like I'll do a title search for you, and you can ask her if I really bought it.
I sold it to another soldier I was in the army with at Ft. Stewart, GA in 1986 because I couldn't go through another Georgia summer with the all-black vinyl interior and no air conditioning. (Just one time jumping on that seat with shorts will make you a believer in cloth upholstery!) I can't remember his name either, so you're out of luck there.
The license plate number was (PA) NNV 558 and the last year it was registered in Pennsylvania was 1986. Check with the PA DMV on that too.
Are you completely satisfied now that you've totally fucked up a very pleasant memory from my childhood?
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden