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Chapter
3
"The eagle has
landed."
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My new owner drove me south to my new home
located on Florida's booming Atlantic coast.
Steve was an engineer who worked for NASA at the
Kennedy Space Center. When not working Steve's one enduring passion was surfing.
However he was always reluctant to take me to the
beach because of the salt air.
We would see old rusted-out cruisers parked along
the shoreline and just shake our heads.
"You never want to look like that," he
would say. Those
infrequent times Steve did take me to the beach, he
always would scrub me down thoroughly afterwards to
remove any trace of salt.
I loved the beach scene but my main concern was
my immaculate appearance.
After
an intense decade-long national effort to conquer space,
the defining moment was at hand.
It was an exciting time as the anticipation of
Man actually landing on the Moon engrossed the nation.
Parked at the Cape while Steve was at work, my
daily waits were punctuated by admirers who would
continually stop to check me out.
I took it all in stride and paid little
attention. However
one afternoon just a few days before the moon-launch two
men approached. I sensed immediately that they "didn't fit".
I then overheard one say to the other, "This
car is a good example of capitalism's decadence,
Comrade." Comrade!
As I quickly contemplated what to do, I glimpsed
a police patrol car approaching. Without a moment's
hesitation I blew my horn.
As the startled comrades fled from the blaring
din I was creating, the patrol car quickly pursued and
stopped them. Soon
the entire area was swarming with FBI and CIA agents.
It was a beautiful Florida morning when at 9:32 a.m.
Steve and I watched Apollo 11 blast off.
As I watched the gigantic Saturn rocket ascend I
felt an extra burst of pride.
Had my actions a few days earlier played a
pivotal role in this, Man's greatest scientific
achievement? I
will probably never know the answer to this question.
But one thing I do know.
Those immortal words were spoken on July 20,
1969, as scheduled -- and maybe, just maybe, my quick
action made the difference.
"The Eagle has landed."
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Chapter
4
One Last Spin
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It was early 1973 when Steve decided to trade me
in. While I
would miss Steve and the excitement of Cape Kennedy, I
was thrilled to learn my new owner would be taking me
cross-country to Southern California.
He was in fact an assistant to President Nixon
and was on the staff of the Summer White House at San
Clemente. As
I basked in the warm California sun and drank in the
endless expanse of the blue Pacific, I reveled in the
good fortune that was once more mine. My new owner was also a surfer, so I soon found myself
spending long hours parked along the shoreline.
I now accepted the reality that the salt air was
beginning to take its toll on my skin.
However it was only cosmetic.
Under my hood a still strong heart powered my
body with youthful ease.
"That's
a nice car; you have there."
The voice was unmistakable -- it was the
President! "Would you mind if I took it for a drive sometime?"
Over the next year and a half
"sometime" turned out to be every time the
President visited San Clemente.
Mired in the Watergate scandal, I think slipping
behind my wheel and heading up and down the Coast
Highway was a true catharsis for the beleaguered
President. Dutifully
followed by a string of Secret Service cars, more than
once Mr. Nixon stomped on the gas and watched in my
rearview mirror as the followers faded from view. It was a side of the President no one would have ever
imagined. But
soon the President's disciplined personality would take
over as he slowed down to allow the Secret Service
caravan catch up.
In August of 1974 President Nixon resigned. Returning to San Clemente Mr. Nixon asked to take me for one
last spin. Driving
along the Coast Highway, only one Secret Service car
followed. As
he put the pedal to the metal for the last time, Citizen
Nixon did not slow down.
Several hours later we quietly slipped back into
his San Clemente compound. "It was great to escape for a while.
I feel so much better."
My famous friend then quietly whispered as we
parted for the final time, "Thank you." It was all very sad. I
was glad I had been able to help maybe just a little.
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Chapter
5
Everywhere
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MMustang Sally, Man on the Moon, a momentary
respite for a President.
What an exciting life my first decade had been.
Now however, the quality of my existence began a
rapid decline. My
next owner lived in Nevada and, quite frankly was
abusive. His
only interest seemed to be "peeling out".
I was still very muscular and able, but maximum
exertion at every green light was a bit much.
A slightly gentler owner who lived in Illinois
followed. However
this fellow was an avid fisherman who would carelessly
throw his wet slimy catch in my back seat.
Soon I took on a distinct aroma that did not make
me popular with many people -- but I was a favorite
among the neighborhood cats!
Memories
of ensuing owners have now mercifully faded into a blur. Each seemed to treat me with progressively lessening respect.
The only one worthy of mention bought me in the
mid-eighties. It
wasn't that he treated me especially well, but at least
he did have an interesting occupation.
He was a movie stunt-car driver.
And while he used a wide variety of cars to
perform his stunts, he often planned and practiced his
stunts with me. I
personally made it to the silver screen several times,
although my appearances were limited to very forgettable
Grade-B movies. I
have always envied the '68 Mustang Fastback driven by
Steve McQueen during the lengthy chase-scene in "Bullitt",
but I guess my lasting claim to fame will be a hit
record rather than a blockbuster movie.
As the years passed painfully by the people who drove me
seemed interested almost entirely in my physical
strength, ignoring my deeply flawed cosmetic appearance.
I crisscrossed the length and breadth of our
great nation numerous times, much of it at breakneck
speed. "Reno,
Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow,
Sarasota" -- I was Mustang Sally, but I could have
the inspiration for another popular song: "I've
been everywhere, man. Crossed the deserts bare, man. I've breathed the mountain air, man. Travel -- I've had my share, man. I've been everywhere.
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Chapter
6
Heart Attack
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The end came suddenly.
