In Fort Stockton, if you’re demanding and don’t have the bank account to back it up, you’re labeled a pain in the arse.  If you have the means, you’re called eccentric.

Digger Klein was a man of good, if very particular taste.  He had the funds to fulfill most any desire, but always demanded things be just so.  He had it on good authority that Ford was going to completely change the Thunderbird for the ’58 mode year.  Nobody knew just what it was going to look like, but word was out it would no longer be a two-seater, a body style that had long appealed to Digger.

Digger wanted the last year of the original-design Thunderbird, the ‘57.  But he wanted the first one off the line so he could enjoy it longer than anyone else.  Frontier Ford, “Home of the Straight Shooting’ Deal” was more than willing to pull all the the strings they had available to make that happen, for a price of course.

Toby, the New Car Sales Manager, and Charlene, the Office Manager worked out all the details for Digger to get the very first ‘57 off the line.  Toby made a few phone calls to the District Sales Office in Dallas, who put him in touch with the secretary of the guy who did scheduling.  Turns out there was a connection there because her nephew had pledged a fraternity that Digger had once been a part of and still had ties to.  A donation to remodel the Chapter Room greased the skids of the Production Schedule.  Kind of like getting a new Bronco today, I suppose.

Charlene, meanwhile, bought a one-way ticket for Digger on the Lone Star Flyer into Detroit in early September of ’56.  Digger would pick up the Thunderbird , stay the night, and then drive  to New York City the following day, where he had business involving oil leases with Standard Oil over on Broadway.

The first leg of the journey went flawlessly, especially considering that all plans were made making use of long distance phone service, wire transfers, and travel agents.  Now novel and rudimentary tools of travel and commerce seen only in movies, at the time that was all that was available and sketchy, at best.  

The second leg of the trip was all Digger had imagined, ten hours on the road behind the wheel of a brand new Thunderbird, the 312 V8 purring towards the east coast at 70 smiles per hour.  The Big Apple was bigger than Digger remembered.  He thought about pulling the new Thunderbird into a parking garage and hailing a cab, but couldn’t bring himself to not enjoy driving it just a little longer.

Finishing up the business with Standard Oil, Digger piloted the new ‘Bird over to  a bar over on 191st Street and began celebrating his deal, his new car, and making it to NYC without incident.  The drinks may have made him a bit more braggadocios than he would have been in the Lucky Lady, back home.  A fellow bar patron, Thomas Fitzpatrick, thought the Texan a little loud and a bit of a braggart.  Fitzpatrick bet Digger that he could travel from New Jersey to New York City in 15 minutes.  The Texan, who’d spent more than 15 minutes just moving a block, was up for the bet and took it.  Fitzpatrick  left the bar, stole a single-engine plane from Teterboro Airport and flew back into New York City, landing on St. Nicholas Avenue right at 191st, and out in front of the bar.  

Having made the flight without lights or radio contact, the fact he was able to land right next to the Thunderbird was admirable, even more so considering the time of night and number of drinks he’d had.  Nonetheless, The New York Times called it “a fine landing and a feat of aeronautics.”  The owner of the stolen plane was so impressed he refused to press charges.  Digger, admitting defeat paid the bet and drove all the way back to Fort Stockton shaking his head and laughing at his extraordinary trip to the Big Apple.

When it was time to go to New York again two years later, Digger elected to drive the Thunderbird roundtrip, he enjoyed being behind the wheel of the two seater so much.  After conducting his business, he again wound up in a bar, this one on 187th. Digger was shocked to see Thomas Fitzpatrick, three sheets to the wind, at the end of the bar, the very same guy who’d landed a plane in the middle of NYC two years earlier.

“You wanna go double or nuthin’?” Digger asked him.  “I’ll bet you my ’57 Thunderbird you can’t do it twice.”  Fitzpatrick, a former Marine who’d served in the Korean War and had earned a Purple Heart, didn’t have to think twice.  He grabbed his hat, stumbled towards the door, turned around and said, “I’ll be back in 15 minutes!”

Fitzpatrick made his way to the very same airport, stole a different plane and landed it on Amsterdam and 187th, right next to the Thunderbird.  Judge John A. Mullen was not as lenient the second time and sentenced Fitzpatrick to six months in jail.  There was a nearly new Thunderbird waiting for him when he got out.  There is also a mixed drink named after him called “Late Night Flight”.  Not sure if it’s named such for his daring feats or his car.