The summer between my sophomore and junior year at Western, I bought a 1967 Mustang convertible. It was silver with a black top. If I was any cooler after that purchase, I would have been twins. My parents helped me look for the car, arrange for the loan, and added the Mustang to their car insurance. My car payments were $104.00 a month. I made them to my mom because she cosigned my loan at the bank.
A couple of months after school started back at Western, I got a call from my mother. My car insurance had been raised to $1,000 every six months. It seems that police officers had a sixth sense regarding silver Mustang convertibles with black tops, and they didn’t care how cool the driver was. They stopped me on more than one occasion that summer, and the points added up. As far as the insurance company was concerned, I was a bad risk.
I couldn’t afford the increased insurance rates, so my dad struck a deal with me. He’d drive the Mustang to work, and I could drive his 1963 Ford 500 Galaxie until my insurance rates dropped. We expected this would be six months to a year. I was stuck. If I wanted to drive a car, this was my best option. I drove the Galaxie back to Western after the Thanksgiving break. I continued to pay for the Mustang.
Later that winter I drove the Galaxie to pick up the girl I was dating at the time. We had begun dating my senior year of high school and our courtship continued into my junior year of college. She was attending nursing school in Cadillac. She was going to go to a fraternity dance at Western with me.
The primary road between Cadillac and Kalamazoo is US 131. The Galaxie broke down south of Grand Rapids and north of Kalamazoo. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew it was bad. I managed to pull the car off the road. It was early evening, dark, and cold. I got out and flagged a car down by standing in the middle of the highway. The guy was going to hit me or stop.
I explained my problem and asked for a ride to the next town. I had no idea where we were, but I knew that we needed help. He invited us in and we trusted that he would drive us to safety.
There’s a Wesco Gas station just east of 131 on M-89 in Plainwell, Michigan. 131 is the primary dividing line between the rival towns of Otsego and Plainwell. He dropped us off there and bid us farewell.
I didn’t know anything about where I was. The station attendant explained that the only tow-truck in town belonged to a man at a repair shop that was closed for the evening and wouldn’t open until the following morning. “Your car will have to sit for the night.” And so it did.
He let me use the phone to call my roommates. I didn’t know if anyone was home, so all I could do was hope. I made the call and Jim answered. I told him my story and asked if he would pick us up. “Where are you?”, he asked.
“Some podunk town north of Kalamazoo called Plainwell. It’s right off 131.”
Jim arrived about forty minutes later. I found out the next day that the rear axle on the Galaxie was broken and needed to be replaced. I called my dad, shared the news, and after several questions he ok’d the repair.
My girlfriend and I went forward with our plans for the weekend. She returned to Cadillac a couple of days later via a carpool. People on college campuses shared ride information on bulletin boards in the student union, and that’s how she got home. That was early in the winter of 1968.
I was engaged to that girl just before or just after the car broke down. We were engaged for a few months before she moved to Grayling to complete her degree. Once she landed there she became interested in another guy and she dumped me. Life throws curveballs every once in awhile. This was one of mine.
In August of 1969 I received a phone call from Mr. Floyd Hindbaugh. He wanted to know if I was available to interview for a teaching job. It was a couple of months after I had graduated with my teaching degree. I had applied for dozens of jobs all over the state. I was willing to go anywhere.
Mr. Hindbaugh identified himself as the principal of the Plainwell Junior High School. “We’re located just off 131 north of Kalamazoo.”
“Yes, I know. I stopped at the Wesco Gas Station several months ago.”
“Great. Can you be here Tuesday evening about 7:00 p.m.?”
“Yes. I’ll be there. Thanks for the call.”
Small world.
TBC