I bought my first car, a 1969 Chevy Nova coupe, in early 1975 when I was 19 years old.
My younger brother, Keith, and I had been previously “sharing” our family’s second vehicle, a blue Buick station wagon. Keith was in several rock and jazz bands that he practiced with after his high school classes and I was working part-time at K-Mart while attending Baker College full-time.
Keith’s idea of sharing the station wagon was that he would bring it back in the late evening, with the gas tank on empty, and I would discover the low fuel situation at 6:30 in the morning when I was rushing to get to my college classes on time.
Keith got an allowance from my parents, plus he earned a little bit of money from his band gigs, but somehow none of that ever seemed to go into the gas tank.
I complained many times about the unfairness of this situation to my parents but I was told to work it out with Keith. So after several arguments with him, I said to hell with this and I began to go through the newspaper ads for a car that I could afford.
I found the ad for the Nova and after I had my mechanic ex-boyfriend thoroughly check it over, I then bargained with the seller to reduce the price to $700 from the original asking price of $900.
The car was in really great shape with low miles which was why it was priced a bit high at that time for an almost 6 year old vehicle.
But the seller had a daughter in college too and I think he empathized with my similar situation when I told him why I badly needed a car of my own to be able to get to my classes and my job without constantly worrying about putting gas in it every morning.
So after giving the seller $100 as a down payment, I made arrangements with my local Genesee Bank branch to take out a car loan for the rest of the amount.
It may seem funny now to have to take out a loan for $600 but back then the minimum wage was only $2.00 an hour and I was only working 20 hours a week for a whopping $40 a week paycheck, before taxes. That added up to approximately $140 a month after taxes.
I felt like such a proud newbie adult signing the car loan papers, giving the seller the remaining money owed and then taking care of the registration and the title transfer at the Secretary of State’s office.
I loved my Nova! She was a very pretty light silvery-green color with a green interior. Someone had previously put in light green shag carpeting and shag carpeting was the really “in” thing during the 1970’s.
I found dark green long-furred footprint stickers and I put them in the silliest places on the inside of my car. There were footprints like an Irish dwarf had staggered upside down on the ceiling and then all down the seat backs.
I bought an over-the-hump tray that I put up in front of the bench seat that had 2 cup holders, a place to hold notepads and pens as well as slots to hold approximately ten 8-track tapes.
I also bought a florescent orange ping pong ball with a huge smiley face on it to put over the top of my car antenna. Smiley face anythings were also very popular in the 70’s.
I bought a first-aid kit, tire gauge, jumper cables, new windshield wipers, and a snow scraper too. So not only did I buy fun, decorative things, I also bought responsible, necessary items.
I also arranged for full-coverage car insurance through my dad’s long-time agent with State Farm Insurance. And it was through that agent that I had my second big blow-up with my dad in less than a year.
My dad was quite old when he finally married and had us kids. I was the oldest of the three and the only girl. He was 43 when I was born so he was already old enough to be my grandfather.
My dad had always been old-fashioned, over-protective, hovering, smothering and authoritative with all of us kids, but most especially with me because I was “his little girl”.
My dad and I had already had a big blow-up about me attending Baker College. He was of the firm belief that girls were supposed to only get married and pop out grand-babies after high school and I was of the equally firm belief that girls, especially this one, did not.
I had just left the State Farm Insurance office with my brand-new-to-me car and I was heading home when that agent called my dad.
He congratulated my dad on raising such a “fine, level-headed, responsible daughter” who had just bought a really nice car and then had done the right thing by paying in cash for a whole year’s worth of full-coverage car insurance.
My dad, who had had no clue that I was even looking at cars to buy, didn’t let on at all that he had no idea what that agent was talking about but thanked him for the compliment and then quickly got off the phone.
I arrived about 15 minutes later, bursting with pride, and eager to show my new-old car to my parents and my brothers. My dad, however, was eager to go up one side of me and down the other.
I ran into the house yelling, “Hey everybody, come on out and see what I got!” My parents and my brothers quickly ran outside and their jaws dropped with amazement that I had bought a car!
I was excitedly opening all of the doors, the hood and the trunk, yammering on about the small block V-8 307 engine, how it had a bit of kick to it but that it would save on gas (this was during the gas embargo and saving gas was becoming quite important for the first time in the United States).
I also showed off all the purchases I had bought and I made my brothers crack up laughing when I demonstrated where I was going to place the green hairy footprint stickers.
