I bought a green one, finally, '53 after I had been married for the first time and was living in California. It was a 1967 (and a half!) British racing green Austin Healy 3000 mark III. This was, in fact, the last Austin Healy manufactured. That is, 1967 and a half, was the end of production for this vehicle.

I bought a year old model for about $1500. I couldn't believe what a fantastic automobile I now owned. As with most European sports cars the Austin Healy was years ahead of its American counterparts. Which consisted of mostly the Corvette. Although Ford was trying to figure out what to do with its Thunderbird. The Austin Healy had a 3.8 liter inline six cylinder engine. Without going into the essentials, the Austin Healy with its overhead cams and disk brakes and three carburetors powered me along the expressway in fine style.

My three best friends at this time were also into sports cars, although one of them couldn't make the move to CA. Tony Guancioni drove a Triumph Spitfire, a very small car for a very large man. My somewhat smaller friend, Ron Margosian, drove an overpowered Cobra Mustang . Go figure. My third chum (in MI) was also into those hi-powered Fords. Outside of the town we lived in, San Jose CA, there was an observatory on the top of a small mountain. We enjoyed racing up the winding road and then racing back down again. The Austin Healy proved to be an excellent compromise between good handling, weight, and power.

I had the opportunity to drive the Austin Healy 3000 from California to Michigan more than once. I would do it again right this instant if I had the opportunity. What a fun thing to do! This car ran a very real 140 miles an hour. And since several of the intermediate states had no speed limits I had the opportunity to drive it flat out and learn what that meant. It meant that at speeds over about 115 miles an hour the car was really flying through the air more than it was driving on the pavement. The four tires skittered along the hot roadway, spending more time in the air than touching the ground. This didn't present much of a problem as long as the road was straight. However, cornering and passing became a whole new ball game. Much like flying an airplane, it was now necessary to allow for the fact that the car was going to slide sideways much more than one would expect. Drift, I think they call that. It was only necessary to turn the steering wheel a small amount and then wait for the corrected tire information to reach the pavement and for the front-end begin to respond. Pretty much, I'm lucky to be alive and telling the story.

I drove into Medicine Bow, WY. at 120 miles an hour. One left Nevada (a state having no speed limit) and entered WY at the top of a bluff. As one crests the rise, one sees the state line and posted speed limit sign. One also sees the local constabulary, with radar. It is a radar trap pure and simple. I was making this particular trip in the company of my wife, and the two of us were required to make an appearance before the local magistrate to settle up our fine before we could continue on our way to Michigan. This meant waiting for a period of time while the single on duty policeman rounded up the mayor and the judge, both of whom happened to be the same person. He showed up in his bib overalls, having been working his fields at the time I flew over the bluff in my ignorance. We had been left to wait in the courthouse/jail, staring out the window at a wooden hangman's scaffold! The mayor wanted to see the car that had entered his community at 120 miles an hour. Although he did seem to admire the Austin Healy, he still demanded $50 cash money before we could be on our way.

I kept the Austin Healy after I moved back to Michigan. I never put the top up. I drove it rain or shine using just a tanneau cover. As long as one was moving, it stayed dry. I stayed with Ford Motor Co. when I moved, and there met a gentleman that drove a 390 cubic inch Ford Mustang to great excess. In a spirit of friendly competition we would race from the far north suburbs all the way downtown on various freeways. Just simply abusing every traffic law you could imagine, cutting in and out, weaving from lane to lane, and generally raising havoc with the motoring public. Once again the Austin Healy's superior handling capabilities at high speed evened out the horsepower difference. Making it a truly maniac's race -- the craziest person got downtown first!

I made the mistake of going to lunch with this gentleman and riding in his car. In his exuberance and, to be fair, his skill -- he would use either side of the roadway to get where he was going. This meant spending a certain amount of time face-to-face with oncoming traffic on the wrong side of the road. Playing chicken, as it were. As well as time spent going sideways as often as not. One time was enough for me and I never went back to riding in that 390 cubic inch Mustang again. I felt that he had a death wish! Though we did continue to race downtown every few weeks. I feel, and have always felt, much safer in the hands of my own idiot driving skills.

I recall fondly driving at high speed down Third ave. This was in the middle of Detroit, through Highland Park. My sister had some college friends in town, and one of them had a blue Austin Healy, of similar make. We loaded up everyone that would fit, which included various cousins and friends (Austin Healy's do not REALLY have a true back seat, by the by) and headed downtown. Third avenue was one way, and had few lights. What it did have was severe bumps at each side street crossing. Only the center lane was anywhere near smooth. So, as we sped wildly south at speeds approaching maniacal, each car would leave the road once each block, launch itself into the air, and crash back onto the roadway with a huge hail of sparks from the under carriage. Amid gales of laughter we kept this up for nearly three miles, and both Healy's survived intact.

I really didn't keep this car as long as I should have. After only a year in Michigan's harsh winter environment I began to see rust pits on my shiny chrome bumpers. My wife and I also had more money then sense and decided to buy a new car. We purchased a 1969 Mercury Monterey on the spur of the moment at the cost of trading in the Austin Healy. The salesman told us that he would have a Mercury mechanic drive the Austin Healy and then give us an estimate of its trade-in value. After the mechanic drove the car he gave a piece of paper to our salesman, which he then showed to us. It said merely, "get it"!

The big Merc was a soft sprung car compared to the Austin Healy. A fact of life which got me in trouble the first night I drove it. We picked up our friends to take them for a test drive in the new huge Mercury. Traveling north on Woodward Avenue in the left-hand lane I got cut off by a guy swerving left from the center lane. Rather than merely tapping my brake and let this guy in, I reverted to my inherent sports car racing mode and cut the wheel hard to the left, expecting to then be able to accelerate, straighten out, and regain my lane. Of course, that didn't happen. The big Merc slewed off the road, stayed sideways on the shoulder, refused to answer the call for acceleration and I caught a speed limit sign on the rear quarter panel that scraped down the whole side of the car and took off the rear bumper. It was a slow ride with four long faces after that. I already missed the Austin Healy. And I still do.