Cerwin
Well-Known Member
Captainkirk said:
As my mother used to remind me..
"Rome Wasn't Built In One Day"
:wav:
Captainkirk's Duster project
- Thread starter Captainkirk
- Start date
-
As my mother used to remind me..
"Rome Wasn't Built In One Day"
:wav:
unreformed66
redscamp72
Come on Cap, we need our fix!!! You don't want a bunch of Mopar gearheads going through withdrawal do you?? Keep up the story, it's still the best written automotive feature I've ever read, and believe me I've read thousands.
In-patiently waiting !!
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
Almost there, folks....I'll try to finish up the next chapter & post it tonight.
Can't thank you all enough for just enduring my drivel.....
Can't thank you all enough for just enduring my drivel.....
jrlegacy23
68 Barracuda
We all really appreciate you writing your past for us. It definetly makes my day more interesting. I am checcking everyday, looking for the next chapter.
Cerwin
Well-Known Member
jrlegacy23 said:
Lmao, I think we all kinda look everyday for the updated chapter. the whole story is incredibly intriguing and im sure that if you read any of it you become hooked. Either 1. You've been down that road or 2. Its just a tantalizing story either way, and you became hooked.
Me myself, I check in the morning :coffee2: , at lunch, and when i come home.
I am addicted! :wav:
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
You guys are making me feel....delinquent? I'll try harder to get the next chapter finished, but you're really cutting into my "Family Time" with my Duster, ya know! LOL
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triggerjay
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2006
- Messages
- 109
- Reaction score
- 20
lol, you started it! we just got addicted..
Triggerjay
Triggerjay
We're just a bunch of old dogs,waiten for you to through us another bone. Arf Arf!!
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
Chapter 10
Glory Days, well, theyll pass you by//Glory days, in the wink of a young girls eye, Glory days Bruce Springsteen, Glory Days
I'd finished with time to spare; a day, anyway. So I got to at least visit with a few friends for a bit. We met up at the old hangout; D***s Coffee Shop to catch up on old times and for me to once again spin the tale of the li'l red minx and Two Beers and introduce John Wayne to the boys. The approval rating for John Wayne was about 50%; Bodyman Mike, of course was biased, as he'd done the stunning red paint on the Red Rocket. Who could blame him? We stayed up to the wee hours of the morning eating toasted pecan rolls and drinking coffee (which morphed to decaf sometime after midnight) and spinning tales, reminiscing about hot summer nights terrorizing the streets of Mudville and discussing our lives, our hopes and dreams, joking, and just plain shootin' the bull. Little did we all know it would be sort of a last hurrah; never again would we find ourselves all together like this. By the time I got back from school a year later, our little group had scattered to the four winds; married, careers, raising families, dream cars parked and tarped or gone altogether, to make room for the Family Sedan and all American that goes with it. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, bartering your youth for the responsibility of adulthood, rather just a part of life that everyone eventually goes through (but at that time we were all blissfully unaware of it, though a few of my friends were already started on the journey.) Howard was already married with a baby girl, Dave as well. I would not see Dale, Bob, Mikey T. or Tom again; long since gone from Mudville to places unknown by the time I returned. But hell, we couldn't know that as we sat there drinking the steaming hot cups of brew and snacking on TPRs. Life was good. These were our Glory Days.
We talked of Trans-Ams getting their clocks cleaned, clouds of smoke billowing off some nameless obscure guys red Duster's tires and filling the restaurant with the pungent, acrid stench of burning rubber; of nervous, sweaty-palmed conversations with balding, rotund officers of the law, of wheel-hopping GTOs and tranny-busting Chevelles, yeah, we talked about all of that and more. And we said our Goodbyes with well-intentioned promises to keep in touch and do this again; soon.
We never did. Not like that.
... Glory Days, well, they'll pass you by ...
So I loaded up The Duke and made the long trip back; this time without escort and all in one long haul (No stopping at my Uncle Jim's this time). If you ask me, it was a rather ballsy move; driving a car that far that had just had an engine shoe-horned into it a few days earlier; but the trip was blissfully uneventful. I had complete faith in my own abilities and the condition of the car I was driving; this thing that I had created; perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did; and so I just went on and did it.
