Bertha

In 1982, when I was 15, I got a job at McDonald's for the sole reason of earning enough money by to buy a car. And I knew exactly what kind --- a 1969 Mustang. They had four headlights up front, making them look a bit meaner and cooler than other Mustangs of that era. I assembled hamburgers for about a year, saving up $1,000 to buy a coveted yellow 69 Mustang. I ended up selling that car before I ever got my license. And for some reason I can't quite remember, I traded down for another more beat-up green 1969 Mustang I bought off an ex-con in Pleasant Grove for $650. Her name was Bertha, the name given to her by Nathan, her former owner.

When I paid for Bertha and drove her home to Richardson, she stalled out about 5 blocks from Nathan's house. My dad and I walked back to Nathan's house in The Grove and asked him what gives? He told us: "Listen. You just have to talk to Bertha. She'll start. She always starts." And sure enough, Nathan accompanied us to the 7-Eleven parking lot where Bertha had stalled, got in the driver's seat, patted the dash board and said "Come on Bertha. It's time to go to work." Nathan worked construction, and this was quite evident because Bertha's interior was caked in construction site mud. But after he said those magic words, Bertha roared to life. He drove Bertha to our house, said his goodbyes, and I never saw him again.

I spent the next 6 months scrubbing Bertha clean, replacing her four mismatched wheels with the correct ones and finding things like original hubcaps to make her more presentable. And I practiced getting her to start. There was a trick to it, which I learned quite well after months of sitting in Bertha's driver's seat after school. And on April 27, 1983 when I turned 16, Bertha was the first car I ever drove all by myself. My maiden voyage in Bertha was a 1.2 mile trip to Tom Thumb's grocery to buy a gallon of milk.

Bertha was an ailing car. She only ran on seven of her eight cylinders. Her brakes were questionable at best. And her air conditioning system had failed years before I bought her. But I loved that car. I drove her to high school for two years --- with my buddy from down the street Scott Chaffee as my co-pilot. Scott and I would listen to Ted Nugent's "Free For All" album on Bertha's 8-track player every morning before. And sometimes I'd take Scott to work at Chuck E.'s as he got me that gig.

I think I loved Bertha because I spent time to make her better. And she seemed to appreciate that because she'd only let me drive her. My mom and dad both tried on various occasions when they needed my car, but Bertha wouldn't budge for them.

Bertha has probably gone on to automotive Nirvana. But she had a good life --- at least when I owned her.