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For a decade and a half, it seemed like everyone on the streets was smiling. It all started when I bought a great big pink Plymouth...

Early in 1991 I went to look at an advertised '55 Imperial. The car was nice but nowhere near ready to roll, and I wanted something that could be easily fixed up into a daily driver. When I explained this to the Imperial's owner, he had a suggestion. "I know someone who may have what you need. He'd like to pick up this car, but has to sell one of the too many he already has first. Call him up, it might be good for both of us." He then gave me the phone number for Doug Zan. At the time, I could hardly have known what a life changing moment that was.

I rang Doug up right away. After describing my classic needs he said he had a car that just might fit the bill, a '57 Plymouth. I was unfamiliar with the car, but as we discussed its features and condition it did sound just right. I made an appointment to come and see it later in the day.

That afternoon, I arrived at what looked like Doug's Classic Car Hospital. From the gate, some twenty classics were visible in various states of restoration. Most were parked alongside and perpendicular to the long driveway. Doug met me at the gate and led me down the driveway while talking about the car. I wondered which one it was. So many great looking cars! I spied a pink one down near the end. "Ugh. Any but that one." I thought. After we'd passed the mid-point he was still talking and we were still walking. I started to worry. We kept getting closer to that pink thing. Closer.... closer.... and that was it. The pink car was the one I was there to see. Arrgh. It looked like Batman had retired into selling Mary Kay.

My heart sank. It hadn't occurred to me to ask what color the car was when talking with Doug on the phone. I never really cared much for pink, and certainly didn't want a pink car. Doug held out the keys, "Let's take 'er for a drive!" I already had a lot of resistance to the car but he was so darned cheerful about it. I agreed to go out for a spin despite my serious misgivings.

As soon as we hit the road I was SOLD. It was smooth shifted like a dream, maneuvered easily, and ran great. I fell in love with that push button transmission on the spot. Before we'd made it around the block, I was crazy about that car, no matter what color it was. So, in March of '91 the Plymouth came home with me.

Beginning with Doug, the car was introducing me to new friends right away. He suggested that I join the Walter P. Chrysler club, which I did when I met the terrific folks of WPC at the annual Old Car Picnic just a week after buying the car. Club drives and meets were all lots of fun and I could never have kept the car rolling for all those years without the aid and advice of so many helpful members.

In 1989, I had witnessed a crazy caravan while downtown during the Houston International Festival. I had no idea what it was all about but I loved it! This turned out to be one of Houston's earliest art car parades. Following along, I was told by a driver afterward to seek out the Orange Show to learn more. As a result of this advice, I did some volunteer bits for the '90 and '91 parades. One thing about that big pink Plymouth--it was art car parade ready without modification! And so, in 1992 the Plymouth carried me into the parade for the first time, affectoionately titled "Midlife Chrysler". Along for the ride were Barbara Entman, Charles Harveson, Mark Martino, and Betsy Zan. It was a beautiful day, a great big party with some wonderful people.

As the years rolled by the toys continued to accumulate on the dash and back package shelf. Up front, all the toys were on magnets and in back they were glued to a fitted insert. (No damage to the car!) The headliner had been removed; the ceiling became a nice place for fridge magnets, toys and pictures of dear friends. There were also kazoos and slide whistles up there to ease serious traffic snags. A good half of the toys were gifts and those were all VERY special. Most of the purchased toys came from Variety Fair in the old Rice Village. Ben Klinger, the store's longtime proprietor, thought the car was just crazy. His favorite part? "I like that you have so much of our merchandise up there!" he'd grinned, pointing to the dash.

The car ran great but was plagued with intermittent brake woes. Oh, it stopped alright. In fact the braking action was great, smooth and so easy you'd almost think it had powered brakes. No, stopping was never the problem--it was going. Those suckers would lock up and would not let go. The only way to get free was to back up a little bit. Fortunately it (usually) only did this when it had been parked a while. First thing in the morning was the worst, at times requiring a lot of driving backwards while lightly riding the brakes. My neighbors were well used to the sight of the Plymouth backing its way around (and around) the block.

But it wasn't always like that when the brakes were being moody. Sometimes, they just squalled and moaned horribly. And loudly. The shriek/honking was unbelievably loud. When it was acting up like that I would do my best to drive right beside a large truck or a bus. When we'd come to a red light and the howling began, all heads would whip around and the large vehicle would get some thoroughly dirty looks. I feel especially bad

about that because I'd whip my head around and stare at them too. (Hey, I had to play along, didn't I?) Many tried but no one could remove the Plymouth's squawk 'n grab habits. Brake professionals, auto restoration professionals, car club buddies.... they all tried, but the trouble continued to come and go. In between, though, it was a beautiful, smooth ride.

You're never alone with a giant pink car. In 1995 I cut scores of penguins out of magnetic bumper sticker material and ran them down the sides of the car, and across the hood and trunk. By now there were enough penguins and assorted toys on the dash and in back as to be very noticeable from the outside. The tiny toys hanging from the ceiling had swelled in number, too. The car had always gotten smiles at intersections but now they were really grinning-- and clapping and honking.

It was impossible to go anywhere without meeting people. A simple trip to the grocery store would take a little longer than it used to because there would so often be people waiting by the car when I came outside. There were plenty of questions and occasionally a donated toy.

Many notes were left over the years including a few with the amazing gift of cash inside. Sometimes toys would be left on the hood, or in the summer when the windows were down, on the front seat. One summer night I came out of restaurant to find the front seat filled with a big pile of bright plastic leis.

The 1996 Art Car Parade marked the Plymouth's 200,000th mile. With some carefully measured driving the night before, the odometer turned over to all zeros during the parade route amid much screaming from inside the car. We were hollering louder than the people outside the car, who gave us some odd looks as we squealed by.

I'd worked hard to revive a chalky old paint job, but by '96 the chalk was winning the battle. I started my own paint job on top by putting the Zenguin logo on the trunk lid. Next, I took the magnetic penguins off the sides and made them permanent with sign paint. Then I painted some more penguins. And some more. Including, a great big international Keep Frozen symbol added to the hood with "If you can't keep it frozen at least keep it cool!" And later, rows of Really Big Penguins along the lower portion of the sides. A frosted "Have An Ice Day!" was painted around the trunk lock. I never did get a key made for that. It was unlocked (as were the doors) for all those years, without incident.

The brake problems kept coming and going. (It's not a good sign when your local parts store knows it's you on the phone from the sound of your voice.) A botched then abandoned brake job quashed the 2000 art car parade bid, and eventually health and home buying pressures made selling the Plymouth a wise move. It was always my hope to see the car restored, and that happened soon afterward. Bought by a lady who'd driven that exact model car in High School, she wasted no time in putting the Plymouth back into shape. It was very hard to see the car leave, but knowing that it was heading for its long deserved restoration made all the difference.

All those years with no air conditioning (in Houston!), the brake troubles, the hunts for parts.... none of it could dent my affection for that big crazy pink automobile. It was so much more than just a car. It was a Smile Vortex, a Happiness Bubble inside and out. I owe a lot to that car. So many wonderful friends and memories made. I know I met more people in those years than I'd met in my entire life up to then. The Plymouth gave me fifteen years of experiences I wouldn't trade for anything. I can truly say it changed me. I don't even mind pink so much anymore.