Now we were out of the basics and really into the heavy-duty stuff in school. Between school and work, there was little time for anything else. Though the Tulsa winters were not really winters by Chicago standards, there wasn't much to do except study (and read car magazines). School was going well for me, so-so for Dave, and terrible for Al ...he was on the verge of flunking out. Things between Dave and myself had deteriorated to the point where he moved out. Al found new hope through one of his counselors, who suggested he try NDT inspection instead of the course of study he was taking. He took to it like a duck to water. Like I said previously, he was actually a pretty sharp guy; he just had no mechanical skills. Given this new lease on life, he forged ahead, renewed.
With Dave gone, tensions eased up a bit between Al and myself. We'd laid the ground rules down and he knew pretty much not to eat my food or leave dirty dishes (he was still stuck on the paper plate thing, which, while it made for a lot of garbage, was OK by me. We had a pretty big dumpster right around the corner.) I was still struggling financially, though, and trying to find a way around it. One gets tired of Stokely/Van Camps Pork and Beans mingled with cut up hot dogs and melted cheese five nights a week rather quickly.
The answer came to me one Saturday at work. My supervisor was (again) complaining how another day guy had left and they needed another full-timer. I asked, just out of curiosity, how much the job paid; it was about double what I was bringing home due to the extra hours and the pay differential. And the lights came on. See, the school ran both day and night classes. If I could make the switch ...
I did. And Lord, what a different world! The night school guys were, well, different. More mature, older. Married, family guys, guys with responsibilities, guys with more on their minds that floating off Mom & Dads dollars (or Uncle Sams V.A bennies). It was a new crowd; a new scene. And now I was a full-time day shift worker. Within 3 weeks I was a lead, then shift supervisor the following month. No more Van Camps, and at last I could actually save a little money!
It was in night school that I met Matt. He was a decent enough guy at first. His living arrangement wasn't working out (I later was to discover why) and he assumed the sofa and a third of the rent. It sounded good at the time. About this time I also met up with 'The Boys', also night students. The boys consisted of Jim, Lloyd and Dale, who had rented a house across town which became known as The Homestead. Now, The Homestead was famous for two things; Friday Night Post-Quiz parties and car-talk. All the guys at The Homestead were big-time motorheads. After working hard all week to study and pass the tests and quizzes on Fridays, what better way to end a successful week than having a few ( OK, a lot of ) beers and talking cars? Yeah, I couldn't think of one either.
That's what we did. Well, myself and Matt, we watched what we drank rather carefully as we had about a five-mile drive home. No repeats of MoPar Minx Mania for me, Thank You Very Much. We took turns being designated drivers long before we'd ever heard of such a thing. But now, the boys? Well, they lived there and had nowhere to drive. This is probably a good thing, as for the most part, these guys could barely navigate to the bathroom from the kitchen on a full head of steam (unlike myself and Matt, they didn't have to drive home or work in the a.m.) . I'm talking bouncing off the walls. But it was all in good fun. We talked motors and cars and school and blew off a lot of steam. Plus they had a really kickin' stereo and neighbors that didn't care. My, how we could work those speakers! The guys would get ****-faced and crank it up and start having these air-guitar contests (at least thats what they'd call it now ; back then it had no proper name, but I give Dale credit for inventing the whole Air Guitar phenomenon. Of course, being an axe-swinger myself, I sorta had an edge on the guys, and being a bit less, shall we say, inebriated, helped as well. Of course, there was the occasional Friday night Air Jam when Matt was Designated Hitter and I didn't have to work next morning. I usually won those rare times by theatrics alone; me and Captain Jack, that is. Ooooooh ...my head hurts just thinking about it. Dale was trying like hell to outdo me one of those nights and had ended this Ronnie Montrose solo on his knees, head flung back as if barking at the moon, with his eyes squinched closed ..then he lurched up and careened off the hallway walls like they were bumpers in some grotesque pinball machine, down to the Porcelain Temple (TILT!) where he paid homage to some Ralph guy ; at least we think he did. He kept on repeating the guy's name over and over . RALPH! this, and RALPH! that . Lloyd was laughing so hard he sprayed a mouthful of beer everywhere in a huge Budweiser shower. Lloyd, Mr. Barracuda, the one true die-hard MoPar fanatic in the bunch beside myself. Bud foam clinging to his beard, the entire kitchen looking like a pipe bomb had detonated inside a keg. Lloyd was a big guy. Beer was dripping off the hardwood cabinets as if we were exploring deep in the bowels of a cave somewhere ; "Tom Sawyer" came to mind, halfway expecting to see Injun Joe lurking around the corner .. I've never regretted not having to clean up that kitchen in the morning.
