Having recently revisited the spirited play, Red Hot Patriot: The Kick-Ass Humor of Molly Ivins, one can’t help but ponder the less-explored facets of her vibrant life. While her wardrobe or pets might offer whimsical narratives, it’s her vehicles that truly chart a fascinating journey. This exploration into Molly Ivins’ automobiles is not just about cars; it’s about understanding the automotive quest of a woman who was as unconventional and impactful as the vehicles she chose.
Among Molly Ivins’ vehicular tales, only one received a formal farewell: “The Tank.” This wasn’t just a car; it was a legend. In 1970, when Molly joined The Texas Observer in Austin, she arrived in this rusty Mercury, a relic from her reporting days in Minneapolis. Money was tight, with both Molly and her colleague earning a modest $7,200 annually, supplemented by a frugal $0.75 per meal for out-of-town assignments. While a new car loan was within reach, Molly’s attachment to “The Tank” seemed to stem from its uncanny ability to generate captivating stories. Its most defining characteristic? A defunct reverse gear.
Navigating “The Tank” out of the Observer’s cramped parking space at 24th and San Antonio was an exercise in brute force. Molly, known for her considerable strength, often single-handedly pushed and dragged the car until it faced the right direction. This daily ritual wasn’t just a parking challenge; it was a social catalyst. As Molly herself humorously noted, “Over the years I first met many of my best friends while pushing The Tank backwards.” “The Tank” wasn’t merely a vehicle; it was a friend-making machine, albeit one that occasionally tested friendships with its unique operational demands. This initial car in Molly’s automotive quest speaks volumes about her resourcefulness and ability to find humor and connection in everyday challenges.
“The Tank’s” journey concluded dramatically on July 17, 1971, at the intersection of 15th and Guadalupe, succumbing to self-immolation. This fiery end marked a turning point in Molly’s Car Quest, initiating an era of experimentation with various vehicles, each reflecting a different facet of her evolving persona.
Around the time The Texas Observer relocated to 600 W. 7th St., Molly’s automotive path took a sharp turn towards the powerful and striking Pontiac Trans Am. This acquisition, predating the Smokey and the Bandit craze by at least six years, underscored Molly’s innate ability to be ahead of trends. However, the Trans Am, with its low-slung design, presented its own set of challenges. Its minimal ground clearance made ingress and egress ungainly and posed practical problems, especially during outdoor excursions. Rumors circulated of mud reaching door handle levels during camping trips, painting a picture of a muscle car grappling with uncharacteristic terrains. Moreover, the insurance premiums, inflated by the Trans Am’s association with a demographic of “reckless young males,” added an unexpected layer to her ownership experience. This foray into muscle cars was a bold chapter in Molly’s car quest, showcasing her adventurous spirit, albeit with a touch of impracticality.
A brief interlude in Molly’s automotive journey might have involved a sensible Toyota, a stark contrast to the flamboyant Trans Am. However, the next vehicle to firmly etch itself into memory was “Phil,” the Lincoln Continental. Purchased to navigate the vast landscapes of the West as The New York Times’ Rocky Mountain bureau chief, Phil was more than just transportation; he was a companion in Molly’s professional quest. Its spacious interior comfortably accommodated her large frame, and she developed a genuine fondness for it, so much so that Phil accompanied her back to Texas when she transitioned to a columnist role at the Dallas Times Herald. This Lincoln Continental phase in Molly’s car quest revealed a penchant for luxury and comfort, attributes perhaps subsidized by The Times, and certainly befitting her stature as a prominent journalist.
Phil became the trusted chariot for road trips, effortlessly accommodating five or six passengers in its plush leather seats. Adding to its charm was a quirky, almost British, spoken warning system. A memorable journey to the Rio Grande Valley with Phil, Molly, and friends to visit lawyer Shelia Cheaney highlighted Phil’s endearing neuroses. Despite perfectly adequate levels, Phil would periodically announce in its distinctive voice, “Your washer fluid is low. Your washer fluid is low.” These pronouncements, often met with playful shouts of “Shut up, Phil,” became a running joke. Similarly, Phil had a penchant for stating the obvious about doors, preferring “Your door is ajar. Your door is ajar,” over simpler phrasing. These quirks transformed Phil from a mere vehicle into a character in Molly’s ongoing car saga, a reliable yet slightly fussy travel companion.
Returning to Austin in 1985 as a columnist, Molly’s vehicular needs shifted again. Dallas had proven too restrictive for her outspoken style, leading her back to the more congenial environment of Austin. With the Times Herald’s demise and subsequent roles at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and independent syndication, Austin, in Molly’s mind, dictated a “truck.” Thus emerged “Truck Bob,” a bright green, full-sized pickup. While not frequently used for conventional truck duties, Molly reasoned its acquisition on the premise that someone would invariably need to borrow it. Before her cancer diagnosis, Molly was known for her physical strength and willingness to assist with heavy lifting. Anecdotes circulated of her single-handedly carrying a refrigerator up a friend’s front steps, earning admiration even from professional movers. Truck Bob, in this chapter of Molly’s car quest, symbolized her generosity, practicality, and readiness to lend a hand, or a truck, to those in need.
While Phil received a semblance of regular maintenance, Truck Bob was treated with affectionate neglect. Running boards were added to ease access for Athena, her standard poodle, who frequently rode shotgun. A memorable trip to Big Bend Ranch State Park, in pursuit of the elusive collapsed dome named El Solitario, resulted in Truck Bob acquiring some of its “worst scratches.” The quest for El Solitario, amidst the rugged, brown landscape, may have been unsuccessful, but the journey itself left its mark on Truck Bob, literally. Athena’s passenger-side running board was a casualty of this adventure, discovered missing upon their return to ranch headquarters, where a gathering of liberal lawyer friends awaited. Truck Bob’s ruggedness and utility, even when slightly battered, became emblematic of Molly’s adventurous spirit and down-to-earth nature.
Molly’s final vehicle marked a significant departure from her previous automotive choices: a Toyota Prius. This Prius represented her “worthy” car phase, akin to the Observer stories focused on weighty issues. The Prius was undeniably sleek and Molly genuinely appreciated it. She, along with her brother Andy and his wife Carla, had acquired undeveloped ranchland outside London in Kimble County. The Prius became her weekend ranch companion, frequently transporting hay bales, manure, a wet dog, and mud. Despite its less-than-fragrant cargo, the Prius offered a smooth and enjoyable driving experience. Adding to her ranch mobility was a four-wheeler, which Molly reportedly drove at top speed, embracing her “inner biker chick.” This Prius era in Molly’s car quest showcased a blend of practicality, environmental consciousness, and a continued zest for life and adventure, even in the most unexpected settings.
What motivated Molly’s diverse automotive choices throughout her life? Each vehicle, from “The Tank” to the Prius, seemed to embody a different aspect of her multifaceted personality. Her car quest wasn’t about status or conformity; it was a continuous exploration of self-expression through the vehicles she drove. Until her final days, Molly Ivins remained a perpetual experimenter, always on a quest, be it for the perfect car or the perfect story. Her automotive journey serves as a charming microcosm of her larger life quest – unconventional, humorous, and always authentically Molly.
Kaye Northcott, a former Observer editor from 1967 to 1976, and later editor of Texas Co-Op Power magazine, continues to write from her home in Austin.
