The Number Three Is Better Than The Number One

Try this. You are driving a Ford baby blue, top- down, white interior, white-walled tired with chrome disc wheels Cougar with a 351 Cleveland engine. A huge truck pulls along side. It is pitch polished back, somewhat tricked with lots of chrome. Two Hispanic gentlemen about 25 years of age, both position themselves in the passenger window of the truck and with a Cheshire smile and the most exciting of voices say, "Nice ride. Really nice. What year is it?" And they both give you a thumbs up. You put the Cougar is low gear and with the cut-outs open, you pull away to about 3,000 rpm which is the purr shift-point before you go to second at 45 mph. Who ahh.

Then you pull into a gas station, park, and begin to fill the tank. A car with two beautiful black ladies about 20 years old, stare at you while you are filling the tank. Actually they are not staring at you, but the Cougar. One approaches. She is striking. When she stands beside the Cougar, she says, "You have a fine car. I really like it." as she pets it. I’ll bet it is older than me." She smiles, turns and walks away.

Just yesterday, I pulled into a grocery parking lot. As I disembarked the Cougar whose doors are 4.5 feet long and swing like a bulkhead door of an aircraft, a gentleman rolls down his can window and says, "Guess your not thinking of sell that beauty are you? What year is it?"

I bought the car new. Many years later it caught fire and was totaled. From the parts in junk yards, I rebuilt it. It took two years and more work than you can imagine. It has a shape that is more appealing than a Coke bottle.

Here is the kicker. You may think that the Cougar is only attractive to young men and pretty women, but you are wrong. I pulled into another grocery store parking lot and three 8 to 12 year old boys on mountain bikes surround the Cougar. Before I could open the door, one of the boys yells, "Hey Mr. what year is that car and what kind of car is it? That is the coolest car we have every seen?" I called back, "It is a Cougar."

Almost every time I drive the Cougar, someone rolls down a window, honks, walks up to me, or in the case of a Cop, pulls me over to comment on the beauty of the car and to ask, "What year is that? I am so happy that it is a 1973 Cougar so I can hold up three fingers. Most know it is a 70s car, they just want to know what year. The reason I am happy is because if it were a 1971, and I held up the appropriate number of fingers, I would be in deep trouble.