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On January 1, 1970 I was a strapping young man 25 years, 7 months and 4 days of age. Little did I know but that my only true automotive love was to be born that month, although I had fallen in love with this car months before. Datsun, the name Nissan Motor Company had given to a line of cars sold in the United States (and elsewhere) in order to shield the parent company name from embarrassment should the brand falter, was the brand of the car. The model was brand, spanking new. New design, new concept and to Nissan, a new market. Much effort was given to providing the American motoring enthusiasts a classy and performance-oriented two passenger sports car. Driven, no, demanded by Mr. Yutaka Katayama (Mr. K.), President of Nissan USA, Nissan made changes to the original concept which launched this car into fame, and for Nissan, a place in American automotive history. The first of this offering was badged u201c240Z.u201d My love was one of the first 750 of the Zs built, HLS30-00721 was his official legal descriptor. I call this Z a u201cheu201d because u201cheu201d was tough, fast, durable, reliable, handsome and very, very strong. I had what today you would call a u201cman crushu201d on this car. He was built in the month of January, 1970. I took official delivery on 15 April 1970. I say u201cofficial,u201d because thereu2019s a back story to my acquiring u201cThe Z.u201d He was stolen off the Datsun dock at the Port of Houston. Now that bit of information piques your interest, doesnu2019t it? A bit of personal and relevant history is necessary at this point for anything else I write to make sense, so bear with me. I was heavily involved with the Lubbock (Tx) Sports Car Club. I attended races, participated in autocross events and was generally a sports car nerd. Any car, other than of American manufacture, was on my radar. The automotive press was agog at the new offering from the Rising Sun. Countless articles and road tests were published, with few, if any derogatory comments. The articles were generally laced with superlatives youu2019ll not see in any of todayu2019s snarky reviews of new vehicles. I was sold. There are three people intractably linked with this story. First is Kent Clark. Kent was the recipient of an unfortunate fortune left to him when his father took his own life. Apparently there was an enormous amount of cash involved as Kent had all the latest auto-toys to be had. He raced and autocrossed a 1965 Triumph Spitfire, owned one of the few black-on-black fuel injected 1965 Corvettes, had all the accoutrements to haul and care for these vehicles. In the latter years of our acquaintance, he purchased a Lola T-70 A-Sports Racer to replace the Spitfire. He also worked at Sears in the womenu2019s department. Recently retired after more than 30 years with Sears. The second name is that of Mike Peacock. Mike is now a successful entrepreneur, owning his own cigar shop in the Dallas area. Mike was a teenager then, 16 or 17, but wise beyond his years. He owned a Mini Cooper u201cSu201d that ran like stink. Mike worked for me for a short while during my tenure as plant manager for Fox Photo there in Lubbock. A tremendous asset to the operation, Mike soon left to join his uncle at a local foundry. The third individual, Mike Cole, proved to be indispensable in the life of u201cThe Z.u201d Weu2019ll speak of Mr. Cole in a few minutes. Anyway, back to being stolen off the dock at the Port of Houston. Kent had decided that he wanted to race the new offering from Datsun. I had decided I wanted to own one, too. Kent was to gut his Datsun and prepare it for racing. I wanted to drive mine on the street with, perhaps, some modifications and to compete in autocross events. Both of us went to the Datsun dealership there in Lubbock, B&V Motors. Both of us put down a serious deposit. Now arises a problem. Both of us wanted our cars NOW! Datsun, however, had all 240Zs on allocation. B&V could only get one 240Z every 60 days! That sucked. Being the wily dudes Kent, Mike P. and I thought we were, we hatched a plan. B&V was in on the plan, too, but later denied it. Anyway, Kent and Mike were to fly to Houston and pick up Kentu2019s car. If possible, they would get mine as well and drive them both back to Lubbock. We planned their trip to coincide with a Datsun management meeting being held in Los Angeles, home office of Datsun USA. No cell phones in those days, remember? There was no way for the local Datsun reps to be contacted. Kent and Mike P. sauntered