Going, Going, Gone

One afternoon in the spring of 1972 I was returning to Argyle after classes at North Texas when I got pulled over by a Texas state trooper. I was puzzled because I hadn't been going (much) over the speed limit but, as it turns out, that wasn't why he stopped me.

As I mentioned before, my 1966 Charger had some body damage on the left rear corner that made it impossible to install a proper tail light lens so there was a piece of red plastic taped over it... The state trooper had stopped me to inform me that my car was not legal because the plastic didn't qualify as an "SAE approved" lens.
He gave me an improper equipment citation, which wasn't a problem (per se) because there was no fine and it didn't go on my record. But when I asked how soon it had to be repaired his response was along the lines of  "Just don't let me catch you driving it again until it's fixed". And that was a huge problem because there was no way I could afford the necessary bodywork.

That was the last straw. The Charger was expensive to drive - it got 10 to 12 MPG and would only run on two brands of premium. I was behind on the payments and my insurance (about $400 a year in 1972 dollars) was about to expire. It had to go...

Aside: It wasn't until very recently that it finally dawned on me how immature it was to hang on to the Charger while my mom was in the hospital, the utilities were being cut off and I was being evicted. But the thought of getting rid of it honestly never crossed my mind... I guess that's a pretty good indication of how I feel about cars :-)

I started out by telling everyone that it was for sale. I was asking somewhere around $400 (I still owed $200) and nobody showed any interested. (I suspect it had something to do with the gas and insurance cost.)
After that failed I headed into Denton and spent the morning driving around between all the car lots in town. None of the "major" dealers would even make an offer on a 6 year old muscle car, let alone one that needed body work. (Maybe I should have gotten rid of the racing decals in the back windows...) There was only one place in town (a small used car lot a few blocks north of the courthouse) that showed any interest... I was desperate and the owner knew it. He offered me $230 and I took it.

Aside: It's hard to describe what I felt like at that moment...
My mom was still expected to die at any time. A month or two earlier I had been evicted and was living off of the kindness of strangers. Our pets had ended up at the shelter. I'd gotten rid of almost all of my possessions (including my guitar amp). The only 2 things I had left in the world that I really cared about were my 1953 Telecaster and that Charger - and now the Charger was gone.
It was like being punched in the gut... The car was worth a heck of a lot more than $230, but I was out of options. I had tried to work something out with the loan officer (who was a member of my church)  but he said his hands were tied. I was utterly defeated... There was nothing to do but throw in the towel...

So - the dealer wrote up a bill of sale and drove me to my bank. We went up to the window, he paid off the loan and got the title (he had called ahead), gave me my $30 ... and that was it...

Of course, when I got back to Argyle all the guys were like "I would have given you way more than that for it!". But I sincerely doubt it... Talk is cheap :-)

A few weeks later I happened to be passing by the car lot and saw that the Charger was on display. Not only was the bodywork done but it had a new paint job and new wheels and tires... It looked amazing!  I think the guy was asking around $1200 for it. (Probably twice what he had in it.) ... And that was the last time I saw it.