In case you're wondering, "Step 1" will follow this post. I didn't get it posted in time on its anniversary, even though I tried. In hindsight, I'm halfway okay with that because "Step 2" provides a good lead in to "Step 1."
Step 2
On April 7, 1978 -- thirty years ago today -- I bought this car:
1974 Mustang II, Mach I, Hatchback
It was my favorite type of car in those days, and, as simple and low-budget as it may look to some people, I still love it. I took this picture on April 5, 1978, while it was sitting in my driveway. By then, I had been test driving it for six days (can you believe an auto dealership would let a 17-year-old high-school student test drive a car for that long?).
I paid a grand total of $1,450 (plus interest to the bank, of course, and entirely out of my own pocket), which I thought was a pretty good deal for a four-year-old car (well, maybe five years old, since it was possibly manufactured in 1973). They even replaced that little yellow plastic "gas cap" with a real one ;-), although it only had the gray undercoating since I didn't want to pay a small fortune to have them paint it to match the color of the car.
My purchase of this car was a direct result of an event that had taken place a couple of weeks earlier. That event -- "Breaking Free (Step 1)" -- shall be the subject of my next post.
My ownership of this car also resulted in a really HUGE event -- to be known as "Breaking Free (Step 3)" -- that took place in the summer of 1978. I still find it hard to believe that such an event as "Step 3" ever got past the wishful-thinking phase. I shall tell you that story in another 30th-anniversary post.
Fast Forward to the End
Sadly, this great little Mustang breathed its last on November 25, 1981 (but not in an accident). On that day, I had just left South Dakota State University in Brooking, SD, for the 500-mile drive to western Nebraska for Thanksgiving vacation. Another Nebraska Panhandle resident, "Tim," was carpooling with me, as was "Jennie," a resident of a town in eastern Wyoming. Just twelve miles south of Brookings, on Interstate 29, something in my engine went clank, and my car began losing power. I was only able to go another mile or so before it came to a halt. A tow truck brought it -- and us -- back to Brookings, whereupon we all got in "Tim's" car (coincidentally, a 1976 Mustang) and drove to western Nebaska. This is one of those times in which one must look on the bright side: We were all extremely lucky that my car had died only 12 miles out of town instead of 150 miles out.
My car sat in the university parking lot behind my dorm for the remainder of the school year. My dad then came with his pickup and a trailer and brought it -- and me -- back to Nebraska. I had hoped to get it fixed, but everyone was very pessimistic when I described what had happened. Most of them said it would probably need a new engine. That killed my enthusiasm for taking it somewhere for a professional opinion, especially since I would have had to pull it there (my dad was already living far away in western South Dakota). So I just let it sit in a weed patch and turn to rust. Yes, I felt bad about treating it so poorly after it had done so much for me. Yet, on the other hand, it had definitely done more for me than I had ever dreamed it would, so I still feel it was worth every penny I paid for it.
