"You know, you are not the only one interested in my car." she said matter-of-factly. Well, she didn't yell at me but instead opened her screen door and stepped outside to talk with me. I gulped and said "yes ma'am" and then squinted, almost as if by instinct, like she was going to yell at me. I wanted a car so bad I could taste it but I didn't want her to know that. She looked at me sternly and said "Why, are you interested in purchasing it?" I nervously blurted out my question, asking her if she was interested in selling her car parked in the driveway. To my amazement it read just over 26000 miles! I knew the car was too clean for the speedometer to have rolled over and my suspicions were confirmed later when I talked to the owner.Īfter knocking on the door and waiting for what seemed like an eternity for someone to answer, I was greeted by a little old lady who didn't look tall enough to me to even be able to drive. I peeked through the driver's door window and looked at the speedometer.
This was the closest I had ever been to it now that it was sitting out in the driveway. The interior was mint and the body straight as an arrow. It was equipped with a 307 two barrel V-8 and a Power Glide transmission. This Chevelle was completely stock and still wore it's original paint. I had spotted this car around town every now and then, parked at the grocery store, at church, the post office and driving ultra slow between them all. The car was literally owned by a little old lady, only she wasn't from Pasadena. The car is question was a 1969 Chevelle Malibu 2 door hard top. What if she won't sell it? I'm going to knock on her door. Why didn't she trade it in? I have some money saved up. Had anyone else see it sitting here in plain sight? Maybe it doesn't run anymore.
Did she want to sell it? The car looked filthy. Suddenly my mind was reeling a mile a minute. The older neighbor lady who lived here must have recently purchased a new car and now had to park her old one outside. A virtual light bulb suddenly clicked on above my head. Resting comfortably inside the single car garage was a brand new Buick, still wearing the dealership's paper plates. I cautiously walked up the driveway to get a closer look and realized that the garage door was open. Now I had walked this same route many times before and had even caught a glimpse of this car parked in the garage a few times, but I had never seen it parked outside. Sitting there in plain site I spotted it, the car of my dreams. My bus trip misery suddenly turned around while I was walking home from the bus stop. It was on one of those wintry days that our whale of a wagon would not start and that forced me to take the bus to school. To make matters worse, the wagon was having trouble starting in the mornings, especially if it was cold out. The Spitfire was still quite a ways from being road worthy during the time I was driving the family station wagon, so I was eagerly looking for a running car to replace it with. Triumphs were not that popular but I had no problems locating the parts I needed. Back then the local junkyards were literal treasure troves.
Everything I bought for this car came from a junkyard, including a "new" engine for it. I can't remember how much I paid for it but it wasn't much. It was also my first project car as it was not running when I bought it and needed extensive work to make it road worthy again. The very first car that I purchased, with the help from my dad, was a 1962 Triumph Spitfire convertible.