onto the dock with paperwork for one car and a story that would make the winner of the Liaru2019s Club blush. Kentu2019s car was the u201cofficialu201d car to be released if they couldnu2019t get both. Therein starts the tale. Mike and Kent laid out a semi-plausible story that follows closely along these lines: u201cPete Brock and his crew on the west coast had received their 240Z (Datsun Racing West). Bob Sharp on the east coast had received theirs (Datsun Racing East). Where was the car for (DRC) u201cDatsun Racing Central?u201d DRC must have their car to prep it for the upcoming season and Kent and Mike raised a considerable amount of cane about the dock workers not having the required paperwork to release the car. The ruse, amazingly, worked. Kent and Mike climbed into bright red and mustard-gold 240Zs and drove with only one paper dealer plate 650 miles from Houston to Lubbock, Texas. The night they were due back in Lubbock, a bunch of us had gathered at Kentu2019s place awaiting their return. Kent showed up first in his red Z. A beautiful car it was and hopefully still is. The storyline from Kent was that they couldnu2019t get the second car (mine) and he had dropped Mike off at home because Mike was not feeling well. That story sold, and we all gathered about Kentu2019s new Z, popped the hood, admired the engine bay, interior, the caru2019s lines, everything. In about 10 minutes we all heard the scream of an in-line 6 cylinder in 2nd gear at 60 mph and here came Mike! Doing a handbrake right turn into Kentu2019s driveway, here was MY car! Theyu2019d done the near impossible in getting both vehicles. But B&V Motors had to pay. The color of my Z has been described as u201cmustard,u201d u201cbaby-shit yellow,u201d u201cgold,u201d and a couple of other not so complimentary names. But I loved it! After everyone got through back-slapping Kent and Mike and congratulating all of us, I drove it home. It was a memory Iu2019ll never forget. The headlights were off aim, the alternator belt was slipping some and I didnu2019t know where all the interior controls were and the car was dripping with cosmoline. I had no plate of any kind on the car. Iu2019m lucky the Lubbock cops were all at the donut shop that night. As a result of this caper, B&V initially lost their next 6 months of 240Z allocations. To help them make up their loss, I agreed to park my Z on their showroom floor for the next 8 Saturdays. They sold out their next 24 monthu2019s allocation in less than a month, and eventually Datsun lifted their allocation ban after about a month. Allu2019s well that ends well. During the next few months and years, u201cThe Zu201d was modified to be as close to a true race car as was possible given my very limited budget and my desire to drive it on the street. The modifications done over time included wheels and tires, a full race suspension from Datsunu2019s Interpart and BRE (pre-Nismo days), a performance camshaft, headers and exhaust system, race carburetors, front spoiler and an oil cooling system. The stock, mild-mannered Z was turning into a streetable beast. The car was performing like the champion it was, too. In 1972 I placed 2nd in the SCCA Solo II run-offs held at Penwell, Texas. A race-prepared Ferrari was the victor, but only by half a second. This little Z would absolutely fly! Fast forward to 1977 and the story continues with the introduction of Mike Cole. I met Mike via a mutual friend who lived across the street from him. By 1977 my career path had changed and I was working for Chrysler Corporation in Omaha, Nebraska. I was having the Z debadged at a local Chrysler dealeru2019s body shop. Mike had been pestering me for a ride in the Z for quite a while and as he worked relatively close to the dealership, I agreed to meet him there over a lunch break and give him a spin. Well, that was the first mistake I made. You couldnu2019t wipe the grin off Mikeu2019s face with 40 grit sandpaper! At least once a week for the next six to eight weeks, Iu2019d get a phone call. u201cHow much do you want for it?u201d was the question every time. Every time, Iu2019d decline to name a price. Finally, wanting to put an end to the u201charassment,u201d I named a price. That was my second mistake. Mike didnu2019t hesitate a nano-second and accepted. No haggling, no dickering, just u201cIu2019ll take it!u201d u201cWhoa!u201d I thought. As a condition of the sale, I stipulated that should Mike ever decide to sell the car, I would have the right of first refusal. Mike added to that stipulation that my buy-back