I eventually noticed that my dad was being very unnaturally quiet. He was also not as enthusiastic as my mom and my brothers and had not joined in the admiring oohs and aahs.
So when things became too quiet, I cleared my throat and I asked my dad, “So how do you like my car?”
He scowled at me as he replied, “I cannot believe you would ever buy a car without me with you to give you advice. What do you know about cars?”
Stung, I huffily told him, “I know more about cars than you apparently believe I do, Dad. You taught me a bit about cars but I know that you will be even more relieved to hear that Bob (my mechanic ex-boyfriend who my dad knew and trusted explicitly with his own cars) gave it a thorough going over and he strongly recommended that I purchase it.”
My dad scowled even more severely at me. “You still should have taken me with you. People have been scammed into buying cars and then have received fake titles or you could have been robbed of your money and then hit over the head. You had no business buying a car on your own!”
When I was much older, I later realized that my dad was more hurt than angry with me that I had not included him in what he considered to be an important “male” chore: the purchasing of a car.
He had never consulted with my mom before purchasing any of our vehicles and he assumed that if I was ever going to go out and buy a car of my own, I would naturally want to take him with me for advice and consultation.
But what he didn’t realize either was that I HAD to purchase this car on my own. This was another rite of passage into the world of adults that I needed to do all by myself.
So I became angry back at my dad. “I need this car so that I can go to my job and to my college classes without having to constantly worry that I’m going to run out of gas because Keith never puts a dime into the gas tank of the station wagon we were supposed to be ‘sharing’! You told me to work it out with Keith so this is what I worked out!”
Keith yelled, “Hey, that’s bullshit, I do too put gas in the wagon!” but he shut up when I turned around to glare at him because we both knew he had only done that a couple of times and the amount of gas he bought probably equaled half a gallon total.
My dad threw up his hands as he walked away, yelling at me over his shoulder. “Don’t come running to me when that junk heap breaks down in a month or two!”
“Don’t call my pretty car a junk heap!” I yelled back at him, completely miffed that he had ruined what had been a wonderful day for me.
My brothers then both yelled that they wanted a ride right now so I told them and my mom to get their coats and I would treat them to some McDonald’s to celebrate the purchase of my Nova.
It was so much fun having my own car! I could smoke in it if I wanted to, both legal and illegal substances, and I could never do that in the station wagon. I could go wherever and whenever I wanted to and I never had to worry in the morning if there would be enough gas in the tank.
Having your own car meant FREEDOM! It also meant that you now had extra expenses for car maintenance such as oil changes, tires and their balancing and rotation, tune-ups etc., but those expenses were all worth the price for the freedom and pleasure of owning your first car.
I took care of my car a heckuva lot better than the majority of my friends whose parents had paid for their first, and sometimes, second cars. I took care of my car better because I appreciated what it meant to me more than my friends appreciated theirs.
If you had to work hard to own and then maintain something, you will be more careful with it and you will take care of it much better than if that something was just handed to you for free. That was a very important lesson my Nova gave to me.
My friends and I from high school tried hard to stay in contact and late in the summer of 1976, a good school friend, Marilyn Conley, and I made special plans.
Marilyn and I were going to drive to Detroit in my car to see Bad Company at the State Theater. We also made the proper plans to see one of our favorite groups in the right atmosphere.
We brought some great weed with us and we also brought enough money to purchase beer to drink on the way down to Detroit. We knew the beer prices are always outrageous at concerts so we wanted to get “beered” up before and after, as well as toked up during.
We stopped off at a little beer and wine store before jumping onto the I-75 expressway and Marilyn went in and bought a 6-pack of Budweiser with our combined money.
She cracked open two of the beers for us as soon as I had merged onto the expressway. We both two big sips and then we both immediately spit those sips out in disgust!
The beer was horribly stale! It was nasty! So we tried another pair of beers with the same result. Yuck! We decided to leave the remaining two unopened beers alone and we left them rolling around under Marilyn’s feet in the front passenger side.
Sighing with disappointment, we decided that if necessary, we would check our finances at the theater to see if we could afford to purchase at least one beer there. But at least we had our weed to enjoy as well.
We had a grand time at the concert! Bad Company performed great, and they came back out and played for several encores when the whole crowd kept urging them for more.
Marilyn and I had had one glass of a nice unstale beer early in the concert that we both shared. We also couldn’t get high as we had intended because both of us had forgotten to take our weed out of my glove box in the car before we had walked the several blocks to the theater.
