My Rusty Old Maverick

The Ford Motor Company stopped making the ill-fated Edsel automobile when I was about six years old. I didn't buy one because I had no money and no driver's license. I wish I had though. They're a real collector's item now.

Some people have speculated that the Edsel failed because — unlike the symbols of power and masculinity associated with most cars in its day —  its grille had a perceived feminine look. It resembled a woman's, um... it looked like, uh...  let's put it this way, it reminded people of... how shall I say it?... a woman's "Virginia".

The Infamous Edsel Grille

My first car was a brand new blue Ford Maverick. Incidentally, my dad used the euphemism "maverick" when referring to a man's, um... to his, uh... how shall we say?... his "Pennsylvania." Or better yet, since I grew up in Windsor, Ontario across the river from Michigan - let's call it his "Lower Peninsula".  

A 1975 Ford Lower Peninsula

 

I nicknamed my Maverick (the car, not my you-know-what) the "Blue Bomber." That would have been a strange nickname for the other thing. I drove my Maverick until it rusted out (and we can stop with the mental images now, please). Back then, Ford was known for their rusty vehicles. Even the venerated Mustang was dubbed the "Rustang".

I've always given my cars nicknames. I tend to do that with a lot of stuff. My Greenworks lawn mower is "Mow Green".  I'm sure I'm not the only one who does that. In fact, a friend of mine has a bypass lopper that she's named "Cyndi" (Lopper).

My second car was a spanking new silver Plymouth Horizon. This little car (nicknamed the "Silver Bullet") with a four-on-the-floor gear shift was fun to drive, but the transmission made clunky noises that the mechanics could somehow never fix. I sold it to a very young woman who had just received her driver's license. When I demonstrated how to shift gears with the manual transmission, she looked at my left foot on the clutch and said, "You mean you have to do that every time?" Fortunately for her, her father was there to drive the car back to their house. I hope she became more adept at driving a stick shift than the contestants you see on The Amazing Race.  

My third ride was my first used vehicle. It was a black Ford Granada, and my only car with a V-8 engine. Not a great car by any means, it would emit this very strange wood burning smell every now and again. I never did figure out what that was. Maybe Ford made some parts out of wood back then to deal with the rust issues.

I sold this car after two or three years, and on my way to deliver it to the buyers, it did something it had never done before; it started to sputter and stall on the expressway, as if it were reluctant to go to its new owner. I found myself yelling, "You rotten piece of ****! What the **** are you doing to me?" This seemed to do the trick as the car settled down enough to make it to our destination. But being the honest guy that I am, I explained to the purchasers what had just happened. They didn't seem too concerned. Even so, I called them up a few days later to see how the car was handling. They said it was running fine. I'd say that car took the whole thing just a little too personal. My buddy liked to call it "Granada Your Mama". I preferred the "Black Stallion", with some emphasis on the "Stall".

My car ownership days hit a new low with my next jalopy. It was a well-used yellow Dodge Omni. On one trip down the highway, the radiator was failing and the car was overheating. I put the heater and fan on full blast to try to cool the engine to some degree. But it was a blistering hot day in the middle of summer. It was like racing in the Baja 500 in full winter gear.

On another jaunt, from under the hood came a loud "POW!" That bucket of bolts died right then and there. I should have just called a cab and left it where it was, never to have to look at the thing again. I originally gave this piece of crap the handle "Banana Peeler" (although it hardly ever "peeled out"). Ultimately, I just referred to it as "The Lemon".

My fortunes didn't improve much with my next vehicle; a truck actually. It was a Chevy Blazer. Its original color was a standard red. I had it painted after about a year to a deep red. It thus became "Carmine" (after the color) or sometimes it was the "Duke of Burgundy". Changing the hue didn't boost its performance. I ended up putting a new engine in it. Also, it developed the loudest, shrillest squealing noise imaginable. Fire engines and ambulances would pull over when I was on the road with that beast. No mechanic, and I mean NO mechanic could figure out where the squeal was coming from. Several tried. I went back to calling this awful off-roader by its original nickname, "Red Dog".

Among other nicknames were:

• A new blue Chevy Chevette - good ol' "Cesar Chevette".
• A lightly used Dodge Caravan. A surprisingly peppy van that I dubbed "Vincent", as in "Vincent Van Go." 
• A new, deep red PT Cruiser (made in Mexico) - "Pablo T Cruiser", or just "Pablo." (Anyone remember the band, Pablo Cruise?)
• A new Honda CRV. Not a big vehicle by any means, but a lot bigger than the Honda Civic (Jane Honda) we had just prior to this purchase. The license plate ID started with BMFH, which I took to mean Big MotherF****** Honda. The nickname thus was a cleaned-up "Big Mamma".
• Our current vehicle is a Chevrolet Equinox -  "Verna", short for "Verna L. Equinox".

You'll notice that four of the last five cars we've owned have been new purchases. After dealing with the "Black Stallion", "The Lemon", and "Red Dog", I think I've learned my lesson.

Finally, does anyone have any information on what one can do to reinvigorate a rusty old Maverick?