The Old Goat 1969 CJ5

It was definitely not love at first sight. She had skinny whitewall tires; rust spots and a strange metal hardtop that made her look even more unbalanced and top-heavy.

I had my eye on a ’72 CJ5 with a 304 cubic inch V-8 and big, fat mud tires. When my father and I had gone to look at it the week before, I was filled with joy that I could afford such a machine on my paltry budget. When the owner un-latched the hood and I laid my eyes on the chrome air cleaner and the freshly painted white headers, all I could do was grin. All Dad did was frown.

After lowering the hood, the owner jumped in the driver’s seat and brought the beast to life. The sound of that V-8 exhaust throbbing through the headers and dual turbo mufflers was accompanied by a slight burnt oil aroma and a small puff of blue smoke. I didn’t care, the sound was music to my ears. I looked at Dad and he was not frowning anymore, he was scowling instead.

After pretending to do a critical walk around, I was ready to pay any price, especially when I saw the small chrome, red, white and blue “V-8” glistening on her flanks. I was hooked. Dad then took control of the situation and told the owner we would let him know and with my heart breaking we drove off. On the drive home dad said the tires were too expensive to replace and there was “too much oil on the engine”. The truth was, Dad was what I now call “economical”. He saw no need to have a V-8 or anything flashy for that matter. What I needed was something cheap to run back and forth to my new job as a draftsman. He was willing to concede and let me buy a Jeep CJ but it sure wasn’t going to be anything over the top.

I had just graduated from high school and it was June of 1984. After a week of bickering about the V-8 CJ, I saw an ad in the paper for a 1969 CJ 5 in Leola, Pennsylvania. Here was something Dad might go for; the ad said it had a 6 cylinder engine and a hardtop. I made the call and we drove up to see it. To say she was ugly was maybe a bit harsh; homely may have been a more accurate description.

The owner was kind of a dorky middle-aged guy and I remember thinking that seemed entirely appropriate given the vehicle. He offered to take me for a ride and we hopped in. He then proceeded to roar down his rather steep front lawn and bounce through a ditch before hitting the pavement with a chirp of the tires. Well, maybe this old Jeep wasn’t too bad. After talking with Dad, I realized that this old rusty goat was probably the best I was going to do. There was always the chance that I would end up driving an AMC Pacer and not get a Jeep at all.I reluctantly counted out 16 one hundred dollar bills and the smiling dorky guy handed over the title and 2 keys.

Over the course of the next year I joined the thousands of other young men with a new job and lots and lots of money and sank almost every dime I made back into the old goat. Slowly but surely she was transformed into the machine of my dreams. Big tires with white wagon wheels ($25 a piece!) were followed by body work, a paint job and a tan canvas top. She looked so good that when I went off to college, I was shunned by some guys since they thought I was a rich kid whose parents bought them a brand new Jeep. When I had the chance to inform them that I had spent my money and time and the machine was over 15 years old they all warmed up to me!

Now she may have looked like a starlet, but under that shiny red paint lurked an old cantankerous woman. I had particular trouble starting the machine. It seemed that at any given time that the alternator, the starter or the battery was bad. It became common practice to park on a hill so I could drift it and pop it in gear to get the engine fired up. Unfortunately, the house I lived in had a flat parking lot and on many mornings I would get all my available house mates out of bed so they could push the Jeep. This of course was accompanied by a lot of complaining but since I gave everyone a ride to class or to the store I don’t think they minded too much.Once she was running the problems didn’t go away. Once the front wheel bearing retaining nut backed off and I almost lost a wheel at 60 mph. I did the best to keep her going on my limited means and other than the small problem of not starting about 1/3 of the time she was somewhat reliable.

I attended a branch campus of Penn State and on football weekends we would cram as many people as we could into the Jeep and strike out over the mountains. The geology of Pennsylvania is such that the mountain ridges run from the southwest to the northeast. That means that to go from Mont Alto branch campus to the main campus one has to cross 4-5 ridges. The first stop was always at the Sunoco station to load up on 94 octane fuel. The Jeep took leaded gas but on these “special” occasions I would spring for the good stuff in order to run better up the hills.

I have lost touch with my friends from 25 years ago but I am sure they all remember these road trips. The long climbs up the ridges with the soft top snapping and the cold air pouring in was followed by the nearly out of control descent with the soft top snapping and the cold air pouring in. Since she still had old drum brakes on the front as well as the rear axle it really brought the term “brake fade” to life.

E.D.