This true story I have written is about my own family, especially for the memory of my grandfather, that I lovingly called my "Papa" and his yellow 1967 Mustang convertible. I wrote this story "live, online" on my Prodigy Service bulletin board, on the evening of my grandmothers' special birthday party on July 2,1994. I have sent copies out to friends and acquaintances all over the country and now sharing it with you over the Internet. This true story has been published in many car club newsletters and distributed at special events around the world. I am proud to share it with you *Please Note If you use this story for re publication, please E-Mail me. I would also like to receive a copy of that publication and event information for my own personal scrapbook - Thanks!

Write me ! E-Mail Craigy

I remember the last part of the summer of August 1966 in St Louis. It was blistering hot, but when you're a kid only weeks from your 10th birthday, life is just plain good. My family and I had spent a lot of time out at Lake Tishomingo that year, to escape from the heat of the city. This one particular weekend in my life was the weekend of the big annual lake picnic. The setting at the lakes' shoreline that day was more liken to a carnival really. As a kid at an event like this, well, I was having the time of my life. I remember playing games of chance for a dime, and eating cotton candy like it was going out of style. Lake Tishimingo itself was just a short ride to the country from our old brown brick apartment house in the city. My grandma and grandpa, "Papa & Meme"" purchased the lake property for our family in 1961. It was just a small unimproved lot, with a shed, a picnic table, and a brick barbecue pit, but it had lots of trees where their grandkids, could always have a place to go and enjoy outings "in the country" with their own families for many years to come.

That lake picnic to me, just seems like a whisper of a dream from my past now. I had no idea that that fateful sultry Saturday afternoon would be a day, that in my life that afterward, would forever be changed. You see, during all of the excitement and fun I was having, my Papa had purchased a raffle ticket from one of the hawkers walking around the picnic grounds. For that raffle ticket, he paid the man the sum of one dollar. Now a dollar in "those days" was a LOT of money and getting a dollar from my Papa... well that was really saying something! Papa stuck the ticket into his wallet.

Late at home that same Saturday night, I asked my parents if I could "sleep over" at Memes' and Papas' house. Although they only lived in the apartment right next to us, they had a room air conditioner, which to anyone then was a "big deal!" Of course, I loved being with my grandparents no matter the reason.

I can still hear the sound of the loud bell when the phone rang that night. It was the call that changed our lives. Papa, now on the phone was immediately asked by the mysterious caller if he had purchased a raffle ticket at the lake picnic that day, and if he was indeed a property owner at Lake Tishimingo? Answering both to the affirmative, the caller then said, "Mr. Anderson, we would like to inform you that you have won our official Grand Prize, sponsored through McMahon Ford of St Louis, and the Lake Tishimingo Property Association ...... A brand new 1967 Ford Mustang!" Your grand prize Mustang has a sticker price of $2,797.98!"

"Darlin, Darlin!" he exclaimed, "Get on the extension phone" (a heavy black steel phone with no rotary dial)" Your not going to believe this! The one raffle ticket I bought for $1.00 today..... WON that new MUSTANG!"

My whole family gathered after church the very next afternoon, still dressed up in our "Sunday best", so excited to go retrieve Papas' new car, back at the lake. Lots of pictures were taken by our family that day, with Papas' fancy black and white Polaroid camera. The local community press did a short interview of our very lucky winner! My Papa, (Ralph) was a man with many experiences. He had been a trumpet player and a Big Band Leader in the 1920's era. He was well known in his day for his music in St Louis, New Orleans, and southern Florida with his "Silver Fleet Orchestra." Ralph was a talented kid, that had to leave home at age 14 to play his music on the road, just to send money back home to his family. They like so many others, had fallen on difficult financial times from WW1, and all through the times of The Great Depression.

Papa and Meme, (Ralph and Loretta) had been in love and married for 33 years at that time. Now, my grandpa was a simple, caring pharmacist, and drug store owner who loved people, and knew things about everyone in his neighborhood. He could call every kid in his store by their first names as they came into his drugstore, and sat at his soda fountain counter after school.

