Mustang Sally? Why, She's Up and Gone...

June 03 2005

My in-laws have a dairy farm, a place with an ambient charm all its own in south central Kentucky. The county they reside in is entirely rural but not exclusively suitable for farming; some of the terrain around the Green River is too rugged, and much of the ground in other areas is more red clay than fertile soil.

Knowing this, it’s understandable that some of their 203+ acres are not really suitable for planting and grazing; it’s one of these un-agrarian parcels that my father-in-law has set aside for junk. Not just for produce and livestock, farms are ripe with the sort of clutter and debris that gives an EPA worker convulsions on the spot; that sort of stuff is always fun to sift through (provided your tetanus shots are up-to-date) and there is more than one junk-parcel on this farm. But what fascinates most about them is one particular sad spot, and its significance as a personal requiem.

My father-in-law has an abandoned passion: cars. A sore spot which makes me lucky to be the first person to get him to discuss it in years, but it’s still a tender subject, best tread upon lightly.

He restored and showed cars in “semi-pro” fashion; the dusty shelf in the basement lined with dozens of aging trophies and parts catalogs attests to this. His specialty in those days was 1st-generation (’64+1/2 thru ’68) Mustangs, and ’29-’31 Model A Fords. He was the man you made pilgrimage to see from afar if you needed parts for either one. He made a living of saving and salvaging - driving across the country to collect forgotten gems and bring them home where they could be either restored to glory, or have parts sacrificed to like causes. He built a renowned stockpile of mint and serviceable OEM Model A parts that spurned a profitable and fun side business. These parts and cars, stored up in an signature Kentucky tobacco barn, enabled this hobby to pay for itself and other things, make the lean times passable, and make the farm more than just a field for cows and corn and a continuation of family tradition.

They also left his heart ripe for the piercing.

One night in 1991, the huge old barn which housed his treasure trove in one section, hay and harvested tobacco in the other, caught fire. By the time the smoke and light betrayed itself to the family over in the house it had worked itself ablaze; the distant Volunteer Fire Department got lost en route (hooray for rural roads with poor signage), and it all burned to the ground in spectacular fashion. Just like that, a man’s dedication not just to cars, but to the people who love them, literally went up in flames. Regional Model A and Mustang enthusiasts everywhere lost an uncatalogued but unfailing treasure trove of original NOS and OEM parts the likes of which has not been seen since.

A stash of rare parts is always a crushing blow, but arguably recoverable. But in his case, three things sealed the coffin for good:

One was that arson was suspected but could not be proven; the fire seemed suspicious but its nature in origin was never determined.

The second was that the insurance company refused to cover the loss, citing the fact that the so-called “blanket” coverage on the structure did not cover the contents, and because the barn in question had not been used exclusively for agricultural purposes, it would therefore not be covered under farm policy.

The third was that a barn was still needed as the farm was still the primary source of income. But thanks to the balky insurance company, the only means to pay for one was by selling his mint, original, red 1957 Thunderbird – a car he had originally bought as a gift for his wife.

Adding insult to injury - which is still ongoing to this day - is the subsequent family spat over the fully restored 1929 Model A that happened to be in a relative’s garage at the time. Today it sits all but abandoned, gathering dust as a sort of privately accosted museum display of possession out of stubborn spite. Nobody dares run it as it will force an issue that's been simmering for years; sadly, money can run thicker than blood, so he wisely won’t force the issue even after I snuck into it one day and found an expired insurance card and checkbook that proved his ownership. I have gingerly made quiet overtones and inquiries about it and would love to drive it someday, but we dare not risk it.

Today the only serviceable remains of his passion are an unfinished 1966 Mustang convertible that sits as an empty metal body/chassis tub on a dirt floor, and a Model A pickup chassis and body scattered in pieces throughout the tractor crib. But farming alone has to pay the bills now, and its 24/7 demands mean these relics may never be finished. I finally got him to talk about cars again though. He thinks my love for 1975-1980 Granadas is misplaced and amusing, as is my talk of cleaning up the dead 1975 Continental in the garage [edit: teh Ansgtmobile lives]. We don’t always see eye-to-eye; him being the cagey, tough, wise old farmer; me being the cynical, young, pasty-ass city boy. But I’m the one he comes to for advice and chat about cars now, which really means something to me, coming from him.

