How The Monkees Got The Monkeemobile

by Enola Jones

It was shortly after coming back from playing a sweet sixteen party that the trouble had started.

The other three were still laughing about the way Mike had gotten the Swedish Rhythm Kings off the stage when the woody began to sputter. "Aw, great," Mike grumbled, steering to the side of the road. "Just what we needed."

The woody coughed a couple of times and then died. Peter closed his eyes and leaned against the back seat. "Rudy's gonna kill us for this one."

"Why?" Micky asked. "We didn't do a thing to his car, it died on its own!"

Mike leaned forward so his forehead touched the steering wheel. After a moment, he raised up and said, "That sinks it. Guys, we need to get our own car."

"Our own car?" Davy gasped. "But where are we gonna get that much money?"

"We don't need that much money," Peter said. "My cousin Jackson runs a junkyard. I'm sure if we ask nicely he'll give us a car."

"A junkyard?" the other three chorused. "What're we gonna do with a junked car?" Davy cried.

Peter winced. "It was only an idea..." he whimpered.

"And a good one," Micky said, almond-shaped eyes widening in surprise. "Hey fellas, Peter's right! We can get a junked up car and I can make it better than ever!"

"Well that's all well and good," Mike said, nodding slightly. "But the money problem is still there... where will we get the money for tools and parts?"

"Rudy can line us up some more gigs," Micky said, eyes shining as he anticipated working on the car. "And we can sink the money after rent into parts and tools..."

"Let's get the car first, shotgun," Mike said with a small smile. "Then we can worry about the rest."

Davy steered as the other three pushed the woody to the front of Rudy's music shop. Rudy groaned at seeing his beloved woody motionless. While Micky began to putter around the engine, searching for what went wrong, the other three went in to talk to Rudy about getting their own car.

Rudy backed them up completely and after Micky replaced a fuel pump hose, even drove them to the junkyard himself the next morning.

They poked around and scanned several cars before Mike sighed in frustration. "This isn't gettin' us anywhere, guys," he sighed, laying his hand down on top of the bumper of a car that was on top of another car.

The weight of him leaning on his hand overbalanced the car, and the Monkees, Rudy and Peter's cousin scrambled to safety as the car toppled over. When they approached it, they were stunned at what lay underneath the fallen car.

The convertible looked to be in relatively good shape. It was light blue with a creamy white top. Mike's eyes were drawn to the white seats three of them! "Two back seats?" he gasped.

"Ah, well, yes," Peter's cousin stammered. "That car... well, there's nothing really wrong with it..."

"Then how come it's here?" Micky asked.

The cousin seemed very uncomfortable all of a sudden. "It... well, it has something of a mind of its own... its previous owner said it seemed haunted... said it didn't like her."

Mike ran his hand over the steering wheel. "It seems ... wow..." he whispered. He looked up. "Where are the keys?"

"Under the seat."

Mike opened the door and sat down, turning the key. He frowned. "It won't turn over."

"Well, there's no gas..."

"Gas it up!" the four chorused.

Peter's cousin did and Mike turned the key again. This time the engine roared into life. Micky's eyes widened appreciatively. "Man, it's been souped!"

"You're right," Mike said. "Someone's put a muscle car engine in this thing."

They drove it around the block, and Mike was astonished at how easily it handled. "Well, it seems to like us well enough..."

They changed drivers. The car handled easily when Peter drove it, when Micky drove it... but a little rough when Davy drove it. Davy chuckled. "She'll come t'like me," he said with a grin. "Most girls do."

"We'll take it!" they chorused.

Hours later, Micky stood up from the car and smiled, rubbing a smudge of yellow paint off his nose and crying, "Guys, she's ready!"

The others came out and whistled at the sight before them. The convertible was now clean and shiny, repainted a bright cherry red. Micky had painstakingly recreated the guitar-shaped 'Monkees' logo Peter and Mike had come up with and Micky had been thinking about having silkscreened on his bass drum. The logo now adorned each of the doors. "What do you think?" Micky asked.

"That's incredible!" Peter gasped and the others nodded agreement.

"Say hello to the Monkeemobile!" Micky proclaimed with a grand sweep of his hand. "Let's let the paint dry, then put her through her paces!"

Hours later, Mike pulled the newly named Monkeemobile up to the beach house, a rare broad grin splitting his face. The GTO had behaved wonderfully.

And the Monkees now had their own car.

The End





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