The metal on the car was hot to the touch, as the grand kids wondered about all the fuss of the moment, only anticipating a ride in a car that had such a strange and alluring smell to the interior. That special odor of this new car was unforgettable as I to sniff the air in there over and over. When I was asked how I liked it, I said, "It was keen"

In the years to come, the passenger side of the yellow car was occupied almost every time the engine was started, by yours truly! The Mustang was always parked just below my bedroom window of our adjoining next door city apartments. The roar of the 289 eight cylinder warming up in the morning was a very familiar sound to me. Much much better than any alarm clock to this young boy in the late 1960s.

So many times we played out this familiar scenario: Papa would say, "Craigy, buckle up!" Soon after, we were pulling out of space 2W and off the apartment parking lot. Our neighborhood barber, "Red" would rush outside his shop and always wave at us in the car. We'd wave back, but we never missed a beat as we continued on our mornings journeys. I can still hear the honk of the horn as we whizzed by the Shell station down the block, as all the full service attendants together yelled, " Hello Ralph! " I was always proud to be a passenger in Papas' car.

It was like a dream, the way the car could pull Papa away from the regular flow of traffic, and off through side streets that provided a cool moment away from the heat. The convertible top was almost never seen in the locked down forward position. Even a light afternoon rain would be no obstacle for two such pathfinders, looking for alternative routes to familiar destinations.

The St Louis Zoo, only two miles away, was always a particularly favorite stop of ours, as the car instinctively found its regular parking spot near where the ducks swam in the lake in Forest Park. Papa would say, "Open the trunk, Craigy" handing me the keys, and a fresh new loaf of bread for the ducks magically appeared. Those were the times Papa shared his life, his dreams, and goals for me, so I'd grow up strong and happy. Those were days I shall never forget

Time equals change, and the urges of this young man soon turned from the mere satisfaction of being a passenger, to the overwhelming desire to control the vehicle. I don't recall ever having to unlock any car back in those days. I sat for hours in that number 2W parking space, turning the steering wheel and making all the "appropriate" mouth noises that only a new teenager would.

A new day approached in the spring of 1971 when the urges could no longer be held back. This fifteen year old young man insisted over and over to his grandfather that he knew he could drive the car. After weeks of begging him for permission, he handed me the keys. This youngster started the ignition with confident ease, and shifted the handle on the floor console to "D" as he had practiced so many, many times before. I held the steering wheel as tight as I could. Being totally inexperienced, I floored the gas of the high power muscle car. It started burning rubber for more than 15 feet, and was sliding sideways out of control. Panic struck and I jammed on the brakes until they locked up. The vehicle swerved abruptly, then finally halted, leaving it undamaged, and its new driver totally speechless. I never ever would ask PaPa to drive his car, ever again.....

Papas' yellow car went out of sight for several years, from 1972 to 1979. As he had dreamed for many years, the humble man finally retired, and moved south, to Biloxi, Mississippi. I, being a young man now, was attached to my own yellow Ford. A 1963 Falcon, with a black rubber top, and straight six cylinder 180cc engine. I purchased that Ford Falcon for $150 with money made bagging groceries after school, at a new local supermarket. I was making $2.20 an hour, ten hours a week. Unknown to me at the time, these new larger supermarkets, with pharmacys and bakerys and hardware sections built inside the stores, were putting all the mom & pop stores, like Papa had owned, in a deep financial tailspin.

In January of 1974 my $150 treasure of a Falcon would transport me, a very ambitious 17 year old to the movies, for my very first date, with a very sexy 21 year old girl. She had long legs, long hair, and mysterious green eyes. Being an innocent lad of 17, I gulped hard, and prayed that the Falcon would even start (because it usually didn't) That night actually begin the ride of my entire future, because "that" girl, the only girl I ever dated .... asked me to marry her 30 days after that first date. That first date was 30 years ago. Time goes by fast. We were engaged for 3 years, and she has been my wife for almost 27 years now.

The Mustang arrived back in St Louis abruptly after the birth of Andy, the first great-grandchild in 1979. My grandmother, exclaimed to Papa, that her future was going to be by her family, and new great grand baby, and not near the ocean! They moved back to St Louis in 1980 into the very same apartment they had left and had always occupied before. More pictures were being taken of Andy "the new cute baby" than of the old forgotten car now. It was now showing terrible signs of deep rust from the saltwater spray that Biloxi Mississippi, and Gulf of Mexico waters had been inflicting upon it

The car now in the mid 1980s only made brief appearances at a few of the local stores. The old store owners we knew so well, had given up and left. Red the barber was gone. The gas stations were now all self-serve, and new plastic telephones had push buttons instead of rotary dials. The world was changing around us but its hard to notice unless you're looking back very carefully.

