When I walked down the steps toward the lower parking lot at work, I stopped in my tracks. There was suddenly a smirk pulling at the sides of my mouth. The smirk then evolved into a belly laugh. This being the first Tempo I had seen in a long time, I had to pull out my camera.
This wasn’t due to simply seeing an immaculate red Ford Tempo. What had me laughing was how my little sister had a twin to this Tempo and the events surrounding the atypical manner in which she sent it to its next owner.
Various circumstances prompted my sister getting a car sooner than planned. While she had been pining for a red Ford Escort, the proposition of getting a somewhat larger Tempo for the same price prompted my father to encourage her into a Tempo. At the time none of us knew, nor cared, there was a lot of shared DNA between the Escort and Tempo.
Like a host of other cars my family has purchased, the year old 1992 Tempo was purchased at Guetterman Motors in Cairo, Illinois. This was back when Cairo was nowhere near as depressing to see as it is now.
My sister has turned out okay, but it’s taken forty-four years for that to happen. Early on things seemed a little dicey. She wouldn’t talk until she was about eight with what little she did say being about how she was going to marry her Mr. Potato Head. My frustration with her behavior was often problematic for me in multiple ways. The worst was when I was seven and called her a jackass. Why our mother has such heartburn about that remains a mystery.
Despite any possible perceptions of intellectual deficit, my sister does possess a distinct degree of shrewd. When in first grade some little boy who had a crush on her tried to kiss her; she shamelessly led him on just so she could bite the hell out of his lip.
The day she picked up this Tempo, it being one of the bazillion “program cars” with around 20,000 miles flooding the market in those days, she somehow managed to lock the keys in the car – while it was running. How does one do this before getting off the dealer’s lot? It obviously involved a special sort of talent I did not inherit.
But to my sister’s credit, she is dissertation short of having a Piled higher and Deeper degree (Ph.D. for short) in geology. I suppose the piled higher part works well as she deals with boxes of rocks – and I suppose she is smarter than said box.
In 1994 I had been a student at the University of Missouri – Rolla for two years. My sister had started there in 1993. While Rolla is a relatively small town (about 20,000) my sister and I didn’t live that close in proximity, she being in the dormitories and me in an apartment. Thus, she had her Tempo there and I had my ’89 Mustang with its mighty fire-breathing 2.3 liter lump of lustful desire. As spring break approached, we realized our wildly divergent plans for our week off so we agreed to each taking their own car back home.
She left about two hours before I did.
The route we took from Rolla required us to traverse Missouri Route 8 through the Mark Twain National Forest. This is a highly scenic drive with lots of hills and curves and it is truly a terrific road for those who enjoy a spirited drive. It also happens to have a 40 mile stretch through one of the more desolate areas of the state.
While tootling along in my Mustang, approaching curves at the point just below where my tires would protest, I rounded a curve to see a rollback truck, a highway patrolman, and a crunched Ford Tempo, all off the side of the road. Seeing the patrolman first, with him pointing at me to pull over, made me wonder how he’d clocked my speed.
Getting closer, I could see the Illinois plates on the Tempo and realized it was her who had been in a wreck. She was nowhere to be found and I was quickly getting nervous. I knew something was really amiss when the patrolman called me by my first name as I exited my Mustang.
Walking his way I could see my sister sitting in his car, crying. She had ran off the right edge of the road and a series of overcorrections had resulted in her leaving the roadway and rolling her Tempo. It had landed on the passenger side and her attempt to climb out had caused the door to come down and hit her head. As good fortune would have it, a local amateur race car driver who had been in similar predicaments had witnessed the spectacle and helped extricate her. He was gone by the time I arrived.
It was now a matter of the Tempo being loaded onto the rollback. The Tempo was going to be hauled to the small town of Steelville, about fifteen miles to the west.
Following the rollback to Steelville was the worst part of this ordeal. The Tempo had been loaded so it was facing the rear of the rollback. We followed the rollback, discovering the Tempo’s radiator had ruptured, causing coolant to spray all over my Mustang. Staying further behind the rollback didn’t help. It was inevitable. I had to use the windshield washer.
