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Excerpt from Shuffletown USA
The Burning Car
In 1966, I owned an emerald green Mustang.
I was single, the car was fast, and life was good. On the weekend I hardly ever rolled into my driveway before two a.m. Sometimes it was close to dawn.
That mustang was a beauty. I washed and waxed her weekly. If the sun was harsh or it had rained a lot, I waxed her more often. I had special order chrome hubcaps on her wheels. Friday nights some of us boys would pile in my car and cruise through drive-in restaurants. There was never an evening we didn’t get several girls’ telephone numbers, unless, of course, we had a date. My car was a girl magnet.
It was well past midnight one Friday night when, on my way home, I smelled something burning. I had just come across the little bridge at Long Creek. I looked over my shoulder and saw a lit cigarette in the backseat. I could see the glow because the road got black-dark after ten o’clock back then.
Well, I was less than a mile from Sloan Volunteer Fire Department. So I figured the smartest thing to do was to gun the gas, get to the station and set off the alarm. But when I got there, I couldn’t figure out how to set it off. I tried to put out the smoldering seat with my jacket, but it seemed to make it worse.
I decided to run to the pay phone at the crossroads and call my friend, Dunk. Man, I hated leaving my car, but I had to do something. I ran like hell to the phone and while Dunk’s phone was ringing, I saw flames spring up bright and tall in the back seat. It was an awful sight.
Dunk was groggy when he answered the phone. "DUNK!" I screamed, "I’ve got a FIRE in my backseat and you have got to get down here." I slammed down the phone and ran back to my car; although there wasn’t a dang thing, I could do b but wait.
Dunk, though, wasn’t thinking straight. He took time to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and make himself smell good. He put on his best pants and a freshly pressed shirt.
When he arrived and saw the flames he jumped out of his car cursing like a sailor.
"Aw, HELL!" he said, "I thought you meant you had a woman in your back seat on fire."
He set off the alarm and it didn’t take long for the locals to arrive in their heavy hats and uniforms. But in my terrible hurry, I had parked the Mustang right in front of the bay and they couldn’t pull the fire truck out to operate the hoses. The car was so close to the door they couldn’t even inch the truck forward. They did finally pull the hoses off in time to keep the fire from reaching the gas tank. But by then the car was a total ruin.
When the flames were out, we sat on the truck beds and watched the Mustang smoke. Then the ribbing began. I had just lost my car, and those boys wouldn’t shut up.
Dunk drove me home. I just left my Mustang there. I don’t know who pushed it behind the fire station, but it set there for a long time until finally it got towed away. I stayed away. I couldn’t stand to look at it, for one thing. But I knew they were talking about me and Dunk and how we let my Mustang burn up in front of a fire station. Hell, they still are.
- Barry Smith
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