Thus it was that I awoke one morning and peered out the front window to see this low-slung automobile crouching in the driveway. It looked kind of squat and stubby until you got up close, and gave satisfying THONK-THONK noises when you slapped it on the side. Nor did the hood buckle when you sat on it–-a no-no with the Toyota. In its every dimension it gave the impression of total invincibility. It looked ridiculously out of place next to our little Corolla; a beast from another era, built according to an almost alien sense of values ... Jurassic Car....
This was our Dart -- the two-door 1966 model with a V8 the size of a small refrigerator. Apparently it was what my remote ancestors thought of as a nice little economy car. It was painted some sort of horrible metallic turquoise blue, so we immediately christened it the Bluesmobile.
My mother paid an el cheapo beatermobile price for it--a mere $100 cash--and the Bluesmobile looked the part. The black vinyl roof was peeling off. The springs in the upholstery had turned to mush. The body was almost rusted through in a half-dozen different places. Mechanically it was surprisingly sound, although Dad was always fighting with the wiring to get the dashboard instruments to work right. Too, the engine had one cylinder that sometimes fired and sometimes didn’t, but with that brutal chunk of Detroit pig iron under the hood you couldn’t even tell the difference. Dad fussed with it and swore at it and puzzled over it, and finally left it alone because its net impact on the performance of the car seemed to be precisely zero.
Having never before owned a car with an automatic transmission (or power steering, or power brakes, or power anything), we considered the shaggy old Dodge the epitome of driving luxury. It performed magnificently in its assigned role. Many were the winter mornings my mother drove me triumphantly past all the Mazdas and Volvos lying in the ditch. It averaged all of 13 miles to the gallon, but it was heavy and had a center of gravity low enough to make a magnificent snowplow. Aim it at a snowdrift, even without chains, and WHAP! Piles of wet slush went flying, and the Bluesmobile continued on its implacable way to school. It was funny to see a line of four or five little imports following in our wake.
Thanks to that massive engine, it was also frighteningly fast. I have no idea how many cubic inches it took up ... only that when Mom got irritated at somebody cutting her off on the freeway and leaned on the pedal, the transmission gave a light thump and the windy roar of the motor became a deep, overwhelming hum. Wheee-ooooo (cha-boomp) VOOOOOOOOM. When called upon to deliver, the big V8 spoke in tones of great authority. I imagine all you Dart freaks out there know exactly what I’m talking about. We never took it past 80 mph or so, but the effortless sense of acceleration and lack of weird vibration-noises seemed to suggest that the car had plenty more on tap. We’ll never know for sure.
My mother sold the Bluesmobile for $800 in 1985 (not a bad markup), the year after she and Dad got divorced. She was hard up and needed the money, and although I loved the car I wasn’t ready to take on the expense of owning it. It got us through several very tough winters without a whimper of complaint, and did yeoman service as a long-distance vacationer besides. Despite its doubtful appearance, it was as utterly and thoroughly reliable as a Sherman tank. It never leaked weird-colored crap and never failed to get us where we were going. Regardless of the weather, or the road, or the knocks and scrapes, the sonofagun RAN. And even with the shot-out interior, it was the roomiest, most comfortable automobile I’ve ever ridden in.
Big old gas-guzzlers are a dime a dozen. So are finicky, temperamental so-called ‘classic’ cars. I’ve seen plenty of both, wrinkled my nose, and walked away unimpressed. The Bluesmobile was different. It was a gallant old thoroughbred--beaten, neglected, but with the heart of a mastodon. In terms of reliability, power, and comfort it made an impression on me that has lasted these many years. Kudos to those of you who are keeping these great old cars alive!