“BWAAAA!!!”
As soon as I started washing the windshield the waterworks in the passenger seat hit full throttle. This is when I realized two fundamental truths in life; first, there is no discreet way to wash a windshield and, second, engine coolant smears amazingly well on glass. In an agonizing effort to prevent a second vehicular mishap that day, I was forced to stand on the windshield washers. The reservoir was nearly empty by the end of the trip back to Steelville.
A lack of Tempo was the primary problem for the day. A related problem was getting all of the crap out of my sister’s Tempo and into my Mustang.
For some reason college students appear to have a phobia about washing clothes, saving them for trips home. So every stitch of clothing my sister owned was shoved into the trunk of that Tempo. The Tempo had a rather generously sized trunk for the time. She was also packing a computer in the backseat – and we should remember computers in 1994 aren’t the dainty little things of today.
The trunk in my dark gray notchback Mustang had a capacity of about 0.3 cubic feet. It was truly pathetic in size. Somehow we shoved two cars worth of accumulated crap in my Mustang with every nook and cranny having something shoved in it. I even shoved dirty underwear into the computer box because, hey, there was some room in there.
One item I had not buried was some prescription pain pills I had. At the time I was getting severe migraine headaches that would last up to a week. So when my sister said her head hurt I gave her one of my pain pills (yeah, I suppose that’s illegal, but whatever; most people would do similar in that situation) and, voila!, her headache was gone. She felt so good she was almost giggling about this whole affair.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t too thrilled. I knew this would mean I would be in the taxi business as my parents would expect me to cart my car-mangling sister all over creation. I also knew it would likely be up to me to help her find a replacement with her insurance check. I knew all my additional fuel costs would be expected to be covered by my never-ending generosity. I also knew if the scenario were reversed she would be expected to do absolutely none of that. Most importantly, I knew I didn’t have time for all this nonsense.
Sure enough, all of these came true. My sister even drove my Mustang back to Steelville (the county seat of Crawford County) from Rolla to pay the ticket she received from the highway patrol.
And, despite being the good samaritan who rescued their poor hapless sister after she had demolished her car (and a number of trees), I still managed to be admonished by my mother. It seems my pain medicine contained a narcotic and, as my mother pointed out, my sister could have had a concussion and giving her a narcotic could have killed her. She also uncharacteristically used the word “dummy” in her admonishment.
Me being my typically charming self, I had to point out:
- My sister obviously had no concussion as she was still moping around
- She was the nurse, not me
- She had established giving pain medicine to someone was worse than wrecking a car.
Few people appreciate when I point out the things they obviously haven’t thought about. That’s their problem, not mine.
Sure enough, I got to help my sister find a replacement for her decrescendo’d Tempo. In that never-ending saga of some people having all the luck, my sister’s insurance check for the Tempo was more than what had been paid for the car nearly two years prior.
She bought a 1992 Ford Ranger with a five-speed. Want to guess who got to teach her how to drive it? She mastered it but wrecked that Ranger a few years later.
My sister now lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and has been there for quite a few years. About a month ago she purchased a blue 2019 Volkswagen Jetta. But a red Tempo is what I will always associate with her.
A tip: Never ride in a car being driven by a geologist. We are more interested in the nearby landforms than the road or other cars!
There’s a whole series of books, at least for the Western states, title “Roadside Geology”.
Moms. Sheesh.
It just now occurs to me that my little sister never had her own car before she got married at age 22. She began her married life with an orange 77 VW Rabbit, thus beginning a decades-long relationship with VW.
As another eldest child with a little sister, I must ask: What did you do to squander the golden crown that comes with being the firstborn? 🙂 But it all worked out – at least you never had to drive a Tempo every day.
My parents deserve credit in making sure neither of their children were without solid transportation when they went away to college.
