The Worst Car I Ever Owned Was Named "Sophia"
As a kid, my favorite non-girlie publication was Hot Rod Magazine, and my favorite drag racer was "Big Daddy" Don Garlits, who was always featured. Even before I got my driver's license, I was all about fast motorcycles and cars. In 1972, I bought a beat-up '65 Plymouth Barracuda, silver with a red interior, that had a 273 high-performance 4-barrel V8 (235 HP), 4-speed transmission, and a limited-slip differential. It ran strong but desperately needed front-end work (ball joints, etc…), new tires, and a lot of bodywork. I kept it in my garage, where I worked on it, and when my parents weren't home, I took it out and drove around the neighborhood. No license, no registration. I might've pissed off some neighbors, but I never got caught…
"Big Daddy" Don Garlits sets a drag racing record, one he will eventually break…
I was taking driver's ed at A & B Driving School in Norwood, and when I was getting close to my driving test, my best friend's father told me he'd find a car for me that was mechanically sound, and if it wasn't, he'd fix it. I decided to sell the Cuda and let him find me a car. He had some great-looking classic cars and a pristine 1929 Ford Model A with a rumble seat he restored himself. Mel was meticulous, knowledgeable, and very passionate about cars.
I told him I wanted a Nova or a Chevelle/Malibu Super Sport (SS) with a 283 or 327 V8 and a four-speed transmission. Mel called a few weeks later and told me he'd found a '66 Chevelle and to come over and take a look, it was in his garage. Mel was as excited to show me the car as I was to see it.
When he opened the garage door, I immediately saw that it wasn't an SS, it was a cream-colored four-door sedan. It only got worse when he popped the hood and revealed it had a straight six-cylinder, not a V8. And, when he opened the driver's side door, I saw that it was three-on-the-tree and not four-on-the-floor. I smiled wide enough to hide my disappointment, but that Chevelle was definitely an old man's car.
All I wanted to do was burn rubber and get laid, and I knew that Chevelle wasn't gonna be a lot of help…
Mel was quick to tell me he removed the head, and it was at a shop being redone, a complete valve job, the seat covers were on order, and the four narrow tires were brand new. He said," When I'm done, it will purr like a kitten!" He smiled, and I smiled back.
While walking home, I rationalized that it was a nice car and it would run well. Who was I kidding, I was disappointed as fuck. I wanted a goddamn hot rod that made a lot of noise, not a 4-door sedan that "purred like a kitten!"
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The day I got my license, I was headed to Stoughton in my mother's Gran Torino, either to McDonald's, Mur-Mac's, or Town Spa to celebrate, and I was pushing the pedal hard down Plain St when suddenly I heard a siren and saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser in my rearview mirror. I immediately pulled over just beyond West St, and once my window was down, the cop was pretty straightforward, "License and registration." I literally had my license for 45 minutes, and when he saw that it was a temporary license issued that morning, he gave me a stern look. "You just got your license this morning?" I told him I did. "And you're out here speeding?" I could only hang my head. He went on to tell me that he could pull my temporary license, and then I'd have to wait six months and retest to get it back. WTF was I thinking?
He let me off with a verbal warning and told me if he ever pulled me over again, he'd throw the book at me. After that, I was very careful, for a while anyway…
When Mel finished working on the car, he told me he only wanted the $300 he put into it. It was a great deal, and I thanked him.
Once the car was in my possession, I put a glasspack muffler on it, jacked it up front and back, painted some flat black racing stripes across the trunk, roof, and hood, put wide tires on it with some brand new Pontiac factory mag wheels that according to the seller, "fell off a train…" Every time I drove by his house, Mel shook his head and watched me in disgust. According to him, I had ruined a perfectly good automobile. I make no apologies. I was a kid, I wanted a fucking hot rod like the ones in the magazine!
With the help of another one of my friends, I installed a Hurst 3-speed synchro lock floor shifter. Along with a mini steering wheel and big Chevy decals on the rear quarters, the transformation was complete. It was a pretty cool-looking car and the fastest six-cylinder in town.
I was working at Cook Brothers Getty in Walpole when a guy driving a '68 AMX pulled up to the pumps. I cleaned his windshield and then popped the hood to check the oil, and I saw it had a 390… I started talking to him about the car, and he said he'd be willing to sell it if I was interested. I asked him how much, and when he said $1,200, all I could say was, "Sold!" I was working 50 hours a week back then, and I could afford it. It was silver with black factory racing stripes. I sold the Chevelle to a local kid the following day.
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I loved the AMX, and I convinced the owner of Village Auto Body (Sharon), who only painted Corvettes, to paint my AMX Corvette cranberry red with the original black racing stripes. It took a while, but it came out incredible. That was in 1973.
This is a '69 AMX, but very similar to mine…
Different_Brian. Getty Images.In the morning, before heading to school, in what was my senior year, I would go into the garage and change the carburetor. The stock one was a Carter 480 AFB, but I picked up a Holley 650 double pumper and later a Holley 780. One of my friends was a gearhead like me, and he had a '68 Z/28, and he'd meet me in the student parking lot every morning and ask, "What carburetor are you runnin'?" I changed it up daily, but it ran best with the Carter…
The AMX was a two-seater with a carpeted area in the back that allowed the bucket seats to fold all the way flat. It was a dating machine! But I missed having people in the car to party with, and I was considering selling it.
Then, my buddy Jan, asked me if I'd trade him my '68 AMX for his '65 GTO convertible. It was Canary yellow with black Ansen mag wheels; it was a badass car with a 389 motor that rumbled. I told him I'd do it, but I was taking my stereo and speakers out, and additionally, I needed $100 in order to make the deal. He was all in.
