THERE IT SAT, GLISTENING IN THE SUN. It was a beauty---the final fulfillment of a dream cast years before---my first car---the very thing that every red-blooded American young male aspires to. It was love at first sight. I knew somehow that we were destined to be together. I had been saving and looking for a couple of years. Now, at last, there it was--- my very first set of wheels.

This was the age of stupidity (adolescence), when boys only have two things on their mind—cars and girls (in that order). You can’t get the second without the first, or so I reasoned. Dad had accompanied me to the used car lot upon my request. I wanted his input, although I didn’t really hear a thing he said once I laid my eyes on “The Brown Stallion” as I later came to call her. What a machine! It was a 1950 Ford coupe, with a caramel-brown finish. I couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel

We test-drove her, but dad was not impressed. He said it was an oil-burning, low-mileage vehicle. Furthermore, he said something about appearances being deceiving. But I didn’t listen. I was in love. After we lifted up the hood to look at the motor, dad pointed out to me how it had been recently painted, probably to hide the rust spots. It didn’t make any difference. Hey, when you’re in love you throw all caution to the wind.

I can still hear my father saying, “This one over here is a much better buy for the money.” I glanced at it for a moment. It was an ugly, faded light green. I knew immediately that it wasn’t for me. However, the truth is, I should have listened to my dad. After all, he was a mechanic by trade and even owned his own business.

I asked the salesman how much he wanted for the Brown Stallion and he replied, “For you, son, a special deal; $500 cash money and you can drive it off the lot today!” And an hour later, against my father’s wishes, I was pulling out into the street, heading for home. I looked into the rear view mirror to see my father standing there shaking his head in disbelief.

I named most of my cars in those early days. For example, there was the “Green Hornet” (a ’53 Chevy), the “Silver Streak” (’55 Chevy) and the “Red Baron” (’59 Ford). But the Brown Stallion was the sweetest of them all because she was my first. The first day I had her, I made several stops to show her off to my buddies. They were duly impressed.

Turns out my father was right after all. Stallion was an oil-burner all right---about a quart every 100 miles. The rust started to show through in very short order. The push-button starter would lock in place quite often and in order to release it, one would have to put the car into neutral and rock it back and forth until you could hear a “click.” Although named a stallion, she was really a dog---and a tired one at that. The odometer read 42,000 miles, but dad said it probably was at least double that. Moral of the story: Listen to advice before making important decisions.

One thing I discovered early on after the purchase is that I had more friends than I ever realized. News got around fast---“Bruce has a car!” I’ve had lots of cars over the years---better looking, more powerful, and more economical. But none can compare to the “Brown Stallion.”