price would be the same price he was paying me for it. Again, fast forward to 2007. In January I received a call from Mike. Bear in mind I hadnu2019t heard from, seen, or known anything of his wherabouts for 30 years. He was ready to sell the Z and was asking if I was interested. In about the same length of time it took Mike to say u201cIu2019ll take itu201d in 1977, I said the same back to him. Pick-up was arranged at Mikeu2019s home for February. Mike had recently retired from a station in Mexico and had had the Z in storage for the past 10 years. Once he received the car, he put in a new battery, changed the fluids, and the car started on the first try on 10 year-old gas! The Z wanted to RUN! As most of us know, the first mechanical failure that will occur after a car has sat for a long period will be the water pump, and it was no exception for the Z. Mike and his son tried to replace it, but broke a bolt off in the block during the removal. This was the condition of the Z when I first laid eyes on it after 30 years. Everything else was as I remembered. This car was truly a time capsule for me. All the memories of having driven and competed in this car came flooding back. During those 30 years, Mike had kept the car garaged and well maintained. Heu2019d only driven the Z nine thousand miles during that time and the Z still had the same tires with which I sold it to Mike. I was more than pleased to take the car home, running or not. Over the next several months and years, the Z went through several steps in getting back to better than his former condition. The suspension was re-bushed and received new struts, the head was given a valve job and checked for straightness. New paint, new wheels and tires, and a 5-speed transmission are just a few of the things I thought the Z required to make it what I wanted. Once far enough into the refurbishment, the Z and I went to the track. And if I may personify the Z just a little bit, it was there I truly learned what u201cheartu201d this little car had. He wanted to run and run very fast. In fact, he wanted to run faster than this aging author could safely drive him, so after about two years of having fun on the track, I decided that the Z would transition from a total performance machine to one with more cultured accoutrements. I added air conditioning. Tinted the windows. A fresh sound system, power windows and locks were on the agenda; new bling for underhood, chromed this and polished that. He was slowly becoming a showier car. Then came 12 March 2012. The Z had never had a professional wrench adjust the triple carbs and they were not running as they had in the past. They were jetted quite lean, I learned, and I was taking him to a shop in Katy, Texas to have them gone through professionally. On the way there at 8:15 in the morning, we were tooling along on the Sam Houston Tollway in the left lane at, or slightly above the speed limit of 65. Traffic was oddly light that day and there were no cars between us and the far right lane. I noticed a white Chevy truck towing a landscaping trailer driving about 55-60 in that far-away lane, slightly ahead of us. I also saw that trailer disengage from the truck, veer hard left and head straight for us, crossing the two intervening lanes of traffic in less than 2 seconds. I couldnu2019t stop fast enough; couldnu2019t accelerate fast enough. The trailer impacted the Z just forward of the passenger door, shearing the brake lines, destroying the right strut tower, sheared both motor mounts, broke the transmission housing. The impact spun me 90 degrees to the right and here we go, headed for the Jersey Barrier at a pretty good clip. No brakes, no steering. Head-on. I was lucky to escape with minor and non-life threatening injuries, but the same couldnu2019t be said for the Z. He was declared a total loss with repair costs estimated at well above insured value. It was only after the dismantling process was underway that I could see the totality of the carnage that that loose trailer caused. The frame rails were pretzeled. The A-post was shoved upward and inward. The entire floor tub was bent and buckled to behind the seats. Sheet metal on the right side was wrinkled back to the rear wheel opening. The door was jammed shut. My beautiful, strong and delightful 240Z was dead. And I died a little bit along with him. Rest in peace, dear Z. I miss you terribly. On an upnote, the salvageable parts from him have found new life in at least 7 other Z-cars thus far. So in a sense, heu2019s really not dead, just scattered about some.