I call them the Rodney Dangerfield of Mustangs – they get no respect. And in certain car circles, it’s best to closet your affections lest ye be judged. But I’ll out myself to say I love the Mustang II, especially the 2+2 hatchback version.
No groaning, please. I could cite the numbers – and here they are – that prove this pony was not dud with the buying public. However, I prefer to reminisce about a place a long time ago, in a culture far, far away: the 1970s.
Thanks to satellite TV, I can catch reruns of “Charlie’s Angels” every day. Farrah Fawcett-Majors and her crime-fighting BFFs would jump in a white Cobra II Mustang for some sinister encounter, usually with a man in a brown leisure suit. Today, I find watching the cars in the background much more enjoyable than the bad acting.
So when I spotted this blue Cobra II beneath a tree recently, I had to stop. It shows evidence of having a performance-minded owner once upon a time. Leaf spring shackle extensions give it an aggressive rake. The Western mag wheels hint at a past life with a doting owner.
After taking this photo, a young girl of about 8 popped up out of nowhere. After quick and polite “hello,” I decided not to linger any longer. Hmm, how to explain to a parent that this middle-age man was only taking pictures of their 35-year-old jalopy, not their child.
In the late ‘70s, I remember seeing a high school kid driving a black 1975 Mach 1 Mustang II through my neighborhood to pick up an older teenage girl with locks like Farrah. He had the car and the girl, what more powerful childhood development impressions could there be on a 10-year-old boy?
With my allowance, I bought a plastic model kit of a Mustang II. (Remember those? What’s wrong with a world that doesn’t let boys play with toxic glue and paint?) And with the devotion of an Old World craftsman – and some admonishing from my mom not to get paint on the deck — I assembled my dream machine. After a few weeks of admiration, it would be off to demolitions testing as soon as some out-of-state fireworks could be procured.
In my junior year of high school, I spotted the one for me on a used-car lot. She was a 1978 2+2 fastback with the rare Rallye Appearance Package (front spoiler, blacked out trim, sport mirrors, and two-tone seats). Quickly my heart leapt upon seeing that little V8 badge on the front fender. She’d had her troubles. A recent repaint from a fender-bender cost her the gold pinstripes of the Rallye editions. But the red replacement ones suited the ‘80s better anyway, so I added a few more touches of rouge to my darling.
My best friend in high school drove an ’83 Mustang GT. It had a factory four-barrel carburetor and few more ponies under the hood. Stoplight glowed red. Two 17-year-olds in V8-powered ‘Stangs. You can guess the rest.
He would gain a length and a half by the end of the straightaway leading to our neighborhood, but those later Mustangs had a higher center of gravity and didn’t corner as well. On the mountain roads where we lived, that little Mustang II would be glued to his bumper like Mad Max on the Night Rider.
The Mustang II’s only living contribution to car culture today is its remarkable front suspension setup. It’s still produced by aftermarket manufacturers for the hot rod and kit car crowd. A small legacy, but a legacy nonetheless.
A recent journey into a junk yard yielded these photos of a Mustang 2+2 and a Cobra II. One seems to be preparing for a new life on the drag strip.
The 1979-1993 Fox platform Mustangs would establish an impressive production run of 14 years. I, however, never really warmed to their blocky styling. For the unloved Mustang II, it was a short 4-year model run. Cast out as the decade ended like that embarrassing Bee Gees album. Cast out like I did my own Mustang II – thrown over for an orange 240Z that I thought would better befit a man going off to college.
Each summer I venture to the local Mustang club’s car shows only to leave disappointed. There never seems to be any IIs on display. But they’re out there. I see them online. I see them in my mind.
— Michael Gouge