Their daily walks were being taken by my happy grandparents, preferred over car rides. Papa started his Mustang for the last time in August of 1988. It had failed to pass state inspection and it was left to rust on the apartment parking lot, space number 2W. Too much trouble to deal with, to expensive to repair, and he emotionally said his were eyes to tired to drive at night anymore..

Love and togetherness was still the order of the day for a man and his wife that were married 60 years, and had twice lived in the same apartment for a total of 40 years. In August of 1993, Papa fell and struck his head coming up his basement stairs of his apartment on laundry day. Stairs he had climbed thousands of times before. There was a brief moment of recovery on one Sunday afternoon in October, when he sat up in the hospital and told his favorite old jokes. He could actually recognize his two great-grandchildren. He called my sons Andy & Aaron by name that day. He was unable to do that for the last several years, as Alzheimers' disease had taken its grip. God gave us that special day to remember how he always was, how much fun we had together, and what we meant to each other as a family. PaPa passed away quietly on Nov 1,1993 with a simple service at the local funeral home, a block from his apartment, his old drugstore, and the family he loved so much.

The police department soon after informed the widow to remove the unlicensed, rusted vehicle from the property. She had a drivers licence with her in her purse, but the last date of renewal was stamped 1948! She was told the 27 year old car had now become an eyesore to the community. It had become an object of abuse by new local children, who had no respect for other peoples' property, or their feelings, and had used the car as a play thing. It was just too dangerous to leave around anymore.

In March of 1994 the Mustang left the property for the last time. It was towed away; a rusted, dull, unwanted heap, unloved, and uncared for. It had only caught the interest of a speculator or two who had offered insulting dollars for its possession. Newspaper articles, advertising for the attainment of scrap steel, would pulverize it into meaningless oblivion. The thing of rubber, steel and rust had no hope for the future, except for one person. A man/child, now at age 37, who remembered that first new car smell, and the sounds of the revving mouth noises, and the day when he had once gripped the wheel so tightly; dreaming of where the road, and his life may some day take him....

This worthless '67 convertible was towed to a local garage. Many "experts" looked, tapped, and laughed at the prospect of it ever starting again, not to mention the prospect of it ever becoming road worthy ... Sometimes to share a dream with others is to risk what, and who, you are; this man/child felt the ridicule that the car itself knew so well.

After many exhausting calls, a gentleman was contacted on the phone, whom my father had previously considered selling the car to, or giving it away (as junk) for used parts. This nice man, named Mark Hiatt, owned a Mustang restoration garage; Mid America Classic Mustang. A one-of-a-kind special garage, less than 30 miles from my home.

I got the car to his location. The owner Mark gave his honest judgment of plain and simple truths that were already painfully known, but I had never spoken of out loud. He talked in terms of rockers, cowling buckets, pans, and other items foreign to my terminology, but I shook my head "Yes" not to look mechanically uneducated about cars in front of him. My heart just felt sick

He was firm, direct, honest, and knew what he was talking about. The overall, bottom-line price was so steep, and Mark would not compromise, with a simple paint job, new top, and tune up, that would prolong the death, that the car once had already recently suffered. I was told that old rusted convertibles can crack right in half on the highway, because there is no roof to hold it all together under stress. The structure and frame was unfit and unsafe to ever be driven in that condition. A total restoration was my only option.

My dream for the car was still alive, but the goal seemed so unreachable. The importance of other personal financial interests loomed on the horizon like saving college money for my two sons, and then the replacement of our home, and personal items lost in the St Louis Flood of '93. (Our basement wall of our home had collapsed under the pressure of the rising waters of the Mississippi River and we lost our house and most all of our belongings.)

Many other challenges still lie ahead as well, and the money could also have easily been spent on a trip to a California convention, to meet new friends we had made on the* Prodigy Bulletin Boards. We longed to meet the stars of our favorite old television show *Dark Shadows, also from the same era of 1967. We found these new online friends from the Prodigy Dark Shadows group, ready and willing to fill the gap in our lives from the sacrifices we would have to make.

