02/08/99

A Teen's Dream Machine

In response to: "Wait! Someday It Might Be Valuable!" (1/22/99)

I sent my daughter Nikki a copy of the story I wrote about the twenty-five dollar Isetta, and it prompted her to write a story of her own, about her first car. "How do you like it?" she wanted to know.

I'll let you be the judge. Additional reader comments follow.

Murray
by Nikki Bruno

Standing outside my high school's parking lot door at 2:09 each afternoon, all I had to do was snap my fingers, and Murray would growl to attention and slide up driverless to the curb where I and my astonished passengers stood. Or so the myth was told.

Murray was my first car. I bought him for $250, the total fruits of my life-long attempt at a savings account, from the father of an English teacher at my high school. My dad and I went to check out the car, which hadn't been driven for over a year, and take him to a mechanic for a safety inspection and list of recommended repairs. When I turned the key for our virgin voyage, Murray ground to life with an unexpected animate chattering sound! Two chipmunks, who had made their nest in the car's innards, flew from underneath Murray to make room for his new owner: a barely 16-year-old hopeful driver with the glint of Independence in her eye.

As the chipmunks made a new home, I moved happily into Murray, a 1983 Chrysler Cordoba, heavy enough to take out a telephone pole in a one-on-one match-up. While some of my peers' vehicles were brand new or sporty, Murray took the prize for character. I remember him for his quirks: the quilted pattern made by the staples I used to re-attach the cloth covering on his squishy roof; the way his left-hand turn signal lever eased into position without the satisfying "click" of the right; and the selective functionality, depending on his mood and the weather, of his ponderous electric windows. Murray's steering wheel had so much play that a quarter turn barely affected his path. He stalled, without fail, the first time I put him in reverse each morning. I'll never understand why cars and ships traditionally have female names. Murray was undoubtedly masculine, right down to the way he eyed the rear fenders of ice-blue Honda Civics.

The best thing about Murray, though, was that he RAN. My friends and I could tool, cruise, and roar back and forth, to and from, the beach, volleyball practice, movie theaters, one of many local diners, our first trip to the 18-and-over Club 2001, and innumerable other suburban destinations. As long as I filled his tank with $20 worth of gas every 30 miles or so, Murray was there for me.

After I left for college, my parents donated Murray to a charity auction, where he sold for a cool $800. I like to think he's back on the road, winking at sleek fenders, with another green but determined 16-year-old at the wheel.

It's unlikely that I will ever again drive such a macho machine. I mean no disloyalty to Sophie, my new Civic and second automobile love, when I say that Murray will always hold a special place in my heart.

***

Restore a car; restore a family

My favorite car from my youth was a 1967 Rambler American that was assigned mostly to me during my high school years (the 70's). It was a white 'sedan' style with Blue interior. Being an incredibly independent soul, I loved it because it was a sturdy car that I could take care of myself. If a fan belt blew, I could easily fix it. I'd push it to the side of the road and do whatever I needed to do. Even though it was several years old, it rarely caused me any inconvenience. It was sturdy, reliable and comfortable. What most people remember was that it had reclining front seats (an unusual feature then). The Rambler is not considered a particularly desirable car unless you are a true Rambler 'Cult' Member like I am. I have always missed that car even though I have owned others with many fancier features since then. So, imagine my pleasure when my husband bought me a 1963 Rambler American 440 Convertible for Christmas last year. (It is the car they drive on Third Rock From the Sun!) We are restoring it and hope to drive it by summer. It's a 35-year-old car with NO BODY ROT! It will still be worth quite a bit when restored. I cannot wait to drive it.

Another plus is that the Rambler's restoration has become a family project. Not only do my husband and children spend almost every night working on it (the boys will even leave the Nintendo), but we've sent the extended family and interested friends a list of parts, so they can search for odd pieces all over the country when they travel. We're taking pictures to show everyone what we've done, from start to finish. I recommend a project like this for any family.

---

Loves his Falcon

I have a 1963 Falcon Sprint Convertible. I paid too much for it, but it was what my son and I wanted. For more information on these wonderful old cars, get in touch with the Falcon Club of America at their web site: http://www.falconclub.com

---

Coulda, shoulda, woulda!

My dad was stationed in Japan during the early 50's. He met a man while there who was talking about starting a camera company. The man asked my dad if he was interested. Dad, who had no money at the time, turned him down.

The guy's name was Nikon.

Please send questions or comments to bbruno@snet.net.