Back down the hall, the homage to RALPH! had stopped and had been replaced by weak urking noises and the sound of a flushing toilet . After a bit, the bathroom door hinges creaked briefly, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet and of Dale's bedroom door closing, and he was seen no more that night. We didn't have the heart to bother him to tell him he'd won the contest for Best Original Finish . That could wait 'til Monday.
But, we were talking cars, were we not? There was a guy-I'm not sure of the relationship with the boys-who had a nice Chevy II parked in the garage of the Homestead. I think the guy lived there sometimes, or maybe even owned the house , but I only saw him a few times. Martin, his name was. Anyway, this Chevy II had a real trick custom paint job with all kinds of overlapping colored lines and geometric shapes on a bright yellow basecoat, and a big, rectangular hole cut smack in the middle of the hood with a couple 660 Holleys poking out from atop a tunnel ram. It had a roller cam... I forget the specs now ..and chrome Hooker Pro Race fenderwell headers (open, naturally) and the one or two times Martin fired it up in that garage, the noise was absolutely deafening. One night after a few beers Martin wanted to show us something so we all went out in the garage . He shut the lights off and fired this sucker up and showed us these 12-inch rooster tails of blue flame barbequeing the garage floor ..too cool! I never saw him drive it, though. Matter of fact, the car had no plates. I rather think he might have bought it on a whim. But that dog would bark, let me assure you!
Dale, now he had a Gutless... I mean, Cutlass, faded red with a 350 Olds motor. He did some work to it . Put a cam in it, Edelbrock manifold with a 600 Holley. Thing was, he didn't know what the funny little toothpaste tube of cam lube was for so he chucked it in the gravel. He found out after about 1000 miles. Then he put another cam in it, this time with judicious use of the toothpaste, and it ran pretty strong for an otherwise-stock motor. He had a huge flat spot in the acceleration curve, and we fine-tuned those secondaries to where hed chirp em every time in second when he romped on it.
Lloyd had left his '66 Barracuda back in California, but had brought plenty of pictures. I swear he wrote love letters back home to the thing. It was a bit rough, as all our rides were, but he sure loved that car! He drove around a little yellow MG that was a scream. One time for a kick, we got six or seven guys in the school parking lot and picked it up where it sat between two cars and turned it sideways, then went back inside to watch. The look on his face was priceless, but he kept his cool ..he turned on the stereo and kicked back and waited for the guys at either end to leave, then simply fired it up and drove off. One cool cat. He knew it was us that did it and gave us crap for weeks! With his scraggly red beard, Lloyd was a dead-ringer for Clint Eastwood in The Outlaw Josie Wales . Only bigger.
Jim was a sandy-haired, freckly sort of guy who loved cars, especially muscle cars, but didn't own one . He just admired from a distance. Jerry, one of my buddies from Mudville, had come down to T-Town to begin flight training as a professional pilot and brought along his '72 Cowl Induction Chevelle and his sense of humor; he joined in with us and fit right in! All in all, we had plenty to talk about at the Homestead on Friday nights, believe me you!
