The following content was provided by BaT contributor Raffi.
The early 1980s were great. Space shuttle launches, the Dow Jones broke 1000, hilarious MTV videos, Fraggle Rock. I would soon graduate UCLA. My band had booked the summer solid with gigs that were finally paying real money. With cash in the bank and proceeds from a recently sold car, I began searching for a 1967 Shelby GT350. Keep in mind, these were 15-year-old cars at the time. But the prices were still out of my range. I had a mere $7k in hand, but a nice Shelby was closer to $10,000. Help arrived one morning when my girlfriend called with news of a Mustang show in nearby Santa Barbara, California.
“We’ll make a day of it. Nice drive up the coast, see some cars, stop at Espana for Mexican food, then walk on the beach,” she said. I smiled. “You had me at see some cars.”
Heading up the coast in my 351ci 1973 Ford Mustang, Duran Duran and The Clash competed for attention on the AM top 40. At the car show there were a few Shelbys, lots of early Mustang convertibles, and there in blazing yellow glory, was my future Boss. Wearing Arizona plates and fresh off judging, the owner told me $7k would take her home. It was slightly lowered with rolled fenders and had a deluxe interior, 3.91 rear end, and a freshly rebuilt engine with just a hint more grunt. I scurried off to the bank and siphoned off seventy $100 bills before returning to the show. Having just heard the car had won second place, the owner wanted to keep the trophy, so we agreed on $6,900. Off we went, me at the wheel of my new Boss, my girlfriend piloting the ‘73 southbound on the Pacific Coast Highway. We stopped for dinner, walked on the beach, and shared intimate soulmate conversations.
“With relatively minor modifications,” my girlfriend said, “those Cleveland heads and a Tunnel Port 302 racing long block could be great with that solid lifter valvetrain. Or,” she lingered, “perhaps a Cross Boss induction system?”
It’s possible I fainted.
The Boss became a fantastic car for both show and go. Always reliable and shotgun quick, the Hurst four-speed and high-revving engine was a big treat to drive. Even my mom, usually dismissive about my automotive exploits, would comment when I would hammer it a bit taking her to work, “This Boss is very eager!”
Shortly after bringing it home, my girlfriend and I went cruising up Sunset Blvd. On the way back, I suggested that she drive. She took the wheel and plowed forward with a vengeance. My eyes widened. I took a sideways glance, her lips curled upward in an impish crook as she dove into the corners. Her confident nod suggested only a fool would not marry her. Some years later, she kindly obliged.
Many of my local friends also enjoyed muscle cars, our crew even booked Orange County Raceway for some drag time.
Yes, that’s me in the first minute of the video, and later my Boss being driven by a friend at 4:19, getting a bit sideways hitting second. The Boss ran some strong passes in the low 15s. That’s also me on the July 1984 cover of Car Craft magazine. Of course, I’m holding the Ford sign.
Among my various college jobs, I worked at an animation studio in LA. One day an art director asked the crew if we knew of a bright colored muscle car, as they needed one for a photoshoot. I said I had Boss 302. His thin tie and crew cut had no idea what I meant. “Trust me,” I said. “This is the car for the job.” I arrived at the photo shoot where the new Honda Nighthawk was to be featured. My Boss 302 was going to be pictured on the front of the brochure with some tough guy and his fickle girlfriend looking to race the bike. This was the opening shot. But the closing shot showed the gloating biker beating the Boss to the diner. Still, I took the $500 check for the day and smiled all the way to the bank.
The following year, having invested absolutely no money in the car other than an oil change and welding up a broken rear suspension support, I needed to raise money to attend Art Center College of Design. It was time to get serious about the future. It was, after all, 1984. The Boss, while a great car for fun and speed, represented almost a year’s worth of tuition. I listed it for sale and waited for the right buyer.
Two days after I received my acceptance to Art Center, I got a call from my best friend. He’d been doing well in real estate. He was considering buying a new Maserati Biturbo. As a test of worthiness, he’d arranged a rental for the day, and threw down the gauntlet. The next morning, I gassed up at Canyon Gas (the good stuff, leaded race fuel, $2 a gallon) and waited for him on the PCH approach from Santa Monica.
The bright red Biturbo coasted to my side, staging at the light. In the early dawn of the coastline mist, the light changed, and we shot off. We were both quick to 50 mph, but I had a slight edge on him as we started eating up more roadway. The few cars in our path were merely pylons. All the way up the coast and into Malibu we could see each other grinning ear to ear, swapping lead position. We pulled off the highway to take a few photos and then headed home. It was the end of an era in many ways. A new world was unfolding. There were desktop computers, murmurs of Japanese luxury sedans, mobile phones, and tiny laser-cut records that played music and stored information. The Boss was yesterday. If I was going to be a designer, I had to focus on tomorrow.
I sold the Boss for $10,300. The buyer paid cash, but I felt bad selling it. The cash looked dull, dirty, nothing like the vivid color and excitement that the Boss had reflected to me. Before she left, I thanked her for all the fun and wished her well. I saw her one last time at the Pomona Fairgrounds looking a bit more used.
Three years ago, I got an email from someone on the other side of the world. He’d sent some photos of a beautifully restored vivid yellow Boss 302 with the single subject line title “I believe I own your former Boss 302”. Sure enough. There she was, beautifully restored, now keeping company with a very nice 1969 Mach 1 – a suitable pair, still bringing joy to a happy new owner.
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