revised 8/8/08

Yeah, my first car was a '63 Fury. And I've tried to get another. More than once. But I just can't compete. The collectors have driven the prices of these cars to ridiculous levels. Everyone and their brother wants to build a Max Wedge clone (then re-sell it for a tidy profit). And all I wanted was a little piece of my nostalgia. I've all but given up on ever getting one again.

I changed my focus after stumbling on to the Christine Car Club a couple of years ago.

Now, I've read Steven King's novel Christine. More than once - so I'll admit that my interest in those Forward Look late fifties MoPars was influenced by a certain red and white 1958 Plymouth Fury. The folks down at the club just helped to give me a shove. Right over the edge. In a friendly sort of way of course. Thanks alot guys!

But I felt an odd connection with her fictitious owner, Arnie Cunningham as well.

It was the mid 1970s and my stepfather, quite the alcoholic, was moving my family and I constantly (that tends to happen when you're trying to run away from the bill collectors). Which in turn made my life during those teenage years quite difficult. Insane might be a better word. I was always the "new kid" in the neighborhood and making friends was a real pain in the @ss. When I did, it was time to move again. So it's no surprise that I became introverted and withdrawn. It seemed every contact I tried to make just wound up causing me trouble or heartache. This eventually translated to some odd interests, like my own first car. Which I almost literally fell in love with. Like Arnie did with Christine*.

Yeah. King's book gave me a real sense of deja-vu. Still does.

So, to make a long story short - the more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. She's the car I should have had in the first place!

And maybe I should write my own book while I'm at it.


* - I had arranged to move to Florida with my grandparents at the end of the summer, back in '79. They had a home down in Fort Myers and at the time I thought that living in Florida would be the ultimate in cool. We had a pretty heated argument late one summer evening when they informed me, in no uncertain terms that I couldn't take Lynda with me and that I was to put her up for sale. So, as much as I was looking forward to it, I canceled my Florida plans and headed back to Pennsylvania with Lynda instead. There was no way I could ever sell her.

Labels: backstory, Christine, first car, history, Plymouth, TMI