This story starts when my parents purchased a 1965 Plymouth Barracuda when the car was one year old. It was the family vehicle. When I was fourteen my parents sold the car to our pastor. The car had started to do the Midwest rust thing and my parents didn't want to fix it up. I was devastated. I thought I would be able to drive this car when I turned sixteen. Our pastor drove the car for a year and then proceeded to drive the car into a flooded underpass of a railroad track. He called and asked me if I wanted the car? My response was an immediate YES! He then told me where it was. Even though the car is named for a fish it doesn't mean that it is an amphibian. My dad and I went and pulled it out of the water and brought her home. I worked on putting that car back together for nearly a year. I drove it all through high school and into college. During my junior year in college a girl from my home town plowed into the back of the car doing forty-five miles an hour. I was stopped to make a left hand turn. Needless to say the Barracuda became a "sub-compact." I literally cried as she had killed my car. I comforted myself by promising that I would have another Barracuda some day.
It took me nearly fifteen years to find a 1965 Barracuda that I wanted and could afford. I was constantly looking on the internet and in the area for a 1964-1966 Barracuda. We found one near Washington D.C. When the second Barracuda came into my life I was now married with three kids. The car was purchased and put on a truck and shipped to our home. The entire family waited up to see it arrive. My son was almost as anxious for the car to arrive as I was. He was three years old. The next day I took them all for a ride in the car. My son as he was riding in the back seat and looking around said, "Dad this is a really cool old car. It makes my but rumble!" The car nearly thirteen years later still makes our "buts" rumble and turns heads every time we take it out. My son and I take it out to several car shows and cruse-ins every summer. He can't wait to get his driver's license so he can take her out for a spin. I guess it must be in the genes as I said the same thing nearly thirty-seven years ago!