How did I squander the golden crown? Great question. Expectations, perhaps? Both of my parents are the eldest and some birth order book I read said the eldest child of two eldest children is often held to ridiculously high standards by parents. Perhaps that’s my problem.
While families vary greatly, the only other first-born of first-borns I know of became a priest. 🙂
I’m an FB of FB’s and I’m no priest 🙂 We’ll see how our daughter turns out as she’s another one.
You’ve just tripled my number of data points. This is a very good thing.
Hmmm. My oldest kid is the firstborn of two firstborns. He should be ordained in a year and a half. Interesting pattern you raised here.
I, I, I have have a a a comment to to make but …… I can’t stop laughing long enough to type!
Most excellent writing!
Better hope your sister doesn’t read this or she’s going to bite you!
My babysitter in about 1998 or 1999 had this EXACT car too, maroon over maroon.
It’s really insane how at the time it seemed relatively modern and smooth looking (there were still a lot of boxy ’80s cars in the road then, including my parents’ vehicles), but now it looks about as modern as a cassette tape next to the latest iPhone. An ancient relic from the Jurassic era sitting next to that Nissan Juke. These were pretty common until the mid-’00s then they all seemed to instantly go extinct around 2007.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen one I actually forgot about the weird taillamp design and the reverse slanted decklid that gave this model such a unique look to me a child. I always thought it was like a cheaper, dumpier Taurus – even the door handles are the same!
To me it’s still a good looking car. Well proportioned, clean and simple design, low beltline, and real 6th window which is something you don’t see today especially on a low-end car. And this example is astonishingly clean and well taken care of. Makes the Nissan Juke next to it look ridiculous and cartoonish.
As you say, these were everywhere, though I still see an occasional survivor around. The mechanicals were a bit crude but stout and reliable, but the rust resistance only so-so. Probably haven’t seen one this nice in about 20 years though.
Your sister, in her childhood, sounds a lot like what I gather my mother-in-law was like as a kid. She annoyed the snot out of her older siblings, had difficulty learning things as a youngster, displayed an amazing lack of common sense… and she eventually became a geologist. Maybe there’s something connecting these things.
The story about the Tempo’s crash & demise is a classic. And all the crap in a college student’s car… I dramatically crashed a car on the way back from college once, and my father had to come rescue me. I still remember his astonishment at all the junk I was carrying.
And oddly, the car I most associate with my own sister is the one that faced a sad end as well. She had a Chrysler Laser that she’d bought used… she had it for under two years before the transmission blew up while she and her fiance were driving on I-95. They sold it for about 45¢ to the tow truck driver.
I forgot to mention that seeing a mint-condition Tempo isn’t unusual to me, since a blue 1992(ish) Tempo just like this one lives near me and I see it frequently. It’s in immaculate shape, and the man who owns it clearly has an affinity for rarely-seen cars, since his other car is a Saturn Sky. Quite an odd combination.
My sister’s ex boyfriend had one a generation older than this. Bought in already nearly worn out shape. He had NO business driving a stick shift…..That car lasted him nearly a year. I have no idea how. I had to ride with him once, with his happily grinding gears without using the clutch…In rush hour traffic.. Had that car been given care and maintained I bet it would still be running.
So, so much packed in to this story. Migraines, sibling relationships, busted radiators, car follies, firstborn foibles. Well woven piece I must say.
Hopefully the Volkswagen survives for a while. A Ph.D. deserves regular transportation. I recall Paul’s Dad having a Valiant, much to Paul’s chagrin.
Like my Dad, I am an only born. On the contrary my Mum was a youngest born. She made sure to anoint me with a firstborn golden crown. Now our eldest son tries to nab the golden crown whenever possible, but his younger brother will have none of it and pushes back quite effectively, especially in the trash talk department. (Laughing to myself out loud).
That is a funny post, Jason!
I especially guffawed at the pile-of-clothes photo. For years, my three sisters would have been more efficient with their time had they simply motorized their wardrobes, as there was never more in them than in their respective cars, and thus the inevitable frantic search of the wardrobe for “”that dress” was quite pointless.
