Miami Memories: The Muntz

1951 Muntz Jet.  Johnie Stapp's pride and joy.  

Most people knew my dad as the golf pro, but as his oldest daughter I also knew him as a race car driver; jokester; builder of cars and furniture; a man who loved to tinker with things.  Dad brought color and adventure to our lives through the people he met, the trips we made, and the stories he told.  

When I look back I most often cherish the memories my sister and I created through Dad's love of cars. The 1951 Muntz Jet was the epitome of race cars, adventure, and color. The true story of that car may never be known, but my memory says that Dad bought this car from Lou Newell, in Miami, Oklahoma.  It was rumored to have been the lead car in the 1952 Indianapolis 500, but when I wrote the letter of inquiry I found it to be a rumor only. They showed no record of this car.

The picture above shows it painted white, but when purchased it was a shiny sparkling Mustard color, consequently it was lovingly nicknamed "Mustard" by my little sister.  The car sat low to the ground with a wide wheel base, allowing it to travel up to speeds of 160 mph+ and offering a back seat in an original race car. The rolled and pleated leather seats and interior were a striking mustard color. 

"Mad Man Muntz, produced the first American sports car--the Muntz Jet.  A beautiful, well-crafted, speedy car that was a precursor of Chevrolet's Corvette, the Muntz Jet was an aesthetic and mechanical success, but Muntz's first financial disappointment.  The Jets sold for $5,500, but they cost $6,500 to produce, and this at a time, the early 50's, when a new Cadillac could be had for $3,200.  He installed Cadillac V-8 engines, added padded dashboards and seat belts, painted the cars in bright Easter egg colors, and even installed liquor and ice cabinets." The movie poster of Mad Man Muntz says, "7 wives, 3 fortunes...one of a kind."  His biography shows his entrepreneurial abilities and flamboyant lifestyle.
Mad Man Muntz info
Mad Man Muntz

The mustard car lived with us through our teenage years when Jonya and I were allowed to drive it, because the seat belts were required.  Dad painted it several times:  a sleek black, then white, and in its final years baby blue.  If our car had a liquor cabinet I don't remember, but I do remember that in the 50's, when Oklahoma was dry, dad and mom made a regular beer and liquor run to Seneca, Missouri and the state line liquor stores to purchase alcohol for the MGCC. We always buckled up, as dad drove the black asphalt Highway 10 in speeds up to 100 mph.  Our drives back were most miserable as my sister and I sat on a scratchy old wool army green blanket that covered the hidden beer and liquor in the back seat.  On the drive home Dad obeyed the speed limit.

The Muntz also came with a convertible top hard top.  In the summer months the padded hard top could be removed and hung in our garage.  Minnie's and Milts was a well-known dance and dinner club in Joplin, Missouri.  We often made the trip in the summer with the top down and mother complaining all the way that her hair would be ruined by the wind, but we never complained even when the wind whipped our hair into our eyes and stung.  We loved the old drive through pneumonia gulch somewhere between Miami and Joplin on the backroads, and before there was a turnpike. Pneumonia gulch was cold, no matter how hot the day had been when the car sped down the hill and took the turn up the hill and to the right, we screamed in pure joy and thrill of feeling the car hold the ground and climb the hill. Every breath was filled with fresh air, moisture from the nearby streams and rivers, and the dampness of the wooded areas. 

I was twelve years old, the night Dad ditched the Muntz in the embankment nearing Twin Bridges.  Dad was traveling way to fast to take the final curve on Hwy 137  and down to the right to Hwy 60.  He somehow applied the brakes with enough force that the car spun then skidded into the ditch on the right.  A slide to the left would have left us airborne, and no one to tell this story.  I wasn't scared until I heard my father's voice ask, "Tizzie are you alright?"  I might have cried, but like a trooper I rallied, and we backed out and drove down to Twin Bridges and fished that night.  

Still, my father, zany and flamboyant, like Mad Man Muntz, didn't slow down. Incredibly, I was with him when he hit the top speed of 160 heading up the newly opened Will Rogers Turnpike to Joplin. He taught me to drive in a white Ford station wagon with a "mud flap" on the back, mom's car, but he also let me drive the Muntz on the turnpike with him.  I drove with the understanding that if "ticketed" that I would pay the cost!  The engine changed over the years, like the color, but speed was always it's strength.