By the time we were inside and settled down, we both groaned in frustration when we realized what we had done, but neither of us wanted to try and venture that long trek back to my car to retrieve our weed. But joints were being freely passed around so we still got a wee bit fucked up during the concert.
It was after midnight when the concert ended and when we finally made it back to my car, we were very tired. I drove back the way we had come to the expressway entrance but on our way, there was a major accident at one of the intersections and the Detroit police waved us and the other cars off down some side streets.
Neither Marilyn nor I are familiar at all with Detroit and we quickly became quite lost. We soon found ourselves in a neighborhood with a whole lot of people sitting on their porches, or hanging out in the streets, who kept staring at Marilyn and I as if we were aliens from another planet!
I jokingly told Marilyn, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” and she nervously laughed in response.
Then a Detroit police cruiser passed us by, saw us, and then backed up to flag us down.
The officer frowned as he asked us, “Do you know somebody who lives in this neighborhood?” I responded, “No sir, we don’t. We were at the Bad Company concert and we were trying to get back on the expressway to head north to go home but because of an accident, we were flagged off to some side streets by another Detroit police cruiser and now we’re lost.”
The officer gave us a snarky laugh as he said, “You’re damn right you’re lost! You two girls should not be in this neighborhood even in the daylight! C’mon, follow me, and I’ll lead you back to the expressway.”
We gratefully thanked him and we followed closely behind him as he snaked his way through this maze of side streets and very soon we saw the signs directing us on how to get to northbound I-75.
The cop lead us right to where we needed to turn onto the expressway and he waved his hand as we beeped at him in appreciation and profound thanks.
We both began giggling in relief at somehow getting ourselves lost in a very bad neighborhood where we had to have a Detroit cop lead us out.
Marilyn asked me if I wanted to fire up a joint but I told her no thanks, I was already a bit tired and I still had 50 more miles to drive to get us home. I told her if she wanted, to go right ahead but she declined because she didn’t want to get high by herself.
It was a Friday night in late summertime. The beginning of each summer weekend in Michigan usually meant many hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic on both the northbound I-75 and U.S. 23 expressways from Detroit and its suburbs as well as from the Ann Arbor region.
Millions of people made those weekend treks to their summer cabins and homes up north on Lakes Huron and Michigan and on the many smaller lakes freckled throughout the northern area of the Lower Peninsula every Friday. Then those same traffic jams were reversed southbound every Sunday.
But since it was so late that Friday/early Saturday morning, the traffic was steady but not as bad as it had been hours earlier. And for that I was very grateful.
But just before we made it to the city limits of Troy, Marilyn somehow dropped the cigarette she was smoking. We were in the center lane in the middle of a large curve while she was scrambling around and feeling around on the floorboard for her cigarette.
I could smell it burning up my shag carpeting and when I hurriedly glanced down, I could see the red burning tip of her cigarette right behind my beverage tray.
I told Marilyn where her cigarette was but she still couldn’t see it or find it. I quickly reached down to grab it with my right hand while holding on to the steering wheel with my left hand.
When I did that though, I accidentally flipped the steering wheel over to the right a bit.
I immediately straightened back up, holding Marilyn’s cigarette out to her with my right hand and then I saw with horror that I was just about to make full contact with the back end of another car in the right lane.
I quick checked my driver side mirror for any cars in the middle lane and I whipped the steering wheel over but I didn’t make it all the way over in time.
The right front of my car caught the left back bumper of that other car and I saw it get pushed forward a bit.
And I don’t know if it was because we were in the middle of the curve, or if it was because I was in the process of moving my Nova back to the middle lane when I hit that other car or if it was a combination of the two factors, but somehow my Nova went into a spin.
At 80 mph. In the middle of a curve. In a fairly steady traffic flow on northbound I-75 on a summertime Friday night. Not good. Not good at all.
My glasses went flying off when we began to spin and I am blind as a bat without them. I had also punctured my radiator because steam was now hazing up from the front of my car.
Marilyn was screaming, and all I could think about while we continued to spin around and around, was that I was pretty sure we were spinning towards the median strip between the north and south bound lanes.
And if I remembered correctly from our trip down to Detroit, the median was very, very steep and dangerous right around the Troy area. Therefore, I had to get my car stopped somehow and somehow fast before we hit that median and flipped over or ended up going into the other southbound lanes.
So I did what I thought was best to get my car stopped as quickly as possible: I jammed on the brakes and then slammed the gear shift into “Park”.
