Growing up
in small towns after World War II gave millions of us, the Baby Boomers by labels,
opportunities to run free in our neighborhoods, streets, and alleys. We were
warned what kind of people we must look out for. In Miami, Oklahoma, we called
him the “man on the bicycle.” Parents
and rumors spread that he might ask girls especially to ride on the bike with
him. We were told to run away and tell the nearest adult. That was the Biggest Fear we carried with us
as we explored creeks, rivers, the other side of town, and friendly
neighborhoods where we knew to be home by dark or else.
 |
| After all of these years, I finally found a picture of our Metallic Mustard colored Muntz Jet, parked in our driveway in Miami, Oklahoma in 1957. |
One Saturday night my parents gave me the keys to the Muntz. My plan was to take Judy Scruggs and go “BUSHWACKING” at Riverview Park. My father, Johnie Stapp, had a Highway Patrol headlight on both sides of the Muntz, so the driver or the passenger could reach out and maneuver the bright light. He also had a loud horn that sounded like a “moo cow” in pain, that frightened people.
 |
| The Muntz Jet was originally a metallic Mustard color until dad painted it white, then black, then baby blue. |
Our plan
that night was to drive through the park looking for lovers parked in the dark. We would then flash the bright light on them
and hit the horn in hopes of scaring the life out of them. I knew we could outrun
any car in town. But some plans don’t produce the outcome expected.
Turning off
the highway and down into the dark of Riverview Park on the west side where
lovers could often be found necking, we drove slowly with the dimmers on. I noticed the closer we drove to the water’s
edge of the Neosho River, the muddier it became until I felt a sinking
sensation.
The Muntz, already low to the ground with two steel beams on either side for support, stopped in the mud and refused to move. …. How could I have forgotten that the
park often flooded with spring rains?
Instead of
looking for lovers we used the search lights to look for help. Then out of
nowhere a tow truck from B&M Motors appeared. The men, the Meyers brothers, knew exactly who I
was and also knew that Dad would ground me for life if he ever learned of this
episode.
Being small
town trustworthy and caring men, they hooked up the Muntz, pulled it out of the mud, and towed us to their
business on South Main, Route 66, where they washed down the car and sent me on
my way. Never a word was spoken to dad about that night.
I’m not sure
of the exact lesson I learned other than people are there for you, to assist
and help in many ways; or perhaps it was God and a band of angels who laughed
out loud at our misery and sent the Good Samaritans that night.
I believe
this experience must have been the spring of 1964 or 1965.
Last year,
Tom Pat Wilson sent me a link to the story behind the story of the making of
the Muntz and why it never made money for Mad Man Muntz. I thought it was a rather sad story because
the Muntz held nothing but good memories for me. Click on this link for the story of Mad Man
Muntz and his failed endeavor to build the best race car ever—
https://www.google.com/search?q=the+failure+of+the+muntz+jet&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS1150US1179&oq=the+failure+of+the+muntz+jet&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOTIHCAEQIRigATIHCAIQIRigATIHCAMQIRigATIHCAQQIRirAjIHCAUQIRifBTIHCAYQIRifBTIHCAcQIRifBTIHCAgQIRifBTIHCAkQIRiPAtIBCTczMDdqMGoxNagCCLACAfEFVQI1AWMbdiw&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:353d3b84,vid:su7hp1or2rM,st:0
If this link doesn’t work please google The Failure of the Muntz.