We decided not to travel across to California to the convention. These new computer friends of unknown faces and voices, came to support us in our dreams, and fill small voids from the financial sacrifices that had to be made, to fulfill this new goal, and bring my vision to fruition.

The anticipation of the moment built inside me, like Christmas morning to a six year old. The wonder of all the odd preparations necessary to plan a surprise birthday party for my grandmother "Meme" was still months away. With all the love she had shown me when I was growing up, this was my chance to do something special for her. The days seemed like years, and time changed the minutes to hours, but my heart was set on this decision now.

Frequent visits to the garage were made, only to find the car further and further disassembled with new hidden rusted parts revealed. "Just new challenges", Mark would say with his smiling confidence. A smile was worn by the man/child on the outside, while viewing the naked frame of the automobile, but his heart sank so low in the helplessness of the situation; unable, and unqualified to ever put this jigsaw of pieces back together by his own accord. He only had a spark of faith that had been passed on to him, that now was hanging on a smile and the tools of a true craftsman, his new friend Mark Hiatt, and his great team of mechanics at Mid America Mustang.

Again for the first time in decades, pictures were taken of the little car that could. Although not from the very beginning, when it was at its worst, but later after small progress was realized. Just like a lady, who refuses to have her picture taken first thing in the morning, until her hair is properly combed and initial adjustments are made.

After a complete disassembly was done, and 106 hours of welding accomplished, the little elves who finish the cobblers shoes as he slept; crept into the night and started working their magic into the wee hours, for a day of debut that was about to arrive. Little Cinderella was about to wear her new slippers....

The day did arrive as preparations for MeMes' birthday were planned for Saturday, July 2, 1994 at noontime. My surprise of the Mustang had not been revealed to anyone. Not a single family member knew of the secret that burned in my heart. A few faceless friends on Prodigy, and some close friends at home had to be told just a little information before I burst. Not even my two sons, Andy and Aaron ages 15 and 11 at the time, knew of the dream that was unfolding beneath their eyes. I had feared that I may not be able to afford to finish the project, or it wouldn't be possible to ever be completed on time. Mark had never done a total restoration of a car in this very short time frame of four months. He had other customers, and a business to run. But Mark was not just my mechanic now. He was my friend.

My scheduled pickup time for the car was 10:45 AM. Just an hour and fifteen minutes before MeMes' birthday party, and the unveiling of my big moment . When we arrived at Mid America Mustang that morning Mark had his garage completely blocked off. The entrance had been sealed off, so we couldn't get near to our car! This was "Marks plan!" We were not to even gaze upon the car, not even one peek, until the last bit of dust was wiped from the hood, and the last piece of lint taken from the carpet. His whole team had worked all through that final night to finish the car, just for me. My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. my heart I wanted to tear down the garage door that stood between me and that little "pony car". Four months had passed since I first walked though the front door of Mid America Mustang* I had not been back to the shop in several weeks, and at that time, the Mustang had still looked very awkward. It was unpainted, and went almost completely unnoticed by other customers who had frequented the garage for their Mustang parts and service. That was about to change forever.

At just the right moment the garage door was finally opened for Lynda and me. To this day I could not believe my eyes! Suddenly my knees became weak. I tried to walk forward toward it but I felt the same weakness in my knees I had felt on my wedding day so many years ago, shaking, wanting to go, needing to go, but unsure of how to move.....

There it sat under the gleam of the fluorescent lights. Not only the car but the garage was transformed too! It was cleanly swept and organized where it had always been so cluttered before, with tools and equipment, of these honest, hard-working men. There she sat, like a princess waiting for her love to call her name; to respond to the first and slightest touch. The longing for so many years and the recent hurts of losses in my life were finally over and behind me. Joy flooded my eyes and my moment was now .

Tears fell like rain. Words would not come. My legs still could not advance to admire its beauty. It was more beautiful than the first day that my eyes had first beheld it, and smelled that first, unmistakable leathery smell, twenty seven years before. The word "keen" had not popped into my head in years, until that moment

Mark turned the radio on at that magic moment, and with the very first sound, it clearly played these words... "You are so beautiful, to me,... Cant you see? Your everything I hoped for, your everything, I need, ...you are so beautiful, ..to me*". The words on the radio had spoken for all of us at that wonderful first moment. It was like a dream placed upon my heart to be a 10 year old and ride in it, as a 15 year old almost wreck it, as a young man to ignore it, and for the Mustang to sit there now, in front of me, in all its beauty. It was magnificent. The Mustang and I were young again and I felt reborn. This 27 year old classic car with 37,000 original miles, and I, at age 37, were rejoined in a very special moment in time.

