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The physical wounds Chance Collinsworth suffered healed more quickly than the psychological ones. The smell of burning jet fuel stayed in his nostrils for months as a result of the Eastern plane crash. The sound of a car backfiring or a firecracker going off took him back to the pavement under a rented Dodge Coronet, seeing people gunned down around him. He never talked about it at the Lucky Lady. Eventually people stopped asking.

He never returned to his sales position at Doodie Calls. His heart just wasn’t in crappers any more. Then again, maybe it was. 

He missed Connie a lot more than he expected to. He spent too much time thinking about ‘What might have been,’ and couldn’t focus on what was actually in front of him. He didn’t date, though folks kept trying to set him up with what seemed like every eligible single female in Fort Stockton, as well as a few that weren’t single, but were willing. He was a celebrity, and there’s hardly ever a chance to sleep with one in a town like Fort Stockton. When a brand new publication called PEOPLE magazine debuted, the publishers paid Chance a handsome price for the exclusive interview with “The Man Who Survived Two Tragedies.”  He was embarrassed to see himself on the cover as he stood in line at the Piggly Wiggly, even more so when the checkout girl saw him looking at it. She wrote her number on the bag, right under the smiling pig, as she bagged his Spaghetti-O’s and Swanson TV Dinners. 

The settlement from Eastern Airlines and the payment from PEOPLE put Chance in the position of not having to worry about working for a while. Friends encouraged him to get out of town. After hearing the suggestion for the 13th time, he thought they might be onto something. The Ford Gran Torino was a reminder of Connie and the life she and Chance had before tragedy. That, and the fact that the wheel covers never matched, made him consider trading it in. The color that had seemed attractive on the showroom floor seemed to take on the hue of baby shit in the sun. He decided to go to Frontier Ford and look into a trade-in. 

By the time he made his way over to see Roger at Frontier Ford, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal,” Chance had decided he was going to kill two birds with one stone. He’d buy the car in Fort Stockton, but pick it up in LA.  Roger was thrown off by the whole idea, but when he found out he’d still make full commission, he went the extra mile to make the sale go smoothly. Of course Chance took a beating on the trade. “The mismatched wheel covers and unpopular color scheme are working against you for the trade in allowance,” Roger explained. If he didn’t have a pocket full of PEOPLE money, he would have been pissed. As it was, Chance took what they offered and ordered a brand new 1974 Ford Thunderbird with all the bells and whistles. He couldn’t help but notice the new Mustang II Ghia on the showroom floor while Roger was writing up the order. Chance just snickered at the sheep in wolf’s clothing. He could tell it was just a gussied up Pinto, and had heard that those blew up like an Eastern Airline flight hitting the everglades.

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The 1974 Thunderbird he ordered was finished in Dark Brown Metallic (5Q) from the factory and featured a brown vinyl roof covering and matching side inlays, as well as chrome-finished trim, mirrors, and bumpers with overriders. Stretching almost 19 feet long and weighing approximately 5,000 pounds.  The sixth-generation Thunderbird was the largest in the model’s history.  Steel wheels were fitted with polished Thunderbird covers and mounted with Hankook Optimo H724 whitewall tires. Power-assisted steering and brakes were standard equipment.  The cabin was upholstered in Medium Light Tan fabric (HU) with matching door panels and a brown dashboard and carpeting. Amenities included a split front bench seat with driver-side power adjustment, as well as electric windows and mirrors, air conditioning, and a Philco push-button AM/FM radio.  The 460ci V8 breathed through a four-barrel carburetor and sent power to the rear wheels through a three-speed SelectShift Cruise-O-Matic automatic transmission.  Luckily, rear fender skirts were not an option.  If they were, undoubtedly Chance would have checked that box and they probably would have detracted from the overall appearance of the FoMoCo luxury coupe.

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Truth be known, he probably ordered the Thunderbird exactly the way he did because that was the one in the ad he’d seen that featured a girl that looked just like Connie.  

