Old Blue

It was the early 1990’s. MTV was still relevant (well, to some people), and for some reason, girls did this thing with their bangs, making their foreheads look like they were sprouting something that resembled the mushroom cloud seen over Hiroshima after we dropped the atomic bomb. Due to this strange follicle phenomenon, I would argue big hair was so important at the time, the years 1987-1993 should have been called the Aqua Net era. In fact, I bet if you were savvy enough to have bought stock in hair spray prior to the early 1990s the hairspray consumed by teenage girls and hair metal bands alone probably set you up financially for life. It was during this ozone layer depleting era that I encountered the car with the most character I have ever known. This vehicle belonged to my high school best friend, Doug. It was a 1964 Plymouth Valiant complete with push button transmission. If you are not familiar with the Plymouth Valiant, it was inexpensive, no frills grocery getter. I guess you could say it was the 1960’s equivalent of today’s Hyundai Accent.

Now, Doug named his Valiant, Blue which is funny because to my knowledge, Blue was never actually blue in color. It’s hard to describe the actual color of Blue’s exterior because I don’t think Blue had been washed since before disco became popular. Looking back, I honestly think if Doug would’ve washed that car, it probably would have fallen apart as the dirt, grease and grime had melded into some kind of glue that somehow held Blue together. To the observer, Blue’s actual paint was somewhere between beige and root beer brown. The interior? Blue was upholstered in Duct tape with hints of brownish cushion material. Blue had a unique smell I can only describe as a combination of musty dirt, WD40, weed, and exhaust. I remember the car’s inner workings well because Blue’s advanced age meant spending many hours in the auto part store and under her hood. Blue was powered by a 225 cubic inch slant 6 that could hit freeway speed when the car gods answered our prayers and if breaking the laws of physics could be pled down to a misdemeanor.

While a lot of kids at our high school drove newer Civics, Corollas, and muscle cars built by daddy, Blue was a hand-me-down from Doug’s dad. To say that Blue was ugly is an insult to ugly. Everyone knew that Blue was a jalopy of the lowest order and Doug was proud of it. My first sight of Blue was freshman year, I remember seeing her at the side of their house. Her tires were flat, her windows covered in bird droppings, and weeds somehow found their way through a hole in the floorboards and sprouted to almost steering wheel height. As trailer park larvae I was accustomed to seeing cars in various states of dereliction around. F at least Blue wasn’t up on blocks in the front yard. After that, I didn’t think too much about the sad old bucket. That is until the summer of junior year.

You see, Doug’s family were only slightly better off than my own, so buying Doug a decent, safe, legal, car wasn’t going to happen. However, Doug’s dad was that rare and dying breed of human known as a, Back Yard Mechanic. What Doug’s dad lacked in education, charm, and sobriety he more than made up for in pure mechanical genius. So, that summer Doug and his dad weeded the fox tails out Blue, “Fabricated” new floorboards, freshened up the interior with new duct tape, and somehow managed to Dr. Frankenstein the Valiant with a, “Functioning engine.” In the name of safety, Blue was gifted the best $400 set of tires Doug’s dad’s SEARS card could buy. Finally, after many busted knuckles, a whole lot of foul language, and what was likely a bribe of some kind to the DMV inspection person, Blue was deemed to be road worthy. Oh, but Blue did get a bit of an upgrade. Being a connoisseur of heavy metal, Doug used his birthday money (and likely the allowance money he normally budgeted for skunk weed) to buy an impressive Pioneer stereo system and new speakers. Without a doubt, that the stereo system cost more than the car’s Blue Book value.

With driver’s license in hand, Doug drove Blue over to my place of residence. He was so proud of that car. So, off we went with Megadeth blaring, no air conditioning, but filled with a sense of confidence and freedom one could only get from too much testosterone and what was likely a touch of carbon monoxide poisoning from an exhaust leak near the still somewhat porous floorboards.

Doug would eventually relate the story his dad told him where he found out there was a better than average chance he was conceived in the back seat of Blue. So, Blue was more than just a car. Blue was family, so as a friend, I came to love Blue too. You just couldn’t make me go near the back seat.

For the next two years, Blue carried us to and from high school. At first, Blue was laughed at by our high school peers, but then she became like a puppy born with an extra leg growing out its back. Sure, she was repulsive to behold at first, but eventually her character came out and she became adored by the masses. The personality of that car made us all overlook the omnipresent smell of weed, the total lack of safety equipment, and the fact that she occasionally decided to reject a carburetor, alternator, or muffler (usually at the worse time) for no reason.

We had a lot of fun in that car. Blue successfully made the voyage from Redding to Sacramento to see AC/DC and then later (unbeknownst to our parents) to see them again in San Jose. Blue took us to Whiskey Town Lake for the stereotypical cheap beer and someone losing their virginity in the public restroom party. We also cruised around Hilltop Drive in Redding on Saturday nights. While some blared Young MC or whatever vapid garbage was being spewed on MTV from their mini trucks, we unpopularly blared Slayer, Megadeth, Sabbath, and AC/DC. Though our music caused us to be accused worshipping the devil, we graciously explained that worship was too strong a word, but we were big fans of his work. After all that criticism, guess who would feel the most embarrassment about their musical choices when they grew up? Oh, and before I forget, I’m not sure what magic Blue possessed, but that car somehow drew girls in like copper wire draws in tweakers, meaning Doug rarely needed a vacancy sign for the back seat.

Sadly, I haven’t seen Blue in more than 30 years. As happens as we grow into adulthood, I lost contact with Doug when he joined the military (who said you can’t successfully pray for a clean drug test?). Wherever he is, I would like to think that Doug still has Blue. In fact, I hope Doug’s first born was conceived in that old Valiant’s back seat. I would also like to think that maybe Doug has passed Blue on to one of his kids and his first grandchild (after a thorough cleaning) was or will be conceived in her back seat. Call me old-fashioned but some traditions just need to be carried on.

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