I learned on social media today that September 29^th, 2016 was the 50^th anniversary of the 1967 Camaro. That officially makes me feel a bit aged because I was a spry 13 year-old on that day in 1967. I don’t recall even knowing about the then-new Camaro. In later years I have been much more aligned with the Camaro’s older brother Chevelle and I’m blessed with several that I struggle to keep in running condition. Right now, I’m way behind the curve because at this moment – none of them run! Including the two ’67 Camaros that I own.

I remember working for my grandfather in his Skelly service station in 1968 and reading about the then-new 1968 Z28 Camaro. I was so taken with that story that I talked with a salesman at the local Chevy dealership about how much a Z28 would cost. He played along and I went so far as to ask my teller friend at the bank (I did all the deposits for my grandfather’s gas station so I was on a first-name basis with the tellers) to find out what the monthly payments would be on a new car loan. I had a little money saved up to use as a down payment.

They thought it was cute that I was doing this. Perhaps they thought this was something I had to do for school. But my motivations were far more personal. I got help with the math and discovered that if I did odd jobs along with my meager part-time salary at the gas station, that I could afford the payments. My mom was impressed when I presented my findings but immediately informed me that I could not afford to register or insure the car – even if she was willing to co-sign the loan – which she wasn’t. So that dream died rather early.

Yet Camaros kept crossing my path. Two years later, my next small-town adventure revolved around a 16 year-old’s search for his first car. On the way home from school, I would pass the local Ford dealership’s used car lot where I discovered a pristine 1968 SS 350 four-speed Camaro. It was burgundy and just about everything a 16 year-old with cash in the bank could ever want. That night I was invited to dinner at my then-girlfriend’s house. Her father was the owner of one of the largest construction firms in our small town of Boone, Iowa and I raved about the Camaro I was going to purchase the next day after school.

You can imagine that time virtually stood still for the hours it took for 3:30 to roll around and I could escape the confines of education. Normally, as soon as I entered the lot I was accosted by the salesman but this day he sat inside and made me come to him.

“I’ve decided to buy the Camaro,” I announced. “I’ll even give you what you’re asking.”

To my surprise, he said “It’s not for sale.”

“Somebody already buy it?” I asked.

“No,” was his weak response.

“So it’s still for sale,” I offered. “I’ll take it” I thought perhaps this was some strange technique to get me to offer more for the car. It wasn’t. This banter continued for another few minutes until he finally offered to educate me on the vagaries of small-town economics.

“Here’s the deal, kid. Your girlfriend’s dad was in here this morning. He informed me that if I was ever going sell him another car that I was not to sell this hot rod to you. He figures you’ll just kill yourself and his little angel if I sell you that Camaro.”

It was a ludicrous ploy, of course. There was no way my girlfriend’s dad was going to block my purchase of a muscle car. It would have been easier to broker the peace agreement in Viet Nam. I ended up with a 389 four-speed GTO that my mother, of all people, picked out. As a father, I can now understand his motives – shortsighted as they were. Needless to say, she didn’t remain my girlfriend very long after that. That is a small victory that I still celebrate.

Since then, I have actually bought and still own two ’67 Camaros. The one closest to completion is my red ’67 RS car that my buddy Jim Peterson talked me into buying. It originally was going to be a daily driver but quickly turned into an almost continual project that is only now, some 20 years later, finally on the verge of proper road manners. It was originally a red on red 327 Powerglide car. It now sports an all-aluminum 5.3L motor with a Tremec TKO 600 five-speed and a 12-bolt, retaining its “327” DNA. The reluctant electric RS headlights are the current challenge that my buddy Frank Saenz is reconstructing. He has the patience for stuff like that.

My other ’67 Camaro is a real Z28 that you’ve probably heard about. I am slowly assembling the parts and machine work to reassemble the engine after 30 years and eventually will have a running Z28. At that point I’m hoping it finds a new home. I have way too many projects and that one continues to struggle near the bottom of the priority list.

That’s my small-town Iowa connection as a Chevelle guy with the 50^th anniversary of the Camaro. There are likely hundreds of stories just like this that revolve around cars that shaped our lives. The Camaro did its part to shape mine.