Glory Days, well, theyll pass you by//Glory days, in the wink of a young girls eye, Glory days Bruce Springsteen, Glory Days
I'd finished with time to spare; a day, anyway. So I got to at least visit with a few friends for a bit. We met up at the old hangout; D***s Coffee Shop to catch up on old times and for me to once again spin the tale of the li'l red minx and Two Beers and introduce John Wayne to the boys. The approval rating for John Wayne was about 50%; Bodyman Mike, of course was biased, as he'd done the stunning red paint on the Red Rocket. Who could blame him? We stayed up to the wee hours of the morning eating toasted pecan rolls and drinking coffee (which morphed to decaf sometime after midnight) and spinning tales, reminiscing about hot summer nights terrorizing the streets of Mudville and discussing our lives, our hopes and dreams, joking, and just plain shootin' the bull. Little did we all know it would be sort of a last hurrah; never again would we find ourselves all together like this. By the time I got back from school a year later, our little group had scattered to the four winds; married, careers, raising families, dream cars parked and tarped or gone altogether, to make room for the Family Sedan and all American that goes with it. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, bartering your youth for the responsibility of adulthood, rather just a part of life that everyone eventually goes through (but at that time we were all blissfully unaware of it, though a few of my friends were already started on the journey.) Howard was already married with a baby girl, Dave as well. I would not see Dale, Bob, Mikey T. or Tom again; long since gone from Mudville to places unknown by the time I returned. But hell, we couldn't know that as we sat there drinking the steaming hot cups of brew and snacking on TPRs. Life was good. These were our Glory Days.
We talked of Trans-Ams getting their clocks cleaned, clouds of smoke billowing off some nameless obscure guys red Duster's tires and filling the restaurant with the pungent, acrid stench of burning rubber; of nervous, sweaty-palmed conversations with balding, rotund officers of the law, of wheel-hopping GTOs and tranny-busting Chevelles, yeah, we talked about all of that and more. And we said our Goodbyes with well-intentioned promises to keep in touch and do this again; soon.
We never did. Not like that.
... Glory Days, well, they'll pass you by ...
So I loaded up The Duke and made the long trip back; this time without escort and all in one long haul (No stopping at my Uncle Jim's this time). If you ask me, it was a rather ballsy move; driving a car that far that had just had an engine shoe-horned into it a few days earlier; but the trip was blissfully uneventful. I had complete faith in my own abilities and the condition of the car I was driving; this thing that I had created; perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did; and so I just went on and did it.
Now we were out of the basics and really into the heavy-duty stuff in school. Between school and work, there was little time for anything else. Though the Tulsa winters were not really winters by Chicago standards, there wasn't much to do except study (and read car magazines). School was going well for me, so-so for Dave, and terrible for Al ...he was on the verge of flunking out. Things between Dave and myself had deteriorated to the point where he moved out. Al found new hope through one of his counselors, who suggested he try NDT inspection instead of the course of study he was taking. He took to it like a duck to water. Like I said previously, he was actually a pretty sharp guy; he just had no mechanical skills. Given this new lease on life, he forged ahead, renewed.
With Dave gone, tensions eased up a bit between Al and myself. We'd laid the ground rules down and he knew pretty much not to eat my food or leave dirty dishes (he was still stuck on the paper plate thing, which, while it made for a lot of garbage, was OK by me. We had a pretty big dumpster right around the corner.) I was still struggling financially, though, and trying to find a way around it. One gets tired of Stokely/Van Camps Pork and Beans mingled with cut up hot dogs and melted cheese five nights a week rather quickly.
The answer came to me one Saturday at work. My supervisor was (again) complaining how another day guy had left and they needed another full-timer. I asked, just out of curiosity, how much the job paid; it was about double what I was bringing home due to the extra hours and the pay differential. And the lights came on. See, the school ran both day and night classes. If I could make the switch ...
I did. And Lord, what a different world! The night school guys were, well, different. More mature, older. Married, family guys, guys with responsibilities, guys with more on their minds that floating off Mom & Dads dollars (or Uncle Sams V.A bennies). It was a new crowd; a new scene. And now I was a full-time day shift worker. Within 3 weeks I was a lead, then shift supervisor the following month. No more Van Camps, and at last I could actually save a little money!