It’s quaint now to see them all now as fusspot middle-aged women, tut-tutting offspring who leave so much as a fluff out of place, cars uniformly showroom. To my credit (and over their denials), I defend those offspring, saying things like “Kid, when I was young, I got a neck injury from sitting squashed against the headlining of her car, I mean, I didn’t even know where she lived because I’d never seen out on the journey there.”
My Tempo experience was with rentals during a time when I was traveling to Colorado, initially on business in the mid-eighties. My strongest memory was repeatedly getting huge static shocks from the upper trailing edge corner of the door when exiting the car, after sliding across the cloth seat, in the dry high-altitude winters. Years later, I got a Tempo rental, again in Colorado, with my wife and young son. It was a decent conveyance to Rocky Mountain National Park. I’d either figured out how to avoid the door zap, or it was less of an issue in summer.
Really enjoyed this Jason. You are consistently brave in your willingness to discuss family. 🙂
I’m usually partial almost any car, and enjoy sightings of most anything that is now basically extinct on public roads. However, I maintain an unusual exception for the second generation Tempo/Topaz, late 80s/early 90s Cavaliers, and virtually any X car. I could never warm to them for various reasons. I was not alone among friends in thinking the 5 door Citation looked like a roach. In the case of the Tempo. I thought the earliest examples were the best styled, and packaged. Emphasizing the aero look appealed more to me, than the later quasi-baby Taurus/Lincoln look.
My living far away, thus not seeing them with any frequency, helps immensely. 🙂
Great story!
How did you get a photo of my old Ranger?? LOL (although, mine was a ’90)
Two things that peeved me the most about Tempo are…
The amber turn signal indicators are too close to the numberplate with “yards” of brake lights on either side. That placement seems so utter tosh despite the FMVSS regulations placing them as close to the outer edges as possible.
The headlamps are so bad. They failed me during the rural driving at night in Texas with no street lamps and such. I vowed to avoid any Ford vehicles ever since, especially at the car hire agencies. I made it very clear when booking a car hire online that I would never accept Ford vehicles, period.
That’s an amazing tale of woe. My limited experience with that vintage Tempo was rentals, where I discovered a bar in the seat gave me backaches so several subsequent rentals were “anything but a Tempo” which resulted in a couple of 2nd gen Ford Probes.
My little sister didn’t have car until grad school, so I was spared these missions. Living several states away also helped.
Rollovers are always incredibly scary no matter what the outcome is, and unfortunately it’s often the case that the outcome is fatal. I’m glad your sister made it out without serious injuries.
I’ll second it in saying I haven’t seen a Tempo in years though. These used to be all over the road in the 1990s, but almost all seemed to quickly disappear circa 2000.
Bought my daughter a 93 Tempo for her first car..18 months ago!! 62k on the odo (no it hadn’t rolled over), was purchased by a retired little old lady new in Dec of 92 and she drove it monthly to her doctor, pharmacy and every other Friday across her little town for her hair and gossip session! Typical retiree damage to outside but power everything and it all works perfectly! Sat 12 years in a barn before I found it on stupid “luck”, and got it for free, from the family member that took it when the old lady passed on. Brakes, tires, tune-up and a harmonic balancer and it’s been flawless first car!! Wish I had a pic handy, it’s the brightish red color and actually cleans up really nice, and in a family of 4wd trucks, jeeps and high horsepower drag and hill climbing vehicles, it fits right in!!!
Ha, it is good to have 5 years between one and their younger sister. That meant I was away at college and never around for anything. My brother was only three years older but as soon as he got out of the high school, the two were at, he came down to San Diego where I was. When my sister turned 16 he had already joined the Navy and was in Guam.
Nice write up and what a story! Glad your sister is doing well, but any reason why she kept crashing cars?
I have not seen a running Tempo or Topaz in over a month, however there are several in the junkyard.