My 300 Story

By Gloria Moon

Reprinted from the 1978 Issue of the Chrysler 300 Club News

I had never heard of a Chrysler 300 until I met this guy named Allan. Cars had always been something that you drove, a mechanical thing somewhat like a washing machine. You only noticed it when it stopped working. So I was quite surprised the first time Allan told me, with stars in his eyes and a catch in his throat, about this old white Chrysler. He never talked to me like that. I decided it was a good thing that old white Chrysler was gone or I would have to share his time. After a year or so of hearing these farfetched stories of burning rubber for two blocks, I was lulled into believing that my competition would remain in his memory. Allan – “Hey, did I ever tell you this one about my old 300?” Me – “Ugh, not again!”

Then he drove this thing into my driveway. It was big, black (although really Parade Green) and rusty. The ride was bumpy and noisy. I wasn’t impressed. “So this is the mighty 300.” Privately I said “What a piece of junk.” Allan started his ravings with, “Look at those lines.” Yuck! The Chrysler and I never hit it off. We may have continued that way for years had not the engine died.

Allan had been driving around the city, which for him meant dragging from every red light. At one red light another Chrysler 300-C pulled up. That started a lasting friendship with Gary Hagy. I met Gary and was shocked that there was a nut loose that actually collected these things. When the engine in that black beast died, Gary offered the use of his garage and technical assistance for its repair. Gary’s garage was the worst thing I had ever seen. It was in one of the worst parts of town, virtually no heat, filthy and littered with all these greasy parts. They spent every available night or weekend in February working on the engine of the “old lady,” as I had by now named the car. Now this operation put me in a bind. My old car, a 1966 Volkswagen Beetle, was my pride and joy and my only transportation. I spend a considerable amount of time chauffeuring Allan to his rendezvous with the “old lady.” Since I was there, I was given the job of cleaning parts, buying food, beer, and kerosene (for the heater that didn’t work. The garage was freezing cold!). It was at this point that I started hating Chrysler 300s. before it was just a general dislike, but now I hated that “old lady.” What really clinched it for me was when they used my new little VW to push start that monster. The VW mechanics just couldn’t understand why the clutch went out at 20,000 miles so they gave me a new one.

During this time at the garage, I not only had to listen to Allan saying “look at those lines,” but I also had to listen to Gary’s stories of the hemi. So I hated the hemi too, whatever a hemi was.

Finally, it was fixed. But the “old lady” was and still is a lemon.

Somewhere in here, Allan and I got married and the “old lady” was put in a garage.

Allan was driving a truck and had been telling me tales of this beautiful Chrysler 300-F he had found in the city. “God another one!” After a few years of hearing about this car, I was shocked when he came home one night and said, “Let’s go.” We were going to look at it. Why? We were going to test drive it. Oh no, not again. However, I was pleasantly surprised to see this shiny, pretty car. It was luxurious too. Found bucket seats! After a year of the garage, I though my technical knowledge had become quite good, so I told Allan rather smugly that the fan belt was squealing, but other than that the car seemed OK. Allan gives me this look, “Those are the tires breaking loose, not the fan belt.” Well, this car is not bad, so after 5 years and one hour, we owned it.

I spent many, many hours cleaning that car. I liked it, but still did not like the black C parked next to it. One day Gary told us about this car Club, the Golden Lions, that was for Chryslers. Allan joined and one sunny morning we set off for a concours they had advertised in Virginia. We were not impressed with the picnicking, umbrellaed, riding boots Rolls Royce set we met. Allan and I are more the beer drinking, pool shooting type. As we were leaving we passed a black 300-G convertible coming the other way. We both turned our cars around and out of the G popped Lew Frazer. Lew said, “Did you know there is a Chrysler 300 Club?” Allan had believed that he and Gary were the only 300 nuts in the world, but now he had found a whole club full of them. He wrote this guy in Michigan right away and joined up .

We washed, polished, waxed and shined that F for a week solid before the Meet. Later, “Hey Allan, look at all those pretty Chryslers.” Yes, my attitude was definitely changing. By this time, I had just taken it for granted the Chrysler 300’s were to be a permanent part of my life and what the hell, if you can’t like ‘em, join ‘em. “Hey Allan, next time you buy a 300, I want it.” He found a 1958 300-D and it was all mine. That day, he drove his F home and I my D. I was getting really hooked. “Hey Allan, I think I’ll join this club too.” Then finally one day I said, “Hey Allan, look at those lines.”