It was in night school that I met Matt. He was a decent enough guy at first. His living arrangement wasn't working out (I later was to discover why) and he assumed the sofa and a third of the rent. It sounded good at the time. About this time I also met up with 'The Boys', also night students. The boys consisted of Jim, Lloyd and Dale, who had rented a house across town which became known as The Homestead. Now, The Homestead was famous for two things; Friday Night Post-Quiz parties and car-talk. All the guys at The Homestead were big-time motorheads. After working hard all week to study and pass the tests and quizzes on Fridays, what better way to end a successful week than having a few ( OK, a lot of ) beers and talking cars? Yeah, I couldn't think of one either.
That's what we did. Well, myself and Matt, we watched what we drank rather carefully as we had about a five-mile drive home. No repeats of MoPar Minx Mania for me, Thank You Very Much. We took turns being designated drivers long before we'd ever heard of such a thing. But now, the boys? Well, they lived there and had nowhere to drive. This is probably a good thing, as for the most part, these guys could barely navigate to the bathroom from the kitchen on a full head of steam (unlike myself and Matt, they didn't have to drive home or work in the a.m.) . I'm talking bouncing off the walls. But it was all in good fun. We talked motors and cars and school and blew off a lot of steam. Plus they had a really kickin' stereo and neighbors that didn't care. My, how we could work those speakers! The guys would get ****-faced and crank it up and start having these air-guitar contests (at least thats what they'd call it now ; back then it had no proper name, but I give Dale credit for inventing the whole Air Guitar phenomenon. Of course, being an axe-swinger myself, I sorta had an edge on the guys, and being a bit less, shall we say, inebriated, helped as well. Of course, there was the occasional Friday night Air Jam when Matt was Designated Hitter and I didn't have to work next morning. I usually won those rare times by theatrics alone; me and Captain Jack, that is. Ooooooh ...my head hurts just thinking about it. Dale was trying like hell to outdo me one of those nights and had ended this Ronnie Montrose solo on his knees, head flung back as if barking at the moon, with his eyes squinched closed ..then he lurched up and careened off the hallway walls like they were bumpers in some grotesque pinball machine, down to the Porcelain Temple (TILT!) where he paid homage to some Ralph guy ; at least we think he did. He kept on repeating the guy's name over and over . RALPH! this, and RALPH! that . Lloyd was laughing so hard he sprayed a mouthful of beer everywhere in a huge Budweiser shower. Lloyd, Mr. Barracuda, the one true die-hard MoPar fanatic in the bunch beside myself. Bud foam clinging to his beard, the entire kitchen looking like a pipe bomb had detonated inside a keg. Lloyd was a big guy. Beer was dripping off the hardwood cabinets as if we were exploring deep in the bowels of a cave somewhere ; "Tom Sawyer" came to mind, halfway expecting to see Injun Joe lurking around the corner .. I've never regretted not having to clean up that kitchen in the morning.
Back down the hall, the homage to RALPH! had stopped and had been replaced by weak urking noises and the sound of a flushing toilet . After a bit, the bathroom door hinges creaked briefly, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet and of Dale's bedroom door closing, and he was seen no more that night. We didn't have the heart to bother him to tell him he'd won the contest for Best Original Finish . That could wait 'til Monday.
But, we were talking cars, were we not? There was a guy-I'm not sure of the relationship with the boys-who had a nice Chevy II parked in the garage of the Homestead. I think the guy lived there sometimes, or maybe even owned the house , but I only saw him a few times. Martin, his name was. Anyway, this Chevy II had a real trick custom paint job with all kinds of overlapping colored lines and geometric shapes on a bright yellow basecoat, and a big, rectangular hole cut smack in the middle of the hood with a couple 660 Holleys poking out from atop a tunnel ram. It had a roller cam... I forget the specs now ..and chrome Hooker Pro Race fenderwell headers (open, naturally) and the one or two times Martin fired it up in that garage, the noise was absolutely deafening. One night after a few beers Martin wanted to show us something so we all went out in the garage . He shut the lights off and fired this sucker up and showed us these 12-inch rooster tails of blue flame barbequeing the garage floor ..too cool! I never saw him drive it, though. Matter of fact, the car had no plates. I rather think he might have bought it on a whim. But that dog would bark, let me assure you!
