From Nellie to Betty: My Lifelong Love Affair With the 1964 Impala

I have loved cars for as long as I can remember. And it started with a 1964 Chevrolet Impala — the car I grew up with, learned to drive in, and that has always had a special place in my heart.

My parents bought the Impala in December 1966, when I was only six months old. I believe my Dad paid about $1,800 for it, trading in a ’59 Ford Galaxie that was such a lemon he switched to Chevrolet. My Mom named the car Nellie after Roy Rogers’ Jeep.

Nellie was Meadow Green with an Ermine White roof, 283 V8, Powerglide, power steering, power brakes, AM radio and factory air. We lived in base housing at Dyess AFB in Abilene, Texas, and having air conditioning back then was a big deal, especially since the cloth seats with their cool 1960s pattern were promptly covered with those godawful clear plastic seat covers from JC Whitney.

In 1971, my Dad was sent to Vietnam for a year. My parents are from New Hampshire, so we moved back to be close to family. I still remember looking down that long green hood as we crossed an enormous bridge over the Mississippi River. I also remember trips to the car wash in the dead of winter with my Mom scrubbing off the salt because, “If your father comes home and finds rust on this car, he’ll kill me!” Nellie emerged from a New England winter pretty much unscathed, and we drove her back to Texas in 1972. We probably went over that same bridge.

We had Nellie for 17 years, and my very first time behind the wheel in the spring of 1982 was in that Impala. I still vividly recall every detail. The car was so smooth and easy — it made driving feel like the most natural thing in the world. I aced my driving test, including parallel parking. Big as the car was, you could see all four corners, so parallel parking wasn’t hard.

My Dad sold the Impala when I was in high school. I had wanted a car of my own and bought a ’74 Toyota Celica with a 4-speed that was fun, sportier and much better on gas. After a rebuild, the 283 drank gas like a B-52. I offered to buy Nellie, as did my older sister, who also learned to drive in the car and loved her as much as I did. But he said he was tired of working on it and sold it to an airman on base for $500. I washed Nellie one last time and took her for a final spin the day before her new owner picked her up.

I had vowed that one day, I would have another ’64 Impala. After years of looking off and on (mostly off), I got a phone call out of the blue from my sister Linda in February 1999. She was living in California and had been looking for a first-generation Firebird when she saw this ad:

I called up the owner. I was living in Phoenix at the time, and factory air conditioning — not a dealer-installed or aftermarket under-dash unit — was a must. It didn’t have to be working — it just had to be there. So I asked if the car had A/C. The owner said, “Gee, I don’t know.” He lived in San Luis Obispo on the central California coast, so he never needed air conditioning. I asked if there were little chrome balls on the corners of the dash — only cars with factory air had them. He said yes.

So I booked a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, got a AAA membership and headed off to look at the car. It felt a little surreal. After 15 years, was I actually going to do this?

I met the twentysomething owner at a suburban strip mall. The car looked rougher than I had hoped. The body had several spots of Bondo and surface rust. The interior was worn, but the original upholstery was still presentable. All the trim was there. It was even Meadow Green, which was a happy coincidence. And the four-door hardtop was my favorite body style. I actually think the proportions are better than on the two-doors.

Rummaging inside the glovebox, I found the owner’s manual in the original plastic pouch. And something else was in there: the build sheet.

From what I’ve heard, finding a build sheet is rare, and if you do, it’s usually deteriorated and hidden somewhere, like under the springs of the back seat cushion. This one was creased from being folded for 35 years, but otherwise in good shape. After the car was built on November 4, 1963, at GM’s South Gate plant in Southern California, it was delivered just down the street to Enoch Chevrolet.

I got behind the wheel, and everything was exactly as I remembered. While it didn’t have the distinctive chirp of Chrysler’s hummingbird starter, this Impala sounded just like Nellie did when I turned the key. At idle, the engine had that same cheerful Chevy small-block burble, with the added benefit of the dual exhaust that came standard on this car’s 327 V8. I shifted the Powerglide into Drive and was sold before I had even left the parking lot. It was as smooth and easy as I remembered from the first time I drove back in 1982.

