Nineteen Sixty-Five Mustang

The story I am about to tell you is as incredible as anything you have ever heard and the fact that I’m the one telling you this story is even more unbelievable.  From my glimmering front bumper to my cherry red tail lights, I am a first generation Ford Mustang, one of the first real muscle cars on the road and for reasons I do not know, became known as a pony car.  I came from the factory in San Jose in 1965 and was purchased by Isaac Reynolds.  Nothing about that is incredible, I know, but what follows is.  I must admit, some of this story is conjecture, because I do not always understand the human world, but I will do my best.

Bill Owens sat at his desk going over his latest sales figures.  For reasons he could not seem to come up with a reason why sales were down on new model Fords like the Fairlane and Falcon which he was told would be the next best thing in the automotive world, but he saw that this did not quite pan out.  Neither model seemed very popular.  

“Mustang?” He shook his head.  Like magic as soon as he spoke, a truck carrying ten new model Mustangs pulled into the lot.  Bill stood there staring at the new cars on the trailer. “What the heck is that?” 

“Mustangs.” His boss told him.

“But they are so small.  Who in their right mind would want one of those contraptions.” He shook his head.

“Apparently they are selling like hot cakes back east.” His boss informed him.

“Yeah, I just don’t see the appeal for our west coast crowd.” He shrugged.

After a month of torrid sales on the new pony car, Isaac Reynolds walked in.  Bill cordially greeted him with a wave, “Hello, I’m Bill Owens.”

“I’m Isaac Reynolds.” The shy teenager shook the salesman’s hand.

“Isaac, is there anything I can show you?” Bill asked as Isaac drifted over to the shiny new Mustang on the sales floor. 

“This is our newest model, the Mustang.” Bill stood next to Isaac.

“I love it.” His voice was soft as a whisper, but his eyes were fixed on the convertible as if he had just fallen deeply in love.

“Do you like this, Isaac?  Would you like to take one for a spin?” Bill asked the bedazzled customer.

“Could I?” His smile grew.  Bill dangled the keys in front of his face.

Even from the first time Isaac turned the key in my ignition and stepped on the gas, I could tell he was a good driver.  In those days Stockton was considered a blue collar town south of Sacramento.  Most of the roads were rough and full of potholes, but Isaac took his time as Bill continued to read off some of my special features.

“This beauty is part of the GT Equipment Package…” Bill explained as Isaac continued to drive down some of the rough Stockton roads.  

“T-code" engine that produced 120 hp with a C-code" 289 cubic inch 4.7 Liter engine and a two-barrel carburetor as the base V8. Comes with an A-code 25 horse powered  four-barrel carburetor…” Bill rattled on about me from the brochure his boss had him memorize. 

Isaac pulled into the lot parking in front of the showroom of the Ford Dealership.  

“Whadda think, kid?” Bill held out his hand as Isaac dropped the keys in his palm. 

“Isaac, I just don’t see what the big deal is about this car.” Isaac brought his father Frank Reynolds into the dealership.

“Wait till you see it, dad.” Isaac was excited as he could be. 

“So, I have seen Fords before and believe me, Fords are nothing to be excited about.” He shook his head.  Bill saw them enter the showroom and was on his feet.

“Good evening, you must be this young man’s father.” Bill shook Frank’s hand.

“Yes.” He carried himself like a Doubting Thomas as he looked into Owens’ eyes.

“Did he tell you about this car?” Bill waved his open hand over the Mustang on the showroom floor. “Here it is.” 

Frand scanned the car, tilted his head and inquired, “So, where’s the rest of the car?”

After some finagling and begging, Isaac managed to purchase me.  His father wondered aloud how come the price was so high, but when Isaac told him he had most of the money saved up from his job at the deli, Frank Reynolds agreed to let his son buy me. 

He drove me to school, whatever that was and came out one afternoon holding Rachel’s hand.  I would learn that Rachel Matthews was Isaac’s girlfriend.  After spending most of the day in the school parking lot where a lot of much bigger cars with fins and chrome, he would come out holding Rachel’s hand and they would go to a burger place where they played the loudest music over speakers as girls on roller skates zipped around between the cars with burgers, fries and shakes.  Isaac always got Rachel a burger and a vanilla shake while he feasted on a really large burger and fries.

“The draft board called me this afternoon.” Isaac said as he put his arm around Rachel.

“What did they want?” She asked, sipping on the straw to her milkshake.

“They asked if I would serve in the army if my number got called.” He turned his head to look at her. 

“And what did you say?” Her face narrowed as she considered he might leave to join the army.

“I said I would be proud to serve.” He sniffed, “Just like my dad did during the war in Europe.” 

She reached out and pulled him closer to her, with tears in her eyes, “Oh Isaac, I would die if you left me.” 