I have never before heard a car literally scream like I heard my poor Nova scream!
She screamed like a metallic devil from hell! Her tranny was ripped open and completely busted to pieces and my Nova shrieked from the pain of it.
And while she, and Marilyn, were both screaming, my Nova then began to harshly jounce up and down like a possessed Jack in the Box.
So with all of the smoke and haze pouring up from my busted radiator, my very blurred vision of what was happening and where we were heading, the screaming of my car and the spine-cracking bouncing, I thought, this is it, we’re going to die. And all because I didn’t want Marilyn’s cigarette to burn a hole in my shag carpeting.
But fairly soon, the jouncing and the bouncing and the screaming ended and my Nova coasted to a slow stop on the left hand shoulder of the expressway, still in the middle of that large curve.
I looked around in amazement! I could not believe that we had not hit another car or had another car hit us while we were spinning. I also could not believe that we had come that close to hitting the median between the north and south sides of the expressway.
I quickly found my glasses and I asked Marilyn if she was okay. She had stopped screaming and was also looking around in a daze, as she nodded yes, she was okay.
I told Marilyn that I was going to have to get out of the car and push it so that it was completely onto the shoulder because I could see that the right rear side was sticking out a little bit into the far left lane when just then BOOM! we got smacked on that right rear side.
Well that pushed us completely onto the shoulder. I told Marilyn to stay in the car as I opened up my door to step out. I only had a few inches of level space to stand on before the shoulder steeply sloped down into that median.
The car I had hit was pulled over onto the right shoulder and the car that had hit us had pulled over onto the left shoulder right ahead of our car.
Amazingly enough neither of those cars had much damage done to them at all! The car I had hit didn’t even have a scratch and the driver, a young girl about our age, yelled over and asked if we were okay and I told her we were fine, how was she?
She replied fine then before we could exchange information or anything, she jumped back into her car and took off!
There were several boys a bit younger than Marilyn and I in the car that had hit us and they all scrambled out to see if we were okay. They were checking out all of the damage to my car when one of them noticed the opened and unopened bottles of beer on the passenger side floor.
“Hey, the cops will be here very soon and you will be carted off to jail if they find that beer! Here, we’ll take it off your hands!” And they grabbed all of the bottles, ran back to their car, yelled that they would call the police for us and then drove off as well!
Astonished at the quick retreat of both of those cars, Marilyn and I could only stare at each other. Then we both began laughing very hard because those boys were going to be very unhappily surprised when they discover that those two remaining bottles of beer were nasty and stale!
But I did, and I still do, gratefully thank them for taking those beer bottles out of my car because I would probably have never remembered them being on the floor.
The car mat still reeked a bit of beer but there was no proof that we had had beer in the car. And the few sips of that stale stuff and the one cup of beer that Marilyn and I had shared many hours earlier would not make me blow anything bad on a Breathalyzer test. So I wasn’t worried that I would be arrested for drunken or even impaired driving.
Not knowing what else to do, Marilyn and I sat in my car waiting for the police to show up But then we remembered about our weed so I took it out of the glove box and asked Marilyn to hide it inside her purse since the cops would be asking me, not her, for my driver’s license.
I also apologized to her for driving like an idiot, that I should not have taken my right hand off the steering wheel and my eyes off the road for those few seconds I took to reach down and get her cigarette.
Marilyn apologized too for dropping her cigarette in the first place and then she asked, “How are we going to get home?”
And I told her, “I was just wondering about that myself. My dad will break our ear drums with his yelling the whole 35 or 40 miles back home and your folks would do the same thing. I know, I have a cousin who lives in the south end of Flint we could call to come get us!”
Two City of Troy police cruisers then pulled up behind us with all of their lights rapidly flashing. An officer each got of the cars and while one officer wrote down our statements as to what had happened, the other officer listed the damage that had been done to our car and then took pictures as well.
When Marilyn and I described how both of those other cars had just up and left us, the officer asked us to repeat that and we did. He acted like he didn’t believe us but how else did my car get so damaged?
That officer asked us to give him any kind of description we could of the other cars and their drivers and their occupants because it was against the law to leave the scene of an accident. Marilyn and I gave them the scant information we had but we couldn’t be very helpful.
The officer examining my car had opened the passenger side door and he sniffed at the faint odor of the beer. He even lifted out the mat but there were no traces of the beer that had just recently been on the mat, only the still remaining slight beer scent.
