Wow! All incredible stories. So here's mine.
My first Mustang was almost identical to the original "Eleanor" that starred in the 1974 movie "Gone in Sixty Seconds." It was a medium yellow gold 1972 Q code Mach I that I bought off a used car lot on Canal Street in New Orleans my junior year in high school in 1977. The car served me well in high school and I loved it. I knew nothing about working on cars, however, so when the time came to rebuild the engine I paid a guy to teach me how to rebuild it. It turned out not only was he a Pothead, but he didn't know much more than me about building an engine. I later found out that when he reassembled the engine, he mismatched all the connecting rods and rod caps. The motor was obviously extremely tight when I first fired it up, so we decided to take the car for a drive to "break the motor in."
It was a hot Sunday afternoon in Slidell, LA. As I turned onto West Hall ave, a small two lane road going through a rural area of town, a Black 72 Charger loaded with some black dudes pulled up alongside me and the Pothead. We hit it and I managed to take them and passed in front of them. As I was flying down Hall Ave., my eye caught the glimpse of a 1974 White Ford LTD State Trooper with small lightning bolts decaled all down his front passenger fender (I can't remember what those were for, maybe one for each stupid white kid he caught trying to outrun him). I saw the red lights come on, and I downshifted and floored it. I was doing 90 down this small road and no longer saw the trooper's lights. I was almost in the clear. All of a sudden I saw a big red and yellow barricade right in front of me, so I slammed on the brakes and swerved the car to the left, missing the barricade by a few feet.
The road ahead was clear. All I had to do was make a few turns and back track home, and I would be free as a bird. Unfortunately, the car had killed and would not crank. You see, the motor got so hot that all the freeze plugs popped out, and there was antifreeze everywhere. I told the Pothead to get out and help me push the car, but he just looked at me with a blank stare. That three minutes it took for the State Trooper to come flying around the curve was the longest three minutes of my life! I asked the Pothead to go get some money to bail me out of jail, and I took a trip to jail in the trooper's car. All the way there I asked him about what motor he had in his car and how it was built. He said his name was "Trooper McGee." Apparently he was running for Sheriff. On the way to jail, I noticed yard signs with his face on it, and the words "Trooper McGee, you'll get the best in me!" He booked me, and I shared my cell with an old drunk named "Clyde," who wasn't much of a conversationalist. Having been there a few hours, I was getting hungry, so I asked the guard for some lunch, to which he replied, "This ain't no country club, boy!"
Pothead showed up around midnight to bail me out of jail, and he drove me home and luckily my folks didn't know what had happened. Pothead kept hounding me for the money he gave me to get out of jail, but I kept stalling him. Heck, I didn't have a job, and I sure wasn't going to ask my Dad for the money! About a month later, Pothead's car was in my driveway. That was quite unusual. We weren't really good friends, and he had never been to my house before. As I walked through the front door, Pothead was at the table with my Mom and Dad, and they had troubled looks on their faces. Then my Dad looked at me over the top of his glasses, like he always did when he was mad at me, and he said these words: "Kevin, we know." Only the "know" seemed to go on forever, like Kevin, we noooooooooo." Pothead left with his money from my Dad, and we never spoke after that.
You'd think that was the end of the story, but you would be wrong. You see, I forgot about the court date and did not show up, which led to the embarrassment of a police officer showing up to my house while my parents were there and yelling at me for failing to appear in court. This of course led to more fines. My court date was rescheduled, and when I appeared, the judge, to my surprise, didn't seem to like me very much, and seemed intent on inflicking as much pain and suffering on me as possible. I think the tickets were over $600, and my license was yanked for a month and I was put on probation for a year. The judge told me he had better never see me in his chambers again. The whole thing was quite unnerving.
Luckily, as I was a minor, nothing went on my permanent record and my parents still continued to love and forgive me like they always did. It became something we would laugh about over the dinner table years later. I have about ten such stories to tell, but no time left today.