“I ain’t leaving you.  You’d come with me.” He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

“Leave Stockton?  I don’t want to leave Stockton.  All my friends are here.” She sniffed and wiped the tear from her cheek.

“Are you kidding?  Do you want to spend the rest of your life in this dump?” He chuckled.

“This place isn’t so bad.” She shook her head.

“There are other places in the world.  Better places.” He kissed her on the lips.  He knew with his charm, he could talk her into anything. 

So days passed where I would wait until the end of school when he and Rachel would drive off together.  Sometimes they would be content parking on this hill and  spend some time kissing each other.  Rachel would remind him that she needed to get home before dark.  And though Isaac did not seem too eager to comply with her request, he always did what she asked.

One day I learned that Isaac was going to graduate from this school.  I’m not sure what that meant exactly, but he seemed to be very happy with this graduation thing.

I found out that graduation included him getting dressed up in a cap and gown, but all I knew was that he looked rather odd in his costume.  Rachel wore a costume just like his.  There were lots of people at this graduation thing and lots of shouting and cheering went along with it.  Afterwards Rachel and him rode off to a beach near San Jose where they sat on the shore and watched the sunset.

“Are you sure about this?” Rachel asked as Isaac knelt in the sand in front of her.

“As sure as anything.” He kissed her.

“Then yes, I will marry you.” She put her arms around her.

I did not know what was happening, but they continued to kiss as they walked back toward me.  He drove her to a place called a motel along the highway.  I spent the night in the parking lot with a couple of other cars.

“What are you supposed to be?” A big Chevrolet parked nearby asked me.

“A Mustang.” I answered.

“OOO, one of those new models.” The Chevy remarked. “Hear that?  This is the future we’ve been hearing about.”

“I remember when I was new.  All shiny in all my chrome places.” A beat up old Studebaker moaned from the darkest shadows. 

“Yeah, we’ll never see those days again, eh Mona?” The Chevy remarked.

I felt bad parked in that lot, because I knew one day, I would be just like them.

The other cars each commented on who and what I was. 

The next morning Rachel and Isaac came out of their room.

“What are we gonna tell my folks?” Rachel asked.

“That we got hitched.” Isaac grabbed her hand.

“This is just an engagement ring/” She shook her head.

“Let’s get married in town.” Isaac shrugged.

“Can we do that?” She looked around in case someone was listening. 

“Can and will.” He kissed her.

We drove for a few miles through San Jose until he pointed to a place that advertised a marriage chapel.  In less than an hour Isaac and Rachel were married.  Once again, I am not very clear on this, but they both seemed happy.

Two years later, Isaac got a letter from the army.  He raced into their apartment where Rachel was preparing dinner.

“I got it.  I got my draft notice.” Isaac waved it in front of her face.  She was not happy. “I leave next month.” 

“Great.” She tried to smile.

“Don’t worry, once I’m done with basic training, you and I will be assigned to army housing.” He explained.

Frank came over for dinner one night just before Isaac was shipped off to basic training.

“I’ve been hearing that this Vietnam thing was a big mistake.” Frank commented after dinner.

“Dad, you were in the war.” Isaac said.

“Things were different.” He glanced at Rachel who was on the verge of tears.

“I hear the enemy lives in grass huts.” Isaac shrugged.

“I’ve heard that a lot of our boys are green to this guerilla fighting.” Frank tilted his head as he drank his coffee.

“I’ll be alright.” Isaac shook his head a bit ticked off that his father was not on his side.  

One day, Isaac Reynolds was gone to boot camp as he called it.  Rachel sat on their porch and cried for two days after he left.  When she stopped crying, she drove me to Reynolds’ house.  

“I’m pregnant.” Rachel confessed to Mary, Isaac’s mother.

“Oh my God, that is wonderful.” Mary hugged Rachel.

“Is it?” She scowled.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mary was confused. 

“Because he just got orders to a combat unit in Vietnam.” She began to cry.

“Oh dear, it will be okay.  He’ll be home before you know it.” She took Rachel’s hands.  

Once again this story gets confusing to me, because Rachel went to the army hospital while she was pregnant and was told the baby was coming just fine. Everything was just fine until she got a letter in the mail that started out with the opening line:

Mrs. Reynolds, we regret to inform you that your husband, Isaac Reynolds was K.I.A…”

She sat on the porch and sobbed. To make matters worse, the army hospital refused to assist her with delivery since Isaac Reynolds was K.I.A.  I later found out that was the army’s way of saying he was killed in action.  Frank drove me to the funeral with Mary sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“He loved this car.” Frank replied.

“Please Frank, don’t-” Mary requested as she held up her hand.

“Drives better than any Ford I’ve ever been in.” He mumbled as Mary pretended to ignore him. 