There was a small, former treasure trove that wasn’t lost in the barn fire. But crushed and heartbroken, he dragged and cast it all aside in one of the most deeply hidden parcels where nothing profitable can grow. There they stay, forgotten and forlorn. Every now and then, someone who remembers his old business will call, desperate for a part… and he will let them go back to take what they need. But most of the good stuff is long gone now.

^ Here’s a tight overlook of the area. Five mustangs and some Model A remnants can be seen. There is also another car, a truck, and a combine here - I’ll get to those later.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ This white ’66 is the most intact of the Mustangs, but that’s not saying much. The front trim and most of the interior have been removed, the wheels are being swallowed by the earth, the floorpan rests on the ground. This one was unique in that it once had a rare vinyl roof option (note the ugly weld seam on the roof which would have been covered) but why that was ever removed is a mystery. The film of moss growing in the paint gives it an appearance not unlike an old marble gravestone. This classic old soldier was once a candidate for restoration (perhaps starting with the aforementioned roof); now it is a tomb of broken dreams:

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ When we first met, my wife used to jokingly tell me she had a 1966 Fastback that needed a little work… this is that car. Suffice to say, it needs more than a little TLC. There are no floorboards, and of course the left rear quarter is a rare original part to find… which is why someone already claimed it. It still looks pretty though… no wonder Ford revisited this style for the 2005 model!

^ ^ ^ ^ If you were sharp-eyed, you might have seen this huge harvester combine through the fastback door window. It's a 1984 John Deere 6620 Turbo, that obviously burned out and then some. This was not my father-in-law’s, but he bought a used one just like it in 2002, then found this one for parts. Since a new combine easily costs a cool quarter-mil plus, this was the way to go. But sitting out here, it rather looks like a sad fallen dinosaur.

Now for some Model A stuff:

^ This is the rear body section of a 1930 Model A “Fordor” sedan. This survived the fire, and the original metalwork is still relatively solid, but no matter… the hope is gone.

^ ^ ^ Random piles of Model a frames, axles, and suspension components. More rust than metal. The parts that would have made them complete and/or useable were lost in the fire. The trees don't seem to mind.

^ All that remains of one of the first ambulances that served Green County, Kentucky. It was originally owned by Colby Cowherd, whose descendants still run the funeral home in Greensburg (oops, I guess the ambulance service didn’t work out). Bet you didn’t expect that, eh? It would have made a neat historical piece.

^ ^ ^ ^ The 1980 F-250 Custom still runs, but is an accident waiting to happen. Ford should have used it in a commercial, because that truck refused to die - it’s typical of old farm trucks that have served faithfully beyond mechanical reason. Eventually economics and safety won out, because breaking a salvage tie rod for the third time while hauling feed is not fun. But in fairness, it had a hard life. It was the first stick shift I drove, and my sister-in-law ripped out the driveshaft while four-wheeling. Now it finally gets to rest quietly, the odometer finally stopping for good here in 2003. The car next to it is a 1968 Ford Falcon (basically a 4-door Mustang, if you didn’t know).

^ ^ ^ Being abandoned after 12 years surely isn’t the “futura” this car had in mind… but eventually the end of the road comes to all. Although I do like this car, and it is by far the most intact if them all.

And we’ll finish where we started, with more Mustangs...

^ ^ ^ ^ This blue basket case next to the Fastback is what’s left of a 1965 coupe. Someone tricked it out for the dragstrip, and it once must have earned a fair amount of respect stomping blacktop. Now it is forsaken, the glory days long since gone.

^ ^ ^ ^ Finally, another white ’66 hardtop ponders its afterlife as a planter. It too has taken the appearance of a gravestone. And as nature reclaims its own elements, that’s somehow sadly fitting.