The Pink Bomb: '59 Chevy Biscayne

After graduating from high school in southern California in 1965, I headed off to the University of Texas in Austin.
    At the end of my freshman year, my parents came out to take me back to California for the summer. During their visit, my dad, retiring from a career in the Navy, landed a job at the university and decided to move to Austin. This was not at all what I expected. Suddenly, instead of going to college 2,000 miles from home, I would be living AT HOME.

    A car of my own: Even though my dad and I would both be going to UT every day, we had very different schedules. Thus, he decided that I needed my own car. Things were looking better. I was going to college and living at home with my parents but I would have my own car.
    The Beast: The next Saturday, my dad went out without me and returned to announce that he had bought me a car. I was stunned. I was still in a state of shock when we hopped into his VW Beetle to go pick up the car.
    The used car dealership was just south of the river. As we arrived, I surveyed the lot for possible candidates. There was still hope that this would turn out well--I saw some keepers. But my hope was short lived.
    The salesman appeared and said he would have washed the car if he'd known my dad was returning so soon. I had in mind something small like a Ford Falcon. He pointed to a 1959 Chevrolet Biscayne.
    This car was huge. My dad had commanded ships that were smaller. It had huge tail fins, teardrop taillights, and eyebrows over the headlights. The car would have been ugly for these features alone. But what really made it ugly was that it was pink. My dad had bought me a pink car. It took every bit of my self control not to lose it. I took the keys from the salesman, started the car, and drove it home.
    Life with the Pink Bomb: The first thing that I noticed about the Pink Bomb was that the seat covers were a woven plastic material that was seriously frayed. It was like sitting on a kinder, gentler version of barbed wire that got worse in winter.
    The car's entire list of options was: automatic transmission, AM radio. All the gauges worked, except the gas gauge, which came and went. Hitting it with my history book would often wake it up. The doors filled up with water when it rained. Fortunately, rain was rare in Austin. The headliner was headed toward Mexico.
    My first day at school: Parking was at a premium at UT, which was said to be a five year university: four years of study and one year of trying to park. Despite this, I always parked the Pink Bomb farther away than necessary, trying to remain incognito. However, there was no hiding it at my fraternity house. Mine was the "Geek car" and definitely not a babe magnet. Whenever I had a date, I'd borrow the family wheels, a '64 Chevy Bel Aire with a/c.
    Paradise Lost: One night about three months after getting the car, it started making a whining noise and lost power. By the time I got it in the driveway, it was seriously leaking transmission fluid. Thoughts of getting a new car--moving on to something better--filled my head. I defined "something better" as practically any other car. My dad had other thoughts. He actually had the car towed and repaired. At this point, I knew there was no God. So close yet so far.
    Bonding: After the transmission problem, the car actually became annoyingly reliable. Over the next two years, it did go through a battery and several minor repairs, but it got me to and from campus. I never can say that I liked the car, but I did develop a grudging respect for it.
    The Last Bass Roundup: Between my junior and senior years, two of my ROTC friends and I decided to take a weekend fishing trip out of town. Knowing we'd have to drive over dirt roads, we took the Pink Bomb since it was the most expendable. We got there okay, but the muffler was hinting at wanting to disengage. I rigged a coat hanger to strap it on, but the muffler got its separation wish as I drove over a large rock. Now my pink car was loud in more ways than one.
    Bombs away: After my dad saw the car, he made the decision that made him a hero. He decided to give me my graduation gift a year early--a new car. This time he actually asked me what I wanted. I didn't know. He said he had in mind a Camero or a Firebird. We went together to the car dealerships. I felt like I was living a dream. We settled on a 1968 blue Firebird. This car had everything: automatic, air, power steering. I suddenly went from having the geek car of the fraternity to having the best car. I still consider the Firebird the best car I ever owned and wish that I still had it.--Don Stough, Richmond, Va.