For us, there were two kinds of kids you could be: a stick-and-baller, or a car nut. For me and my friends, that choice was easy. We had all been to nearby RAMBI Raceway at Myrtle Beach and we had watched, in absolute wonder-lust, at the motorized mayhem. The best part was the cars, coupes and sedans from the 1930's all hopped up with big tires and fuel-injected (a term I quickly learned) motors......crashing and flipping, spinning and power-sliding, it was love at first sight. But, the best part, was the cars. Almost 50 years later, those feelings, are even stronger.

In the 1960's, you played outside: digging caves, and climbing trees, or working on bicycles, or exploring. Weren't no soccer practice to go, nope, we lived outside unless it was real cold. And back in those pre-global-warming years, we had some cold winters. We loved Model A Fords too. Never had one, always a-wanting one, but never really reaching the summit. Down every grass-in-the-middle road, we fantasized, there COULD be a junked Model A.....and we could get it, and drag it home, and fix it up and ....................so, what about the grass-in-the-middle road right across the street? Hmmm? There just might be some-t-h-i-n-g there!

One drizzly Saturday afternoon, no use in coming inside for a little ol' drizzle, we could stand it no longer. The expedition, down that most promising of all trails, begun. There was one, however, associated risk with this particular mission. Crossing main street, which was also US highway 17, and that could draw swift retaliation from the mothers of the neighborhood. "Crossing the road" without permission, was a serious offense, we knew the risk and the danger. Throwing caution to the wind, and hoping my mom was looking out her kitchen window, we WENT for it.......... just...........CROSSED the road and everybody made it......the mission had begun.

Past the pasture, and the stable, where "Midnight" the world's meanest horse lived, and the pack-house, our grass-in-the-middle road led us onward. Right past the sharp turn at the pack-house, another grass-in-the-middle road branched off from the main trail. You know the saying........"when you get to a fork in the road, take it........" and we did. This new trail was not as used as the main one. It had a lot of leaves and pine straw and stuff covering it, and it made a series of sharp U-turns before straightening and leading to an old slime-green-colored farm pond. But at the end of that hair-pin turn, we found ourselves staring right in the eyeballs of junked 40-something Ford coupe!

Holy Moly! There was a God, and he had just granted a bunch of 10 year olds their greatest wish! There were sweet-gum, pine trees, and myrtle bushes galore, but there it was..........no hood, no right head-light, or right grill section, but it was a black Ford coupe. The V-8 flathead was still there, although one head and the intake and been removed eons before our discovery, and rain water was standing on top of the exposed pistons. The "interior" was a rat's nest of every kind of junk imaginable, combined with the exposed springs of the old seats all draped with a tattered and collapsed head-liner. There were two flat tires on the rear and none on the front, and we found the hood leaning against a near-by shed.

Come to find out, it was a '41 Ford, not the coolest car Henry ever built, but that didn't phase us one bit. All of our exploring and discovering had led us to the back reaches of Mr. Curt Tripp's back yard. In those days, Mr. Curt was bed-ridden but we knew his son, Jimmy, and said we could HAVE the old car..............for FREE!! Dreams went in to over-drive........we could get it, and fix it up, and make a modified and we would paint it orange and it would be number 16!!

Our subsequent trips down the grass in the middle road to Nirvana, we cut down all the trees and bushes and stuff, and actually dragged my dad over there to see our free and coolest car in the world. "It'll break in three pieces if you try and move it..........." My dad issued a death sentence. Just like that, it was all over. No orange paint, and no number 16. No nothing! It WOULD NOT have fallen in three pieces, but when you are 10 years old, what else could we do? A grown up was essential for this project, and we did not have one. And, as a final nail in the coffin, Mr. Curt got off his sick bed and came out an scolded us for trying to 'take his stuff'. It was first love and first break up all in one. So close, but so very far, we were heart broken.

The REA came along a few years later, they needed to install a new electric pole right where the car was sitting. They lifted her up with a crane, looping a chain around the doors, and set it on top of a trash pile of old rotting lumber. The chain creased both doors and if the coupe was un-reachable before, it REALLY was off limits now. Eventually its fate was met in the jaws of a crusher.

In the years since, I've managed to drag home some coupes much worse than Mr.Curt's '41. So far, none have fallen in multiple parts. That old car could have been saved, but me and my friends could not pull it off. We lost the battle, but not the war, the old girl was lost. It was first love and proved to be a life-long pursuit of such trivia. With each old-coupe-saving-mission, those same dreams have been re-kindled. ........we could get it and fix it up, and paint it orange, and be number 16. May it ever be so!