As the quality of my life continued to sink lower
and lower, I found myself being raced more frequently --
most of the time in impromptu road challenges.
I even had one owner who went so far as to enter
me in local stock car races.
Alas, the day came when I could compete no longer
and my tired heart suffered what all thought was a fatal
attack. Not
wishing to repair the thrown rod in my engine, and not
finding any ready buyers due to the condition of my
body, my owner simply towed me to a small-town junkyard
in rural New Hampshire.
"I can be saved," I wanted to cry out.
"I can be revived!"
With the passage of time however, I slowly lost
hope. Few
people visited the junkyard, although in a way that was
a blessing. It meant I didn't have too many parts stripped off me.
I considered myself lucky that there were no car
compactors in the area!
The
endless seasons came and went.
I felt as though I was welded to the ground I sat
on. Summers
were pleasant enough, but the harsh winters were
simply unbearable.
Snowflakes trickled in through the tears in my
canvas top and formed mini-snowdrifts on my torn and
tattered upholstery. I existed in a hibernation-like state. In the summertime I was overrun with nearly every species of
insect and small varmint known to Man, but in the dead
of winter even they abandoned me.
Years passed, yet miraculously I was still pretty
much whole. But
who would want a car that didn't run, whose engine was
in need of major repair, and whose body was scarred and
rusted to the max?
I often thought of my early years.
I was after all "Sally's Mustang".
Of all my owners Sally was still the one most
often in my thoughts.
"This will make a cool surfmobile for the Outer
Banks." What?!
What was this kid talking about?
Surfmobile?
Outer Banks?
An hour later air had been pumped in my long-flat
tires, and for the first time in years I moved. With a pickup truck in the lead I was "Under Tow"
and on my way to North Carolina.
From snow to surf -- from oblivion to renewed
life. I had
been reborn!
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Chapter
7
A Fine Timepiece
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"Repairing your motor won't be that difficult.
But fixing your body is for sure not worth it.
In fact it's almost hopeless.
Besides you'd just rust out all over again
anyway." Fine
with me. I
knew my appearance was a disaster, but I could have
cared less. Fate
had given me a second chance at life.
I just chuckled to myself as I recalled how vain
I had been about my looks in my youth.
It turned out my saviors were two brothers named
Darrel and RJ, and in no time they had my mighty V-8
running with the precision of a fine timepiece.
Darrel managed an Outer Bank tourist shop, while
RJ was still in school. However
both lived for the hours they could spend surfing.
Waiting at shore's edge, I would remember fondly
the surfing scene in Florida and Southern California all
those years before.
I had been given a second chance at life.
I now eagerly drank in the corrosive but
exhilarating salt air I had once sought so hard to
avoid. Yet
despite my catastrophic cosmetic appearance I still
turned heads. People
were constantly photographing me.
I knew they perceived me as the embodiment of
what a genuine surfing cruiser is.
I've seen many restored Mustangs -- as shiny and
sharp as the day they were born.
Some even have surfboards strapped on -- although
often it's merely for show.
When they get home I know that their owners
thoroughly scrub away all traces of salt -- just as
Steve used to scrub me three decades earlier.
However I wear my scars and wrinkles proudly.
To me they are hard-earned character lines that
reflect the wisdom that comes only with living a long
and sometimes hard life.
"Aloha! Better start practicing your
Hawaiian," Darrel announced.
"We're on our way to Maui!"
I couldn't believe my ears.
It seems that Darrel's aunt, whose nickname was
"Sis", was a retired Army Colonel who now
lived in Lahaina. She
had encouraged Darrel to make the move and, what’s
more, she insisted Darrell bring me along!
It turns out she had once owned a Mustang just
like me – the same color even.
She understood how attached Darrel and I had
become.
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Chapter
8
She Was Right
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Maui is everything I ever dreamed of.
Gorgeous weather, beautiful people -- and most of
all, fantastic beaches with the most awesome waves on
the planet. From
Makena to Puamana, from Kanaha to Hookipa and beyond --
Maui and its surfing beaches are truly Paradise.
I especially love the pounding surf that the
winter storms generate along the North Shore.
Waves of fifteen to twenty feet and higher crash
along the shoreline and my adrenaline flows.
But whatever the season and whatever sets may be
breaking, zipping all around the island top-down is
truly Heaven on Earth.
Actually it’s always top-down for me, as the
mechanism to raise and lower my torn and tattered canvas
top has been broken for years.
But who cares?
An occasional tropical shower is delightfully
refreshing!
As I conclude my life's story, at least up till now, I
do so with a smile. However
I am not referring to the smile I wear.
Rather I'm talking about someone else's very
special smile. For
you see, when I met Darrel's Aunt Sis for the
first time, the coquettish smile that came across her
face was unmistakable.
It was the same smile I had seen each night in
that Memphis dealer's showroom nearly forty years
earlier. Yes,
Aunt Sis' real name is Sally -- and we knew each other
instantly. What
were the chances we would ever find each other again? I never believed it could happen, but Sally’s faith simply
would not be denied.
"I
started calling myself Sis shortly after we
parted", Sally told me.
"When people learned my name was Sally most
of them would immediately nickname me Mustang Sally.
It was just too painful."
Sally paused. A reflective expression came over her face.
"I have regretted losing you all my life,
but I always knew someday I would find you and we would
be together again."
Sally and I have never told anyone our precious
secret, not even Darrel. It makes everything even more special – more intimate.
Sally has made Darrel promise that when he
decides to sell me someday, as inevitably he will, he
will sell me only to Sally.
We will be together forever -- and for all time
it will be her, me and "Ride, Sally, Ride!"
--
The End --
(Copyright
1999-2008)
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