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Better in mud than a Suburban, faster than a Mustang, tougher than my brothers and sister and I could dish out. This thing was THE ULTIMATE vehicle. I referred to it as the iron mini-mite. IT was heavy, compact, and indestructible - well, almost indestructible.

My first car was a '73 Gremlin, straight-six, three speed stick. Red with black vinyl seats, and an AM radio. And Man, Oh Manschiwiecz, I tell ya, that car saw more wild times than any thing in this word.

I got it as a hand me down, fourth generation, with 107,000 miles and a rust hole starting to show though the rear floor boars. That didn't bother me none, though.

First it was my dad's commuter - bought it cash in '73, cheap and bare bones. When my sister started driving(must of been 'bout '76) it was hers. Then my oldest brother had a turn with it next, then my next brother had it for a couple years, then, oh sweet day! it was MINE!

For a sixteen year old boy back in the day ANY car, if it was a car of your own, was really something. Took me and my friends anywhere we wanted to go, anytime we wanted to go there (not necessarily in style, but, that wasn't an issue).

One evening one of my brothers got dad's 'Burban stuck in the mud while "four-wheelin'" Guess how we got it out? Yep, that little iron mini-mite pulled the stuck pig right out.

Here's another highlight in the Gremlin's book of days. A good friend of mine had just gotten a Mustang II. It looked pretty sporty, and he was bragging bout how fast it was, so we had a go of it - spectators and all, just like something out of Grease.

You guessed it, that little iron mini-mite with the hot six embarrassed Mr. Sports car.

In its last days my Gremlin has a very loud sound system to drown out all of the scary noises it was making. It had been through three clutches, the rear footpans were gone, the passenger door was held closed with the seatbelt, and there was more radiator "leak-fix" in the radiator than there was water. 147,000 hard livin' miles and she was still running strong. Then the clutch arm went out.

I guess I let that Gremlin down, 'cause I decided to buy another car - a '68 Buick Skylark convertible - rather than repair the clutch of that poor old Gremlin. I sold it to a friend of one of my brothers who wanted the motor for something else he was going to build.

He parked it in a field.

And left it.

I ran into the guy a few years later, and asked with enthusiasm: "So, what did you ever do with that Gremlin motor? Boy, that was a strong motor, you just couldn't kill that thing..."

He looked down in shame and broke the news to me. The heart of that old Gremlin - the heavy-old straight six, had finally met its final days. Not in glory, working away in some pursuit of fun or freedom, but a lonely, desolate end it was.

When I said the Gremlin was almost indestructible, I meant it thrived on use and abuse, but neglect she couldn't take. Turns out he left it in the field (I told him when I sold it that there was no anti-freeze in the coolant) and froze and cracked the block.

Farewell old friend - this tribute has been long overdue!

Learn more about this author, K D Grey.
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