“My brother Daryl said he can store it in his barn.” Mary gave him the eye.

“And then what?” Frank asked.

“It’s up to Rachel.” Mary answered.

“She’s having a baby.” He shook his head, “Ain’t thinking straight.” 

“Belonged to her husband.” Mary glared at him.

“Never shoudda gotten married so young.” Frank squawked.

“Ain’t right he’s dead either, but you can’t change that now can you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. 

The barn was nothing but a storage area since Daryl had sold off all of his livestock.  When they parked me, I had no idea that I would be here for as long as I was.  Daryl and Annie, his wife celebrated when Rachel gave birth to a baby boy she would name Shawn.  

As for me, I would go into a hibernation that would last for twenty years in Daryl’s barn. Days became months and months, years.  I felt the rust creep up my metal parts even though I stayed dry for the most part until some of the ceiling started caving in.   

He did come out to the barn to smoke his cigars that Annie despised the pungent odor hovering in her home.  

“You were one of the last American made cars that was worth a crap.” Daryl would talk to me as if I was a friend.  As far as I could tell, he didn’t have anyone to talk to except me and the whippoorwills as he smoked his cigar. “Would be good if someone would put you back together.” 

It came as a shock to me when a wrecking truck pulled up in the driveway to take me to the junkyard for scrap metal. I knew about such horrible places, but I never felt that Daryl would betray me this way.  The man put the chain on my bumper and began the automatic crank.  My tires began to move for the first time in almost twenty years, but I did not want to go where this man was taking me.  

“Damn shame.” He ran his fingers across my hood, “This is still a pretty car, but who am I to question the decisions of them who’s paying me.” 

I guess I must have still been worth something when a man paid the man at the wrecking yard money to take me home with him.

“Well Hank, the Mustang is all yours.” The man put the money in his antique cash register. 

“Not just a Mustang, it’s a 1965 Mustang, a vintage model engineered by Lee Ioaccca.  The man was a genius.” Hank replied as he and his son loaded me on a trailer and drove me home to Bakersfield.  

Once we got there, Hank put me in his garage where he had a lot of shiny tools and a big workbench. He turned to his son, “Tomorrow we will start restoring this old classic.”

“Sure dad.” His son nodded and went inside the house.

True to his word, Hank began taking my old worn out parts and replacing them with newer ones. The more he and his son worked on me, the better I began to feel.  I was feeling like my old self again.

“Try her out.” Hank said to his son a few weeks later as he tossed him the keys.

“Sure dad.” He smiled.

“Just down to the convenience store and back.  Get us a couple of big sodas.” He handed his son some money.  He then ran his hand over my hood, “Gonna have you in the Bakersfield Parade this summer.” 

That would never happen, because Shawn Reynolds began making some inquiries about his father.  While his mother answered most of them, he asked what his father liked when he was alive.  She thought for a minute and then told him about me.

“I would sure love to have that car.” He said looking out his bedroom window.

“My brother Daryl had it in his barn for the longest time, but then he just had it hauled away to the wrecking yard.” She sighed.

“Why would he do that?” Shawn was upset that his uncle would do such a thing.

“It was old and rusty.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Shawn could not accept his uncle having the car taken away and he began to do some investigating.  He found everything he could about the other Mustangs like me and then he began to contact dealers and car restoring services. He managed to get a hold of a parts dealer who told him about Hank Hardman.  

“Mom, I want to go to Bakersfield.” He told her as he worked on his Fiat clunker.

“What for?” She asked.

“Someone down there told me about a guy who might have my father’s Mustang.” 

“May I go with you?” She asked, “I know what that car looked like.”

“Are you sure?” Shawn asked her.

“When are we going?” 

I had no idea that this was happening, but Shawn and Rachel drove down after verifying he had the Mustang.  I don’t know what took place, but one afternoon Shawn and Rachel drove into Hank’s driveway where they were greeted by Hank and Pam Hardman.

I could not believe when the garage door opened up that Shawn looked so much like his father.  I knew Rachel right off even though she had aged a bit, her smile was still the same.

“It was his Mustang.” She put her hands to her face.

“It is?” Shawn looked at her for verification, but he knew immediately that I was in fact his father’s car.

“Oh my God, it was his car.” She began to tear up.

“How much?” Shawn turned to Hank.  

Hank stood there and sighed. “Killed in Vietnam?” 

“Yes sir.” Shawn nodded.

“Son, your country owes a lot to him and the least we can do is give him his car back.” Hank wiped a tear from his cheek, “So if you promise me you will drive it down to Bakersfield for the parade and drive it in the parade, You may take it home.” 

With tears in his eyes, he handed Shawn the keys.

Shawn kept his word and I was home at long last.