Merely rubber and steal? No, it was so much more. My youth, innocence, ambitions, and dreams all culminated in that one moment that day. PaPa laid words upon my heart, saying to me,"Thank you Craigy, take the keys, its all yours now".

New pictures of the car were taken by the garage owner, the mechanics, and their families as well. Each one of them had come to the garage that day celebrate with us, this moment of victory, for us and them. It was a day in my life that I will never forget. and will be telling my grandchildren, and great grandchildren about years from now. I drove away from the shop, in my beautiful yellow Mustang convertible, crying, with Lynda following close behind.

I thought my tears were over but the outpouring continued after I drove home, and honked the horn for my boys, who went absolutely wild! They had never seen such a "cool car" and couldn't wait to go to Memes' birthday party now, especially now if they were going to get to ride! I called my dad on my cell phone and told him to get out the video camera, I was coming to his house with a "little surprise" So, I just "swung" it four miles across town, and over into to my dads' driveway. He was was outside in position and waiting for me, thinking maybe I had bought a new car. As I came up his street he became so overwhelmed in tears and couldn't hold the camera still. I got out of the car and we hugged each other and we wept like babies. My parents have never failed to support me in every decision I have ever made. They were thrilled to capture and touch a part of their past too, knowing family traditions and values they had taught, had become important to me as well.

Now it was noontime, and my whole family together... everyone, formed a caravan and followed me for my two block drive, to my final leg of my journey, back to my grandmothers' apartment. My boys walked up the open back stairway, rang her bell and rushed back down. She strolled down so unknowingly as my dad video taped her walking down the same apartment stairs for her to go to her birthday party. The Mustang and I were now strategically hidden in the side driveway of the apartment. At just the right time, after she got all the way down the stairs, next to its old parking spot, .... I pulled up gently into space 2W and said to her "Its your birthday, do you want a ride?"

You've never seen so many people crying at a birthday party in all your life. It was an afternoon of joy and tears and rememberence. I want you to know that your dreams are real too, and have purpose. My vision of bringing a car back to my grandmother, that had once meant so much to Papa, and was such a huge part of our family history, came true that day. Please, hold on to your dreams, as long as it takes, with everything you've got. They can and do come true.

Someone out there believes in your dream too, and is waiting to help you achieve it! Working on your dream will help you touch lives that you never imagined possible. Thank you, the reader, for the part you played in my new goal, which is now to share this story with others. What I didn't expect from what I had done, is the attention the Mustang has had by so many folks who used to own their own Mustang and many working on their own cars now! Others encouraged me to enter the car in local car shows. We have won 26 trophies in local St Louis shows to date, and we've received a special recognition from the local Ford assembly plant in St Louis. We love showing the Mustang to new people and telling them about my grandfathers story. From November of 1997 to December of 1998 I was honored by being the President of the Show Me Mustang Club of St Louis Missouri! So now, if you see a yellow Mustang convertible whizzing by, with a licence plate that says 1IT-N67 (Won it in 1967) just wave, and yell "Hi Craigy". I may not slow down too much, but you can bet I'll have a fresh loaf of bread in the trunk for the ducks, and would be glad to wave to you and honk my horn! I wonder, after a few more years, when I'm driving our Mustang to a Lake Tishomingo picnic, if my future grand kids will call me "Papa?"

Craigy & Ralph Anderson standing near space 2W in 1967

Photos of Papas 1967 Mustang

Picture 1   Picture 2   Picture 3

Picture 4   Picture 5   Picture 6   Picture 7

Music & lyrics by Joe Cocker
Mid America Mustang, St Charles Missouri Mark Hiatt / Owner /Proprietor (314)-946-4444
Thank you Nicole for your inspiration always
Last visit to Lake Tishomingo June 16th, 2003
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Story Copyright Craig Anderson 1994-2004

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