He closed the passenger door and walked around to examine the damage to the front of my car. He asked me if I had been drinking and I told him, “No, sir, I had not.”
Then he asked, “But you were both coming back from the Bad Company concert, right? Don’t a lot of people your age drink or maybe smoke weed at those types of concerts?” And I told him, “Yes, sir, we had seen that going on there but neither Marilyn nor I had been drinking or smoking weed” with what I hoped was enough sincerity.
He nodded and then he stepped back to take some more Polaroids of the front end of the car and I inwardly heaved a huge sigh of relief.
After they were through examining us and my car, the cops told me that a Troy area tow truck would be by in a little bit to haul my car away so if there were any special belongings I needed to get out of my car, I had better grab them now.
They also said that they would give us a ride to their police station so that we could make phone calls for a ride back home to Flushing. Then the cop who had questioned us ripped off a ticket and handed it to me as he explained that he was issuing me a citation for careless driving and that the instructions on when to appear in court where on the back of the ticket.
Grateful that I was not going to be put in jail for any reason, I thanked him and the other police officer and Marilyn echoed my thanks as well.
I was now too tired and too exhausted from the shock of the whole accident as I stood there just staring at my poor battered car, wondering what on earth did I need to take with me. I did have the presence of mind to grab all of my important insurance papers out of my glove box though.
We called my cousin, David, from the Troy police station and he agreed to come down and get us. Marilyn and I gave him the rest of what little money we had left between the two of us for the gas and we arrived at our homes a bit after 3 in the morning.
I immediately called my insurance agent in the morning and I explained everything to him and told him at what towing company my Nova was now at.
He told me to not worry about a thing, that he would have a State Farm agent down in Troy assess the damage. Then my agent would get back to me within a week but no later than two weeks with a decision regarding a payment for my car if it was totaled or when the repairs would be made to it.
I told him that because it had been so late, there were a few personal items in my trunk like my first-aid kit, my jumper cables, etc., that I had forgotten to take with me.
I asked him if I could at some point drive down to Troy and get them out of my car. He said to wait until he had told me that the agent down there had assessed my car but that after that, I had his permission to then get my personal items.
So I re-read my ticket and I was relieved to find out that the careless driving citation would be less points on my driving record than if the cop had given me a reckless driving ticket. Since this was my first accident and first ticket, I was not in any danger of losing my driver’s license.
My folks yelled at me for getting into an accident and for such a stupid reason as well. I completely agreed with them on that point.
But after they were through yelling at me, I asked my dad if I could borrow his Buick Skylark whenever I was scheduled to work and he grudgingly agreed to loan it to me. My dad was newly retired at this point and he didn’t use his car as much as he used to but I was still grateful that I could borrow it.
I told him it would not be for long because either the insurance company would give me the value of my car back to me in cash or it would pay to have my car repaired as soon as possible.
Unfortunately that did take a helluva lot longer than even the agent had predicted.
I was scheduled to appear in court in Troy in a month. I was hoping to have my car back by then but my agent had still not had the assessment report back from the State Farm office in Troy. But my agent did give me permission to get my first-aid kit, my jumper cables and my snow scraper out of my car when I went to court.
So I asked my boyfriend, Mike Lewis, if he could please drive me down to Troy to court and then out to the towing yard where my car was being held hostage.
I was somehow convinced that I was going to be put in jail, even though my boyfriend laughingly told me that that would not happen. He also told me to say “Nolo Contendere” when I was asked in front of the judge how do I plead to the charges of careless driving.
Perplexed, I said, “Nolo what the hell did you just say?” He repeated it and I asked him, “Okay what does Nolo Contendere mean?” He explained that it meant that I was not pleading innocent or guilty, that I was really pleading “No Contest” which is what Nolo Contendere means in Latin.
Ohhhhkay. So I asked Mike, why should I plead No Contest instead of the guilty that I really am? He said that No Contest just means that I am not admitting either innocence or guilt but that I am not disputing the charge of careless driving.
Mike said that just in case anybody else in those other two cars decide at a later date to sue me, then they can’t use what plea I have given in this careless driving court date against me.
Wow, what a smart boyfriend I have!
I told him, okay, I would respond “No Contest” when asked how do I plead but I would be damned if I was going to say Nolo Contendere because that just sounded pretentious and I would probably trip up my tongue in nervousness trying to say it right.
But I still stammered trying to even say No Contest but nobody cared. I was told to pay a small fine, told I now had four points on my driver’s license and that was it.
