WTF Festiva

[Ford Fester]

Name that front end? Its custom, someone put alot of work into it.

http://m.copart.com/c2//lotImageViewer.xmlx?title=Lot+Number+22675092+1989+FORD+FESTIVA+LX&lotId=22675092&selectedImage=0

[HondaSlayer]

i have no idea what front end that is but i find it awful looking. that was money not well spent.

[ominous]

Those look like 2000ish Lincoln Town Car headlights.

[Ford Fester]

^^^^id say so.

[twopass]

Yuck

[DriverOne]

So far, the Ranger light upgrade is the only one that "works"...

[Larry Hampton]

Looks like a Chrysler Cloud car bumper....

[Safety Guy]

They reminded me of Contour/Mystique headlights.

Karl

[bobstad]

On my '66 VW "square-back" after an unfortunate encounter with a nursing doe early one morning, I found myself using Pontiac style over-under headlights on the side the deer hit on.

Below where the turn signal should've been was a single headlight from an early '60s Fiat and above that was one from a '59 Rambler, including the aluminum fender shroud the headlight housing mounts in.

I had some good quality hemp rope, which with some also high quality baling wire or similar; I used to mount both headlamps so well, when adjusted they were as good or better than the stock ones. Each with the original housing so that adjusting them was as if they were normal. A triclops!

I added to that fender on the passenger side, an upside down chrome strip from the front fender of bay area activist Greg Allen Getty's 25 cent '59 Chevrolet Apache pickup; along the crease on top of the fender, which was left after hammering out the rest to be drivable. I'd managed to snag while riding a fine old ten-speed, a good five pound sledge hammer I still have; only a half mile or so from where Greg and his young friend Dominic lived on the back of the Apache, in an old camper they found on a vacant lot in Berkeley: As the two care-takers of the peace vigil across from the Concord Naval Weapons Station, in the east bay.

This must've been circa '94 not long prior to selling the VW to young Todd Molyneux of Spokane whose parents were the criminal couple depicted in the book and movie The French Connection, born after those events. I never photographed that car except for once or twice; which should've been done in detail, extensively! Front buckets from a one-ton '50 Chevy panel truck, the passenger side a fold-forward jump seat, and rear buckets from a '67 Camaro both mounted on a galvanized metal bracket which used the stock rear seat bottom hinges. Etc! I specialized in mounting clocks from other vehicles, everywhere there was any space to do so; except probably where there'd once been a stock clock, where I mounted an aftermarket ignition switch.

Purchased in '82 from Jay Warell for $800, who'd sold me the car without a test drive whose faded factory "Desert Sand" coloring was irresistible parked with a "for sale" sign in the driveway of the home where I rented a room in a clothing optional setting from a beautiful woman met on the county bus the day her yellow '72 Super Beetle was in the shop; so I'd been a little irked that second gear synchromesh didn't work, which ended up with me giving Jay a massage as a mollifying experience for me.

He has bite marks on either side of his torso from under each arm pit to below either buttock; where a great white shark had momentarily had Jay in the big fish's jaws. Until Jay poked the leviathan in the eye with his diving knife; he'd luckily had in hand, noticing the fish about to hit him with a chance glance over one shoulder at the last moment.

A classic story is easy to imagine, of those told about illegal abalone diving off the coast of Santa Barbara. Years later in Spokane I ran into a singer/guitarist, an amazing talent from Samoa; who after some time in conversation, had to tell me to only speak when he could read my lips since stone deaf. He said Jay had escaped in the only way possible.

[Spike]

I had some good quality hemp rope

I bet you did!

[bobstad]

Reefer means fridge; some places....tar, no feathers in others!

I bet you did!

The old man was a chief petty officer in the navy during the second world war; after flunking on purpose the final test to become a fighter plane pilot when the mortality rate was at 50%. At 6' 2" with a 26" waist, wearing tailored in Hong Kong dress blues; a former high school three way letterman in the 440 & 880, as well as still high-jumping 5' 6" @ the age of 42, also a great sixth man on the '42 team out of Aberdeen, WA he claims would've been state champions had not the war intervened, and a great wide end.

His experiences suggest McHale's Navy type exploits interspersed with witnessing the occasional war atrocity hanging out with hardened marines mopping up on Saipan; fishing for sport off the stern of a converted tuna boat whose owner was a seaman on board, with the ROTC trained captain someone they kept locked in his cabin whenever at sea. Their boat, a mess for admirals and generals in the Pacific; a contingent of marines always on board to guard the liquor.

Someone in high school who mentioned to me then he'd smoked reefer during the war. An irresistible attraction during the late '60s into the early '70s, to experiment; when three of my four younger sisters were selling some of the most powerful cannabis product I've ever used, while simultaneously working as drug clerks in pharmacies my druggist father got their jobs at. He got his degree on the G. I. bill, as a lifelong cynic who advocated unlimited access for anyone to anything sold as a medication; he figured would end up far more successful in limiting drug abuse, than any system of control based upon law enforcement.