Here's a great example of a '65 GOAT
kenmo. Getty Images.The Goat was a fun car that performed well in a straight line. I spent the summer cruising down the Cape with friends, roof down, cold beer in hand. Then I heard that Jan sold the AMX to a local kid.
One afternoon, Jan showed up at my house and told me he wanted to buy the GTO back. I laughed. He said he'd give me $1,300, and I could take my stereo and speakers. At first, I told him it wasn't for sale, and that's when he started to beg. I could see the car meant a lot more to him than it did to me, so I agreed to the deal. He immediately took 13 one-hundred dollars bills out of his pants pocket and said he'd come back with my license plate and stereo. I had never seen him happier.
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Within two weeks, the kid who bought the AMX totaled it. I went to see it at the Gulf station on North Main Street, and it was almost unrecognizable. Remarkably, no one got hurt. I cried all the way home…
I was still working at the Getty when a guy pulled up to the pumps driving a '63 two-door Ford Galaxie. When I popped the hood to check the oil, I saw that it had a big fucking motor. I asked him about it, and he said it was a 428 Super Cobra Jet that had a racing cam and factory headers. He went on that the car had a Borg-Warner T-10 stone crusher transmission with a limited-slip differential. He said he wanted to sell it because it was a gas guzzler. Once again, I asked, "How much do you want?" When he said $450, I immediately said, "Sold!"
This isn't my Galaxie, but a great example of a '63 in the same color as mine
Different_Brian. Getty Images.The car had previously belonged to one of the mechanics at the station who built it and used it as a tow car for the Shelby he drag-raced up in Epping, New Hampshire. I played around with the car, and with the help of another friend, he and I fabricated and installed a side exhaust with slash-cut chrome tips that terminated just in front of the rear wheels. Then, I cut the hood and installed a Shaker Scoop I bought from a guy in Salem. I jacked it up and put on some deep dish slotted wheels and wide tires. It was a really powerful car. I could burn rubber the length of a football field if I wanted to…
On the fourth of July, 1975, I was cruising around Lake Massapoag in the Galaxie right before the fireworks began. I pulled over to talk to a friend, and he said, "I heard this car doesn't go…" With a dozen or so beers in me, that's all I had to hear. I revved the motor and let the clutch fly. I sent clouds of smoke bellowing across the entire beachfront and the cops, who were parked nearby, let it go. After all, it was the fourth of July, shit like that is to be expected. I turned around and pulled up next to my buddy and asked him if he still thought my car didn't go. Then, two girls strolled by, and I said something, probably inappropriate, and they put me in my place. So, I did another smoke show, and after that, I drove straight to a club in Wrentham called The El Bolero.
The next morning, I was parked in the center of Sharon with Dickie, my partner in crime, when a cop came over to the Galaxie and asked if it was mine. After I said it was, he asked me to pop the hood. He marveled at the motor, and then he said, "It's a shame you're gonna have to sell it…" I responded, "I'm not selling it." He said, "Meet me at the station. After the stunt you pulled last night, I promise you, you'll be selling it…"
I was unaware of it, but apparently, the Sharon cops chased me but couldn't catch me. Long story short, I went to court, and the Judge made me sell the car and suspended my nighttime driving license. I could only drive to work and back during the day…
After that, I owned a lot of different cars. Because of my inherent need for speed, most were standard shift "muscle cars." A '68 Firebird, '70 GTO, '63 Falcon, '68 GTO Convertible, '68 Mustang fastback, '63 Impala, '65 Malibu, '71 Malibu, '67 VW Beetle (no heat), '70 Barracuda, '75 Plymouth Duster, '76 Chevy Van, '76 Camaro, and an '88 Firebird bought new.
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But, the worst car I ever owned in my lifetime was a lipstick red '67 Fiat 850 Spider convertible…
RUBEN RAMOS. Getty Images.I was dating my wife at the time, and one of my shit-boxes up and died, and I needed a car. I saw the Fiat and thought how cool it would be, me and my girlfriend cruising to the beach in an Italian sports car, roof down, wind in our hair. Using an old school label maker, the goofball that sold it to me had a label on the wood grain dash that said "Sophia," his pet name for the vehicle. I loved Sophia Loren, so I was drawn into the whole idea of owning an Italian convertible named "Sophia"…
The car had an 843cc 4-cylinder engine that only produced 49 horsepower, something I hadn't considered. It was so fucking slow! The top speed of mine was around 60 MPH. It was like a street-legal go-kart. I'd get out on the highway, and even in the slow lane, people would start blowing their horns at me. It was embarrassing. The cool I thought I'd purchased with this car never came to fruition. It was the most uncool car I had ever owned.
Then, the roof started leaking, and I didn't have the money to replace it, so I duct-taped the piss out of it. When I was barely hitting the speed limit, and everybody was blowing their horn at me, when they got close enough, they could see there was almost a full roll of gray duct tape holding the roof together. Oh, the fucking looks I got!
To give you an idea of how underpowered my '67 Fiat 850 Spider was, my current motorcycle is a cranberry red, Triumph 865cc parallel twin, and with some performance mods, it makes around 70 horsepower, and it only weighs 550 pounds with a full tank of gas.
Ain't she pretty!
I sold the Fiat, married the girl, and was able to maintain my affection for Sophia Loren despite my bad experience with her four-wheeled namesake…
What's the worst car you ever owned?
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If there was ever a song that could inspire me to drive fast & break the law, this is it!
No more speed, I'm almost thereGotta keep cool, now gotta take careLast car to pass, here I goAnd the line of cars go down real slow, woah
The radio's playin' some forgotten songBrenda Lee's "Comin' On Strong"The road has got me hypnotizedAnd I'm speedin' into a new sunrise