As the sun rose, washing the darkness from my room, I rubbed my eyes and slowly climbed from my bed. I had no way of knowing that this day would forever change my life.

I suppose the story really starts more than twenty years ago. Shortly after I discovered I was alive, I discovered automobiles. I was fascinated with them. My earliest memory of bliss was riding in my father's '69 VW Type I "Beetle" at the age of three. I loved being in that wonderful piece automotive history. I loved the way she smelled I loved the sounds she made, I loved the bumpiness of the ride but most of all I loved the way she looked. She had a beauty to me that nobody else seemed to understand. I saw in her, perfection, style, and dignity. She loved me too, which she proved by always starting and running perfectly whenever my father took me with him, something she never did for him alone. I will never forget the day my father pulled in the driveway after work driving an American-made pickup truck, of all things! I was crushed, my spirit destroyed and I vowed that I would forever love the unloved and worship the un-appreciated.

Ten VW bugs, two VW buses, one FIAT 124 Coupe, and many years later I was found admiring the beauty of my friend's 1966 FIAT 600D sedan. I was noting the subtle mechanical similarities of the rear engine FIATs and the air-cooled VWs when my friend asks me if I have ever seen the FIAT version of a bus. Of course, I had not so he took me inside and unearthed, from a mountain of automotive manuals, periodicals, and encyclopedias, a book about FIAT 500s, 600s and 850s. After thumbing the pages for few minutes he came to the object of our search. He opened the book wide and held it out before me like a podium holding the registry for a royal wedding. On the pages before me my eyes beheld the most beautiful work of art ever created by human hands, the FIAT 600 Multipla. I was taken aback, my heart skipped, my head pounded, my palms perspired, my ears roared, I was in love.

"That's the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life!" I exclaimed with all the glee of an archeologist who has just stumbled upon the arc of the covenant. "I have to get one!" "Toby," Greg began in the way a surgeon tells his patient he has only two months to live, "It will never happen. Just put it out of your mind. They are so rare; you will never find one and if you do it will be so expensive you could never afford it anyway. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is!"

Oh but this couldn't be I thought. How could life be so cruel? Why was I being punished in this way? Had I been a Nazi in my former life or a marauding Viking or maybe I was a member of the Mongol hoards reeking havoc on many a poor soul. I didn't know why, I only knew that forces of nature were at work against my happiness.

As I got out of bed I felt the tingle of excitement as I anticipated the days activities that awaited me. Greg and I were taking his beautifully restored '66 FIAT 600D sedan to the Tulsa Auto Show for her his first public appearance. We had just finished installing the, newly counter-rotated, 903cc engine the previous weekend and were ready for the entire world to admire this wonderful little car. The car was built as a replica of the Abarth 600 racers of the European circuits. He wore a paint scheme of the Italian flag, red, white and green and a large number 90 on the doors indicating the cars new horsepower output. I had helped Greg considerably with the mechanics of the little car and studied its heritage for several years now. Together we were quite equipped to answer the swarm of questions we knew were in store for us from the auto show-goers. To aid in our efforts, Greg created a billboard depicting the many faces of the rear-engine FIAT line. He included pictures of the 600, the 600D, the 500 the 850 sedan and, as per my request, the glorious Multipla.

The day unfolded in much the way we had anticipated with a barrage of questions. "What is it?" "Who made it?" "How fast does it go?" "What kind of Volkswagen is that?" "Is it a pedal-car?" and "How many standard poodles can you fit in it?" Greg and I really had our work cut out for us. We worked in shifts standing by the car answering questions and giving tours around the little car.

The second day of the show, somewhat late in the afternoon and during one of my shifts, unbeknownst to me, one of the single greatest events of my life was about to unfold. An elderly gentleman approached the little FIAT and me and stood quietly off to the side while I finished explaining to a woman that no matter how many times she opened the doors and bonnet fifty circus clowns would not come piling out. As the, still unconvinced, young woman walked away I turned to greet the elderly gentleman standing to my side. As I said hello the old man raised and inquisitive eyebrow an, as if he were trying to demonstrate how he would describe an elephant in a game of charades, half threw a lazy arm up with a gnarled, heavily worked finger extended at the end. "I got one d'em 'hind mah barn ahed sure lack to git rid uh." He declared as his arm dropped back to his side.

"Oh, really?" I ask, with a slight doubtful air. "How much are you asking for it?" I ask out of the slightest curiosity. "Oh, I dun. Two, Two-n-a-haff maybe." The man replies while stroking smooth the wrinkles in his chin. Two or Two-fifty for a basket case 600 sedan I think to myself. Not a bad deal but not a great deal either. I contemplate the possibility that this man could actually have an early sedan with the suicide doors in which case the investment would be worth it. "Would you mind if I come take a look at it?" I ask. "Nah, wouldn't mahnd a-tall. When do ya wanna come out?" "Well, how about next Saturday?" I ask, thinking that will give me five whole days to talk myself out of it. The man agreed and we exchanged phone numbers. The following Friday I called Mr. Blaire, as I soon discovered his name to be, and got detailed instructions on how to find his house. After discussing it with Greg, he decided to go with me to look at this "mystery machine" just in case it was actually a 600 sedan. If nothing else, he thought, he might be able to use it for parts since Mr. Blaire assured me the car was complete.

