From a Blue Condor to Sports Cars...Part I

From a Blue Condor to Sports Cars...Part I

The thing had a wingspan a California Condor would envy. It was a ridiculous looking car in a year of ridiculous looking cars, the most extreme of which was the 1959 Cadillac El Dorado convertible. My somewhat subdued 57 Bel Aire succumbed to too many mechanical issues to justify saving what was then a seven year old car in an era where the average car lifespan was six.

BTW...I really want that Cadillac. In white with a red and silver interior of course. At this point in my life 1959 didn't seem so bad, and that “in your face” tail and flamboyance was about the last hoorah of American innocence.

Dad didn't ask my opinion, but what showed up in the drive was a four door 59 Chevy...and a lowly Biscayne at that. This thing, in dark blue, was about as Plain Jane as it gets. However, it was nothing if not commodious...about the length of a modern four door, long bed pickup.

A Winged Wonder

But those wings! Absolutely the world's largest sea gull. But as a Gainesville-Miami ferry for up to six college kids with luggage it got the job done...that is until it didn't and became a torch on the Florida Turnpike one night.

I was returning from a weekend home with three or four kids when the car suddenly began to slow down from the steady and legal 70 I had been doing for something like 200 miles. I pulled off on the shoulder and got out to see why, but with my then lack of car knowledge I might as well have been looking at a picture of the car...I didn't even think to open the hood.

Finding nothing obvious, we motored on, and then the car slowed to the point it ground to a stop. This time all of us exited and the symptom, though not the problem, became obvious. The left rear brake drum glowed cherry red for a moment...and then burst into flames. Apparently this baby had not received exactly top notch care and the wheel bearings went dry and then collapsed. Yikes!

We didn't even get our luggage out as the fire rapidly devoured the whole car. It was quite a blaze, lighting up the sky for miles. A lone big rig stopped but unfortunately did not have an extinguisher, though by that point it would have done little good.

The Highway Patrol finally arrived and, after radio calls back to the nearest sub station and patched discussions it was gleaned that there was a Greyhound coming through (don't laugh too hard, it's Florida after all) a place called Yeehaw Junction that was routed through Gainesville. But to make the connection the officer had the cruiser up to 120 except when he had to slow down for a radio call in order for the caller to not hear the wind noise and thus know that he was illegally driving way over the limit with civilians aboard. At that point the speed far exceeded anything I had experienced.

The other kids made the bus; mom and dad ferried one of the Corvairs up; and I motored back to school in that. Obviously a new ride was in order, and while totally freaked out I was not at all sad to be rid of the sea gull. What appeared next was a sort of transition to sports cars...yet another Corvair, but this time a cool Monza coupe which even had a manual tranny with a floor shift. Heck, I didn't even mind that it was only a three speed. It might not have been a true European sports car, but it was a heck of a lot closer than a Chevy Biscayne. 

From a For Sale Listing