Keeping with his vow to never fly again, Chance took the bus to Los Angeles when he was notified the new ‘Bird was ready for him to pick up. The folks at Hollywood Ford were pleasant. In fact, his ‘Automotive Satisfaction Coordinator’ at the dealership even recognized him from the PEOPLE magazine article and pulled some strings to get Chance tickets to BLAZING SADDLES which was premiering across town. A new luxurious Thunderbird, the temperate climate of Southern California, and a movie that kept him laughing from the opening theme music all the way to the credits all combined to make Chance feel better than he had since he saw the ground coming closer while he was strapped into a doomed jet. 

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He spent the next several days in Hollywood, enjoying the sights. He even tried a little weed, something he’d never have done back in Fort Stockton. The weed made things almost as funny as BLAZING SADDLES. It also reminded him of another weed, his cousin Steven up in Berkeley. Rather than rush back to Texas, he gave his cousin a call and suggested maybe he could come up for a visit. 

“Hell yeah,” Steven said.  “I’d love to see you.  My steady squeeze and I have a pad up here in Berkeley.  You could make the drive in half a day, especially if you got a new set of wheels.  I could show you around the Bay area.  Get some seafood.  Have a big time!”  The two of them talked about the timing and arrangements, Chance telling him he’d be there in a couple days.  As they hung up, Steven told him, “Just to warn you, my girl comes from money.  A LOT of money.  Don’t let that put you off.  She’s sweet as can be.  Just understand that, in case it comes up.”

Chance was more relaxed than he’d been in a year and a half.  Financially secure, enough distance from the events that had rocked his world in the air in Florida and on the ground in New Orleans.  The new Thunderbird was smoother than a baby’s butt wrapped in velvet and the drive up Highway 101 was breathtaking.  He felt like he’d turned a corner as he rounded one with an ocean view.  The drive should have taken about six and a half hours, but Chance wanted to see what the 460-V8 would do.  He pulled up in front of his cousin’s place about five hours after leaving LA midmorning.

It took Chance a while to find a parking spot near 2603 Benvenue Avenue, where his cousin lived.  He had to circle the block a few times before locating a place the Thunderbird would  comfortably fit. The Thunderbird stuck out like a turd in a punchbowl amongst all the small foreign jobs on the streets of Berkeley.   When he finally made it up to apartment #4, Steven answered the door with a smile on his face and threw his arms around Chance.  They hadn’t seen each other in years, and even bore a bit of a resemblance to one another, as Patty was quick to point out when she came to the door from the living room.  “You’re the only cousin of Steven’s I’ve met!”  Patty gave him a hug and pulled him into the apartment.  

The couple seemed happy and told Chance about the wedding plans they were making.  The three of them had a few beers, and talked about what Fort Stockton was like.  “Nothing like Northern California, from what I can see,” Chance laughed.  “Unless you’ve got feral hogs hiding behind these palm trees and sushi bars somewhere!”

By the time it was time to turn in, they were all a little buzzed.  They’d made plans to go see some sights across the bay in San Francisco the next morning.  “Let me just run down to the car and get my bag out of the trunk,” Chance said.  Almost before they could reply, he was out the door and down the street.

On his way to the T-Bird, a motley group of thugs bumped into him.  He thought they were rude, threatening even.  He chalked it up to the fact that people in California acted differently.  They all tended to have an accent that was strange to him, as well.  He thought about Patty, and what it must be like to be that rich.  Her family owned a string of newspapers across the country.  Her grandfather had been super rich, even had movies made about him.  Yet, Patty seemed pretty down to earth.

He grabbed his bag out of the trunk, but set it on the ground and had a cigarette before going back up to the apartment.  He wanted to soak up some of the cool northern California cool breezes.  When he walked back around the corner and towards the apartment, the thugs that had bumped into him earlier were shoving something in a van.  They sped off as if they’d just robbed a bank.

When he got to the apartment, the door was wide open.  “I hope I didn’t leave this open when I left, Chance noted out loud.”  Inside, the apartment had been ransacked.  His cousin Steven was bloody and in a pile on the floor.

“They took Patty!” he was able to barely get out.  “Get the phone.  Call the police.  Tell them Patty Hearst has been kidnapped!”

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