I paid the fine and we left the courthouse with me almost literally jumping up and down for joy that I was not put in jail like I had feared.
So we drove out to the towing place and my poor car looked even more sad and pathetic in the daylight. I was getting my stuff out of my trunk while Mike walked around my Nova, whistling and repeating how we were damned lucky that Marilyn and I had not been seriously hurt.
Suddenly we heard somebody yelling, “Hey, hey! You two! Put that trunk lid down right now!” Mike and I turned around and watched this very portly gentleman rapidly trying to waddle towards us.
He ordered me to put my stuff back into the car right now, that I had no right to take anything out of it without his permission because he now owned my car.
My mouth dropped open! “What do you mean you now own my car? It’s my car! I haven’t signed off the title to my car to anybody! Besides, my State Farm insurance agent gave me permission to get my few remaining personal items out of MY car!”
And he angrily said, “This is the way it works. A car that is totaled gets sent to my towing yard. I get the title to the car from the insurance company and then I can decide to either sell it for scrap or repair it and sell it. And anything left in the car when it hits my towing yard is my property.”
Then I just as angrily responded back to him, “My insurance company has not decided yet what to do with MY car. And since you cannot produce a transferred title, it is still MY car. If you would like to call my insurance agent and verify that I was given permission to get MY first aid kit, MY jumper cables and MY snow scraper out of MY car, I would be more than happy to give you the number.”
Then I copied the number down on a scrap of paper I had in my purse and held it out to him. He grabbed it and as he waddled off to make the call, he yelled at us over his shoulder to not try and sneak out of the towing yard because he had two ferocious Dobermans he would just love to sic on us!
So Mike and I sat in my car to wait. We both laughed and agreed that because that man had such a lovely and sweet personality, he must be a constant joy to be with and that he must have a million friends!
We watched him slowly waddle back and the expression on his face gave us clues that he wasn’t too happy with the phone conversation he had just had with my insurance agent.
He said fine, go ahead and just get off his property, he didn’t care if I took those measly things anyways because they weren’t worth much. I tried hard not to smirk at him but I think I failed miserably.
But I still had no car and no money to buy another one. I now began to call my insurance agent every two days, asking what is the hold-up, that my dad was getting antsy because I had to keep borrowing his car so I could get to work, so I need an answer as soon as possible about what to do next.
He told me that the problems were in the Troy office and he could not understand what the hold-up was either. He said that he had received a letter stating that the branch office down there had gone out and taken pictures of my car but that he hadn’t heard a thing since about whether or not my car was going to be declared a total loss or if repairs were going to be made to it. And he was even more angry that his numerous phone calls to that Troy State Farm branch were now not being returned either.
So after another frustrating month, I finally really lost my temper with my agent. I told him that I had chosen State Farm and his office because of the long-time good insurance-related relationship he had had with my dad.
But that if this ridiculous situation was an example of their so-called “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there” rhetoric, then no matter what, I would not consider keeping his insurance company in the future.
My agent sighed and said that he really didn’t blame me for being so angry and that this situation was so not the norm for a claim. He was very angry too that he could not get the answers he needed from his fellow agents down in Troy about my car.
He then said, “I’m going to make an executive decision here. Based on your description of the damages done to the car, I’m going to declare that it has been totaled. So I will issue you a check for the current value of the car in the amount of $800. How does that sound?”
Astonished that he was offering me $100 over what I had originally paid for my Nova, I stammered and said, “I’ll take it! Thank you, oh, thank you so much!”
He said, “Good! Just drop off the title to your car and I’ll show you where to sign off on it and then I’ll have the check out to you in a few days.”
I started crying from the relief of finally having this whole mess just about over and done with. I told him that I would immediately start looking for another car right away and that I wouldn’t consider insuring it with any other company or with any other agent!
So after work the next day, Marilyn drove me around to several car dealers. We first went to Delehanty Pontiac on Pierson Road but there was nothing there that caught my eye.
Then we went to McNally’s Buick and Chevrolet on the corner of Pierson and Flushing Roads.
And that is where I saw my baby, my favorite car for all time, my lovely, speedy, zippy, racy 1972 Chevelle Malibu. Vroom, Vroom!
For some reason I never took a picture of my first car while I had it, but this is a picture taken from Yahoo of a 1969 Chevy Nova coupe with a small block 307 V-8 engine. This is exactly like my car, even down to the silvery light green color!