One day, Suzanne and I drove to Greenville, South Carolina, in the 1965 Ford Galaxy 500 that belonged to my father. He had allowed me to drive it after we got married because he needed for us to have two cars.
I drove it from the time I went to work for him until the day he died. Then, my mother sold it. I loved that car.
I was driving and had just started out from a traffic light when a Pontiac Fiero pulled out in front of us and stopped. I hit the brakes, but still ran into the back of the car.
It seems that the person driving the car was a salesman for the Pontiac dealership there in Greenville. He had just taken delivery of the car, which was to be his demo car.
He decided to go get a pack of cigarettes as an excuse to drive his new car. He explained that a Volkswagen pulled in front of him and stopped in the median, which kept him from being able to proceed.
We assessed the damage and saw that the rear of the Fiero no longer existed. It had basically vaporized. The bumper on the Galaxy was slightly bent and the name had been knocked off the fender. There were a few other cosmetic dings, but the Galaxy was in good shape.
It was decided that since the Pontiac salesman was at fault, and that their insurance would have to pay for the repairs, we would allow their body shop to perform the repairs.
After several weeks, my father called the dealership to find out why they had not finished with his car. Finally, they said we could come pick it up.
So, Suzanne and I set out to pick up the car. When we arrived, the body shop had already closed. I told the service manager I was there to pick up the car and he told me I could not. He said, “I don’t know how much you owe on it.” I told him “We better not owe anything.” He made a few phone calls and we got the car.
We left the dealership. Suzanne was driving our red 1982 Mercury Marquis and I followed her in the Galaxy. We pulled on to Interstate 85 and headed south towards Anderson.
Shortly, a man started riding Suzanne’s bumper and generally being a nuisance. He honked his horn and got right up on her bumper even closer. I saw this and I said, “Not while I am driving this beast, you don’t.”
So, the 429 cubic inches of engine roared to life. I pulled into the fast lane and pulled up beside him. Then, I proceeded to merge into his lane with him still in it, forcing him over onto the shoulder of the road.
He rode the shoulder for a little bit and then pulled off at the next exit. I followed him. I bumped his bumper and pushed him to the top of the off ramp and stopped at the stop sign.
He sped through the stop sign never to be seen again. I pulled back on to I-85 and caught back up with Suzanne. The “White Knight” had returned from the crusades and was back to protect his lady.