There are other stories in heaven now with Dad, Doc Jackson, Dr. Baron, Mickey Mantle, Ray and Roy Mantle plus other Yankee ball players and club members from the Miami Golf and Country Club.  I only wish I knew them.  

 Mad Man Muntz and his incredible car was a part of our lives till my parents died in 1989.  The steering wheel still showed the caricature and logo of Mad Man Muntz wearing a black Napoleon hat and red BVD's. The caricature that  could be found on the steering wheel is shown on this site:  
caricature of Mad Man Muntz



For a picture of the sleek car go to:  The Muntz.

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian
 

Readings and Greetings: The Language of Flowers

For 8 years I dreamed of fire.  Trees ignited as I passed them;  oceans burned...The moment my mattress started to burn I bolted awake..the bare synthetic mattress did not ignite like the thistle had in late October...The 18 wooden matches smoldered, and the fire went out.

Pansies: Think of Me 

It was my 18th birthday...The only ways out of a group home like this one were to run away, age out, or be institutionalized.  Level 14 kids weren't adopted.  These girls (in front of me) knew their prospects.  In their eyes there was nothing but fear. (pg. 13-15)

At the age of 18 Victoria Jones "aged" out of the foster care group home program and into independent living. The rule was simple:  three months rent free, after that she must pay for the rent or move out.  Victoria was handed an envelope with a $20 bill and a note that read--Buy food and find a job.  With no high school degree or foreseeable skills, Victoria found herself soon on the streets of San Francisco sleeping in a park flower bed. 

Victoria relates her story from her point of view.  In alternating chapters, the reader meets Victoria in the present on her own and alone,  while the contrast arises in the chapters of her earlier life where she bounced from foster home to foster home until the year she experienced the expression of love through family and flowers.

Tulips: Declaration of Love 

Just before her 10th birthday Victoria was taken to Elizabeth's home for possible adoption.  Her social worker reminded the child, "When you turn ten, the country will label you unadoptable and even I won't keep trying to convince families to take you...just promise me you'll think about that."

Elizabeth's bouquet of Starwort created a hostile conversation until finally curiosity took over.  "Starwart means welcome.  By giving you a bouquet of starwort, I'm welcoming you to my home, to my life," Elizabeth explained. 

"They look like daisies to me, and I still think they're poisonous." Victoria retorted.  Elizabeth went on to explain the intricacies of flower identification. 

Poinsettia, Be of Good Cheer

After the meal the two walked out to the garden, and to the wine vineyard for an visual explanation.  It took weeks and months before Victoria began to relax and enjoy her new home, and when Elizabeth suggested adoption Victoria was thrilled, but both Victoria and Elizabeth had past histories to deal with.  Those histories collided when a young Victoria did not have the skills to understand conflict and a respectable resolution to problems.   

Eventually, the language of flowers becomes the center of the newly independent Victoria's life.  In the next year the reader meets Renata, a florist who gives Victoria her first job, and Grant, a young man who also knows the language of flowers.  Life begins to have a steady path until once again Victoria runs away from love.

This story pulled me two directions. I was so drawn into Victoria's problems once she was pulled away from her only home and only caring person in her life, Elizabeth, that I thought I'd have to stop reading and save anymore heartache.  Luckily, I persevered. 

Zinnia, I mourn your absence.

The other direction the book took me was to begin to look at flowers and the meaning of flowers, just as Victoria did when she began to create bouquets of flowers that seemingly could make a difference in people's lives.  The author's note reads:  My goal was to create a usable, relevant dictionary for modern readers.  



The author, Vanessa Diffenbaugh, accomplished her goal through Victoria's inquisitive mind and drive to learn about life through the flowers, and through relationships.

Mums:  Truth

The pictures are of flowers from my garden that took on new meaning for me after reading this story.  Have you looked at your garden through the idea of the meaning of the flowers? In the back of the book The Language of Flowers is the dictionary that the author, through her character Victoria, created.  The dictionary of flowers can also be found on the authors website:  The Language of Flowers

The author is also passionate about the plight of children who age out of the foster care program.  She has set up a network to help.  It is called  the Camilla Network.  The mission is to:  to create a national network that connects every youth aging out of foster care to the critical resources, opportunities, and support they need to thrive in adulthood.