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I bought the Cobra in 1980 from some drunk in a tavern. I know that sounds like some bullshit story, like the guy who finds a priceless Dusenberg in some old barn, but I actually bought a 1965 Cobra from a drunk in a tavern.
I was out for a drive with Kelli one day when we stopped in a little town in Idaho named Post Falls. I was thirsty and wanted a beer and the little tavern had a whelchair ramp, which wasn't common in those days, so Kelli went down the street to a curio shop and I wheeled myself inside. "Semper Fi, Mac." Someone called from the shadows as I entered the dark tavern. I was wearing a Marine Corp hat and the other Marine, also in a wheelchair had spotted it and offered the customary greeting. I called for the barmaid to bring me a draft, and pointed towards the empty glass of the other Marine. Any man who was ever in the Corp is still a Marine to another Marine regardless of how long he had been separated from active duty, and any Marine with a hair on his ass will buy a disadvantaged Marine a beer. "Joe Carter." He introduced himself, offering me a handshake and guessing my age. "Korea?" "Chosin." All Marines know about the Cosin Reservoir retreat, and my one word answer told him the whole story. "Where were you. Pacific or Europe?" "Both, and Korea. Put in my twenty and bailed out just before the Vietnam shitstorm. I lost my legs later to diabetes." It was only then that I took a good look at the old Vet. He wore ragged clothes and his chair had to be twenty years old. I was more fortunate, as I had made a pretty good piece of change selling real estate and could afford to be a comfortable as a double amputee can be. He finished his beer and called for the barmaid to bring a couple more, and to put them on his tab. Her disgusted look evaporated when I held up a ten-dollar bill. "I'm flush, Sarge, tonight's on me." "Thanks," he said. Those pension checks don't go as far as they used to." We were on our third round when a fat guy about thirty years old came into the tavern and spotted the old man. "Hey! J.C., how's Cart?" He asked, then added. "Are you ready sell me his Cobra yet?" "You know damned good and well how he is, Ralph, and I'll melt that car down for beer cans before I let you get your fucking hands on it." "Fucking fat ass Four-F dildo." The veteran swore as the guy walked away. "My boy was no sooner on the bus to basic training when that worthless shithead started sniffing around his girlfriend like a dog does a bitch in heat." "Your boy have a Cobra for sale?" I asked, my interest rising. "His old Cobra is in my shed. Been there for ten years, ever since he got fucked up." "Nam?" I pried. "He never got that far. He got messed up in basic and got sent home. He took a bump in the head ten years ago, and now he's in a home and is no better off than a fucking vegatable." The man's expression told me that I wouldn't hear any more details. "But yeah, I got a Cobra for sale. It's a 1965 SC with a 427 side-oiler in it. Been sitting all these years and probably needs some work, but the body's good." "What's it worth? I asked. "I've been kind of looking for one of those." "What the fuck for?" He countered, ponting at my stumps. "You can't drive a four speed clutch car any more than I can." "It's for my nephew. He's graduating from high school this spring and I like to spoil him some. Anyway, what do you want for it?" "That's a lot of car for a kid, but hell, my boy was just a kid when he bought it. He paid sixty-five hundred for it used, and I need to get that much out of it." 'He definately needes the money,' I thought, as I did some quick calculations and tried to remember what book prices were for the SC's. "I'll give you a check for six thousand, and I'll give you another ten thousand under the table, cash, so that the IRS and the Welfare pricks won't know about it. Here's a hundred for a deposit." I said, fanning five twenties out on the table. "I can pick it up tomorrow." "God damn it, Mable! Get your fat ass over here with some beer! The Marine Corp is thirsty!" His smile lit up the whole tavern. _____________________________________________________________________ I do spoil my nephew. Jason is the only son of my only brother. He was born with a harelip, and although corective surgery and spech therapy has made him almost normal he still has a crooked smile and a slight speech impediment. My brother was dirt poor and had to raise the boy himself as his wife couldn't handle being mother to a freak and split when he was two. I couldn't afford to help them much then, and when my ship finally came in my brother was too pround to accept my charity. He did let me help Jason, however. I was waiting for him in a restuarant when he was fourteen, and I was sitting right behind some girls. "Here comes Jathon, the Fweak." One of the little bitches announced, screwing uo her face and trying to imitate his lisp. I decided then and there to help the kid, so I invited him to spend his fifteenth birthday on a rented houseboat on Lake Pend Oreille with Kelli and me. "Where are we going?" He asked, as I pulled the boat up to a dock. "Kelli and I are going to the Canadian Rockies for a week. You and Miriam," said, pointing to the young lady walking towards us, "can spend the week together on the boat. Think you can handle that, stud?" Miriam had cost me a thousand dollars, but when we got back a week later I knew it had been worth it. The shy, insecure fourteen year old boy had been transformed into a proud, confident fifteen year old man. "I would have charged you double if I knew he was hung like a horse and would work me that hard!" Miriam said, loud enough for him to overhear. He blushed a little, but his smile grew even wider as he bought the ancient line. 'Dear Uncle Walt.' The obligatory thank you note read. 'I had a fantastic time on the boat trip. Can we do it again some time?' ____________________________________________________________________ "Thank you, Uncle Walt, I love it!" Jason was still wearing his cap and gown and was admiring his graduation present. "Take good care of it and it will be worth a lot of money in a few years." I advised, handing him the keys and title to the Cobra. Jason enrolled at the community college that fall and I didn't see much of him, except when he came around every few days to borrow the keys to my cabin on the river. It seemed like he had a different girl with him every time. Miriam had quipped about him being hung like a horse, and now I wasn't so sure she had been joking. There was something other than his appearance that attracted girls to him, and I even caught Kelli eying his crotch like she was wondering what he had, and she had been my companion for over fifteen years. ______________________________________________________________________ The newspaper article was how I learned there had been an accident, as we had been up at the cabin away from the phone for a week. Jason and some other kids had driven down to Lake Shasta for spring break. There had been some booze, and probably some drugs, and it seemed to them like a good idea to go water skiing at midnight. Jason had wiped out, and the skeg of the ski, which they had sharpened to make the ski respond quicker, had excised his genitals and instantly turned him into a eunuch. He dropped out of school depressed, and started using a lot of drugs. He sold the Cobra for five times what I had paid for it and smoked, drank, and snorted the money up his nose. He was on the edge of self destruction when I got him into rehab, but he came through it okay and is now a senior at Gonzaga. I wish luck to whoever has the car now, as it sure as hell dodn't bring Jason any. Authors note: Does anyone out there know what happened to the original purchaser of the Cobra?
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