I had gotten my past back.

On the way to the bank to do the cashier’s check, I asked the owner if the car had a name. He said her name was Betty. I thought it was perfect.

Driving Betty home, I called my Dad. Considering he had sold Nellie for $500 in 1984, I told him he owed me $2,500. He laughed. But a few days later, I got a $500 check — and his old Chilton shop manual. He had kept it all those years. Was it a surprise? Yes. Did he believe me when I told him I would have another ’64 Impala someday? Also yes.

It’s hard to believe I’ve had Betty for more than 27 years. Even now, driving her always puts a smile on my face, and she usually gets compliments on the road and in parking lots. Running errands around town is a great excuse for taking Betty for a drive.

I’ve gradually restored Betty as time and money allowed. The paint was redone, the engine rebuilt, the interior refreshed, and a few carefully chosen upgrades made her more enjoyable to drive without changing her character such as an upgrade to a THM700R4 4-speed automatic in 2010 and all new wiring in 2011. She drives beautifully and handles pretty well for a big 60s American car with modern (and wider) radial tires. No float, no wallow and less body roll after I installed a rear stabilizer bar.

On a nice day, I’ll roll all the windows down and enjoy the breeze. After multiple rebuilds —  even if I had all the receipts, I wouldn’t want to add them up — I’ve given up on fixing the air conditioning. Oregon summers are usually quite pleasant most of the time. If it’s a hot day, I’ll drive one of my other cars.

Betty had 113,000 miles on her then and has 204,000 miles on her now. I took her back to Southern California for a couple of big car shows. I drove her up along the California coast and over the Golden Gate Bridge when I moved to Oregon in 2003. I’ve taken her on road trips to see friends. There’s a lodge on Washington’s Long Beach Peninsula with vintage travel trailers, and my vintage Impala fits right in. I even drove Betty on a business trip to Seattle when my other car was in the shop.

Now, Betty and I are reaching a crossroads, and I’m honestly not sure what will happen next. We are empty nesters now, planning to retire and downsizing next year. Instead of the three-car garage we have now, the rowhouse we bought has one — and Betty won’t fit in it.

I might put her in storage. I talked to a friend who has some garage space not far from our new house, but I’m not sure if he has the space or really wants to store somebody else’s car. He still has to get back to me. I’ve sent a couple of inquiries to classic car museums and have a few more to contact to see if they’d be interested in Betty. I prefer to do a loan at this point and maybe donate her when I’m no longer driving.

There’s one more option: sell Betty back to her previous owner. When I moved to Oregon, I made a detour to San Luis Obispo so he could see her restored. He was so pleased. His friends couldn’t believe it was the same car.

We’ve continued to keep in touch via Facebook, and he always enjoys seeing pictures I post. When I bought Betty back in 1999, he was still a college student and musician — he noted he could fit an entire drum kit in Betty’s huge trunk. He told me he wanted to sell her to someone who would respect her and give her the restoration she deserved. I told him about Nellie and how much it meant to me to have a ’64 Impala again.

A few years ago, on a Facebook post on the anniversary of me buying Betty — yes, I know the date: February 19, 1999 — he commented, “I’m so glad Betty went home with you that day… it makes me happy to know she is in good hands. Thank you for posting all the great pics and letting me peek in on her every once in a while.”

I sent him a recent picture on his birthday last month, and he said he was telling a friend about Betty not too long ago. He said he still loves the car, and I can certainly understand why. So I recently sent him a message asking if he would be interested in buying her back. Honestly, I can’t imagine selling Betty to anyone else. I told him I don’t need an answer right away, but I wanted to give him first right of refusal.

At this stage of my life, I need to be practical and realistic. I am so lucky that I got to experience the car that was my first love all over again. Betty and I have had an incredible run. Whatever the future holds, part of me will go with her when Betty is no longer mine.

 

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