Saturday morning came and found Greg and I on our way to Prattville Oklahoma in his Alfa Romeo GTV-6. We took the Alfa because neither of us had any real intention of bringing this car home. We arrive at Mr. Blaire's home, a delightful, rural farm home, where we find him waiting for us in the driveway. After the greeting and introductions, he insists on showing us his beautifully restored 56' T-bird. The car is quite lovely but not what we came to see so Greg and I humor the polite fellow by giving him appropriate praise of his obvious pride and joy. Hopefully not detecting our lack of interest in the T-bird, Mr. Blaire claps his hands and commands, "Well, let's go look at the reason you drove out here, shall we?" Feeling guilty for not having a real interest in Mr. Blaire's T-bird, I give a little wolf-whistle and sigh, "She certainly is gorgeous, Sir!" and cast an admiring eye on the powder blue Thunderbird.

We pass through the garage and head through a pasture toward a dilapidated old pole-barn complete with the nose of a tractor protruding out of one of the bays. ".... one a 'dem 'hind mah barn...." I heard Mr. Blaire in my mind and could fight back a little chuckle at the literal translation of his statement. As we near the barn I can see the front fender of a Nash Metropolitan. Feeling a little angry and insulted I think to myself, "He not only does not have a FIAT but he thinks a Nash is a 600 Sedan!" Fighting the urge to just stop here and politely explaining that I am not interested I catch a knowing glance from Greg as I realize his thoughts mirror my own. Deciding that this man is too nice to be rude to, I continue to follow him around the corner of his barn. Low and behold there sits yet another Nash Metropolitan in even worse shape than it's predecessor. A little to my surprise, Mr. Does not stop at the two Nash's but rather continues to escort us around the barn.

Suddenly, my heart stopped, and my head began to pound, my hands became wet. I knew this feeling I was in the presence of greatness. Visually I could only see the very top corner of the front passenger door but that was enough for me to know that I had found my life's blood. I stopped momentarily, waiting for the giant, pink, three-headed panda bear that had terrorized me in so many other dreams but to my delight I realized that this was really happening. As we continued I fought back the tears as the vehicle unveiled itself from behind the shroud of Metropolitans. I looked at Greg with eyes the size of quarter-dollars and conveyed my joy in silence. "Oh," I said in as casual a manner as I could muster, "it's a Multipla. I thought you had a sedan. I really wasn't looking for a Multipla." This was not a lie for I never thought I would find a Multipla so therefore how could I have been looking for one? "I still might be willing to take it of your hands for you, though if you are tired of having it back here." These were the things I was expressing on the outside while on the inside it was more like, "OH WOW! I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE FOUND A MULTIPLA. IT'S MINE! ALL MINE! AH HA HA HA!"

As I approached the Multipla I was struck with a tremendous sense of awe for this was the first specimen I had ever seen in person. I immediately climbed into the back to see which style it was, the five-seater or six-seater. Right away I noticed that it was a six seater and that the seats were folded down into the floorboard in the "cargo" configuration. (If any of you are familiar with the six seater Multipla, it is important that you know that the seats completely disappear into the floorboard when they are un-folded.) As I started opening the seats up and putting them into their "passenger" form I heard Mr. Blaire exclaim with delight, "THAT THANG'S GOT SEATS! AH'VE HAD THAT THANG FER TWINNY-THREE YEARS AND AH DIDN'T KNOW IT HAD SEATS!"

"So how did you come about owning it, Mr. Blaire?" I was dying to know for he obviously was not a Multipla connoisseur like me. He explained that he was a shriner and that he bought the car with the intention of driving it, with five of his shriner-friends, in parades much like the little go-karts that they are usually found in. I found a comforting feeling in knowing that I was rescuing this wonderful piece of art from spending the rest of her life as a "go-kart".

"If you wouldn't mind waiting until this afternoon, I can come back with a truck and some money and I will pull it out of here for you." "That'd be fine." he replied as he slipped his thumbs inside the straps of his overalls and laced his fingers together over his chest. "In fact, y'all kin barry mah trailer to get it home with, if ya lack." "That would be grand!" I replied, stunned at the overwhelming kindness of his offer. "You were asking two-hundred and fifty, right?" After his generosity, I wouldn't even consider offering him the two hundred that he had originally mentioned at the car show. Greg pulled me down off of my cloud and strapped me into the car to prevent me from floating through the sunroof on the drive back home. As we pulled out of the driveway Greg looked over at me and with a sly smile said,

"Congratulations on proving me wrong." I was a little to full of self-pride to really respond so I just sat, basking in the glory of the moment. Greg and I returned later that afternoon with a rented truck and $250.00 in my pocket. After we got the car loaded up, I paid Mr. Blaire and thanked him gratefully. As I shook his hand one last time and started to walk to the truck he told me to wait because he had something else for me and he disappeared into the house. He reappeared carrying an old letter size envelope, which he presented to me. I opened the envelope and found, to my astonishment, the original title that went with the car from the dealer in 1959. I was the third owner and to be only the second registered owner. The gods were smiling on me today, I thought to myself as walked back to the truck.

Once I got home, I found the car to be in sad but very restorable shape. She was all there, right down to the plastic "multipla" badge. All of her glass was complete and in tact. After pulling the engine, I found it to be in need of new bearings and rings but otherwise in very good shape. I am hoping that with a little spit and polish, i.e. a full ground up restoration, this brilliant piece of automotive history will someday roll from the driveway under it's own power with me sitting blissfully behind the wheel.