When my mother came to the States in 1988, her first car was a '72 2-door Dart she bought from her friend whose aunt had just died and left the car. She bought it for $500, which was more than a bargain for such a pristine vehicle. The car was 100% original, and there was nothing wrong with it. It had the 225 "bulletproof" engine which ran like a Swiss watch, the 3-speed automatic on the column, and a perfect dark brown interior. Its only downfall was the faded metallic gold original paint which over the years had accumulated sun damage. The car had 55,000 miles on the odometer, and absolutely NO RUST. With the collapse of the Soviet Bloc in 1989, my father and I were reunited with my mother in the States in 1990, and the '72 became the family car. I was 14 at the time.
Due to our limited means at the time, we lived in a rented apartment in Peekskill, NY, and my father parked the Dodge on the street. One early afternoon in 1992 after I had just returned from school and my father had driven home from work, we heard a loud bang outside. We looked out the window to see what had happened and horror struck both of us. A big cargo van was planted into the Dart's rear side just forward of the rear wheel. The force of the hit also pushed the corresponding part of the Dart's opposite side into the telephone pole on the sidewalk, so now our only car looked like a bow-tie. The driver of the van was drunk, but he knew the cop so he was let go. The insurance only gave us $500 for the car, so we were left with no option but to get rid of it. There was no way to fix it with so little money. Just as my father was contemplating junking it, we happened to see a metallic pine-green '73 Dart Swinger 225 automatic sitting in an old gentleman's driveway a few blocks from our house. We had never been on that street, but I guess fate took us there that day because the Swinger's engine was blown, and the old gentleman only wanted $400 for it. My father paid it in a heartbeat. My father also had a friend who helped us put the '72's 225 engine into the '73. Thus Machine was born.
Now, as luck would have it, the '73 was not in the same shape as the '72. The rear quarter panels were rusting behind the rear wheels, the lime vinyl top was bubbling at the seams, the dashboard was cracking, and the dark green vinyl seats were ripping in a few spots. However, the frame was in good shape and every mechanical component was good to go, despite the fact that it had sat in the old man's driveway for 3 years. It had tinted windows and the chrome trim package around the wheel wells and below the doors. Soon enough my parents bought a new rice-burner, and since my mom took the train into the city and didn't need a car, the Swinger was mine as long as I dropped her off at the train station before school and picked her up at night.
I named the car Machine for a few reasons. First was the way it ran. The slant six was impeccable, and the power steering, transmission, heat, and even the radio worked perfectly. Another reason was that I could start it in the dead of winter with only two pumps every time. For the next 3 years of high school it never left me hanging once, save a few times I flooded it out of my own stupidity. But even then, all I had to do was wait a few minutes and it would start right up. All my high-school friends loved it. We could fit 4 in the back, even with the 2 doors, and 3 in the front, and I drove it like a maniac. Thank God we never crashed because I would have killed a lot of people. In the winter when it snowed about 4 of us would hop in my car and go out driving in the snow at night. Now this was the most fun you could have during the winter without actually being outside. I never let anybody drive Machine, but my buddies were happy just to take a ride in the beast. I had these buff off-road truck tires on the back so the thing would plow through anything. A typical night involved driving through a few snow piles, after which getting chased by mall security rent-a-cops through the parking lot was a given around midnight. Following a few 360's and reverse 180's in the school parking lot, we usually ended the night by tearing it up through the park. Never did Machine falter, and she remained predictable no matter how far her butt was ahead of her hood.
However, Machine finally earned her name one afternoon on my way to the video store. I had pulled into the strip-mall parking lot and I was driving about 20 mph down one of the isles when, out of nowhere, a Dodge Omni pulled out in front of me. The lady pulled out so fast I didn't even have time to slam on the brakes. Machine hit the Omni at 20 mph. When I did finally stop Machine, she had pushed the little Omni sideways about 10 feet and pretty much bent it like a banana. The poor lady wasn't even able to open her door because the whole side of her car was caved in. When I got out to assess the damage on Machine, what do you know... I saw a scratch and a slight dent in the huge bumper that was only noticeable from a particular angle -- and which I thought might had been there from before... Like I said, Machine was no show car, so this was nothing! I felt bad for the lady, but oh well. Such is life.
Machine later reinforced her bully image when I was at a red light my senior year in high-school. Sitting at the light I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw a late model Buick LeSabre barreling towards me and not slowing down. Before I could get out of the way it rear-ended Machine. When I got out to see what had happened, the Buick was a mess. I mean the car was in bad shape. The grill and headlights were toast, and so was the front plastic bumper. The hood was also slightly bent. Again, I felt bad for the lady, and I didn't even bother to get her insurance information. Why you ask? Now if you know your Darts, you know '73 was the last model year that had the tail lights inside the awesome rear bumper. Machine only had a little bit of the Buick's paint on its bumper! That's it! And that even came off when I rubbed it with my hand -- to the relief (or disappointment -- I'm still not sure) of the lady in the Buick.
That was Machine's last adventure before my parents decided to sell it and buy me a new Mitsubishi for graduation. I was excited to get a new car at the time -- not because I didn't love Machine, but because I was going to college and I felt I'd have better luck with the ladies driving a sporty new car. My father sold it for $500 to some guy, and I saw it a year later with its window busted and the stereo that I had put in it missing. The dashboard was all ripped up from the theft as well. I'm sorry I ever gave it away now, and the image of Machine all ripped up inside still upsets me when I think about it. I don't know what happened to it after that. I like to think a part of it is in the hood of my Acura, but man, do I miss Machine...