Dale, now he had a Gutless... I mean, Cutlass, faded red with a 350 Olds motor. He did some work to it . Put a cam in it, Edelbrock manifold with a 600 Holley. Thing was, he didn't know what the funny little toothpaste tube of cam lube was for so he chucked it in the gravel. He found out after about 1000 miles. Then he put another cam in it, this time with judicious use of the toothpaste, and it ran pretty strong for an otherwise-stock motor. He had a huge flat spot in the acceleration curve, and we fine-tuned those secondaries to where hed chirp em every time in second when he romped on it.
Lloyd had left his '66 Barracuda back in California, but had brought plenty of pictures. I swear he wrote love letters back home to the thing. It was a bit rough, as all our rides were, but he sure loved that car! He drove around a little yellow MG that was a scream. One time for a kick, we got six or seven guys in the school parking lot and picked it up where it sat between two cars and turned it sideways, then went back inside to watch. The look on his face was priceless, but he kept his cool ..he turned on the stereo and kicked back and waited for the guys at either end to leave, then simply fired it up and drove off. One cool cat. He knew it was us that did it and gave us crap for weeks! With his scraggly red beard, Lloyd was a dead-ringer for Clint Eastwood in The Outlaw Josie Wales . Only bigger.
Jim was a sandy-haired, freckly sort of guy who loved cars, especially muscle cars, but didn't own one . He just admired from a distance. Jerry, one of my buddies from Mudville, had come down to T-Town to begin flight training as a professional pilot and brought along his '72 Cowl Induction Chevelle and his sense of humor; he joined in with us and fit right in! All in all, we had plenty to talk about at the Homestead on Friday nights, believe me you!
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Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
I did......didn't I?triggerjay said:
BTW....that car of yours.....you didn't happen to find it in a Tulsa boneyard, did you?!!!
Thank you,thank you. Now I can go to bed. Next installment?
triggerjay
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2006
- Messages
- 109
- Reaction score
- 20
No, the car was bought new in 71 by my father...But I am only about 2 1/2 hours from tulsa.....Keep it coming!!
Triggerjay
Triggerjay
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
[QUOTE='73red-duster]Thank you,thank you. Now I can go to bed. Next installment?[/QUOTE]
PU-LEEEASE!!! Give me a break!
(It's so NICE to be wanted!)
I haven't even started the next chapter yet. You guys are killing me!
PU-LEEEASE!!! Give me a break!
(It's so NICE to be wanted!)
I haven't even started the next chapter yet. You guys are killing me!
OldVart
Well-Known Member
:coffee2: Next up.......... :happy1: ...........Chapter 11. Let's get with the program there Cap'n! :director:
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
You guys are ruining my whole summer making me slave over a hot keyboard! LOLOldVart said:
jrlegacy23
68 Barracuda
aaaahhh! I just got my fix for the day :sleepy3: Take your time, a nice long story of interest is much better than a rushed story. Thanks again :thumbup:
Just kiddin ya Cap'n. Take your time. It gives us all something,to look forward to.BTW,it's been worth the wait,so far.
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
I can't believe how many of you guys are viewing this thread! I guess I better get busy, huh?
What happens when I run out of "story"? Would you still read it if I started making it up?
What happens when I run out of "story"? Would you still read it if I started making it up?
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Hopefully by the time ur done someone else decides to write their mopar story. But like they said, take ur time. We know you have other things going on in your life. I think that we can all relate to one part or another, so we just get a little excited sometimes. You should contact one of the mopar mags when its done a nd see if they will print it. Im sure they would shorten it or break it down into installments. Either way you should give it a shot!! :thumbup:
jrlegacy23
68 Barracuda
I think that we would all still read it if it was made up, just do not tell us that it was. Just keep on writing...let us assume that it is true :lurk:
Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
No....this IS all true. But one only has one Life Story to tell, and I was wondering what to do when I got to the end..........jrlegacy23 said:
OldVart
Well-Known Member
OHHHHHHH.....I wouldn't rush to the end of your Life Story if I were you!! :hiding:
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