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| Toyota Tales |
| TERRESA'S TIARA TALES - PART ONE |
2007 August
Prologue: Terresa owns a 1965 Toyota Tiara – but it almost didn’t stay that way. You see, I
first met Terresa in the fall of 2002, when she and her husband David were advertising their
Tiara in Hemmings Motor News. At that time I had never even opened an issue of Hemmings.
I did belong to the Toyota Owner's and Restorer's Club (TORC), and so, many of my friends
were regular readers of HMN. Well, as it would be, word of the car eventually made it to me
through the grapevine. Since my friends were all busy with their own projects, and I was
always interested in buying an 'old' Toyota, I contacted Terresa. After a few emails, it was
apparent that Terresa would have regrets if she & the Tiara parted ways. I sent Terresa a CD
with photos of some Tiara brochures that were in my collection & some info about TORC.
Terresa decided to keep her car & join TORC instead. Ah well, my loss was TORC’s gain. The
story doesn’t end there though – but I think I’ll let Terresa tell the rest…
Tiara Tales by Terresa Holmes
I looked in the barn and saw a tractor, a boat, hay bales, a pickup canopy, and a bunch of stacked
lumber. Beyond all the clutter in the back corner was my Toyota Tiara. “Little Fart” looked sad. He
had been my faithful friend and was now being neglected. I started him and rinsed him off every once
in awhile, but that was no substitute for frequent driving. Parts were hard to come by and I had been
busy working and raising two kids. It was easier to just park the car and to think, “Someday”.
My dad bought the car when I was 12. He found it in a field in Grants Pass, Oregon where we lived.
It had the blown engine on the back seat in two boxes and a “FOR SALE” sign on the front
windshield. He learned that it was a 1965 Toyota Tiara and the asking price was 120 dollars. The
college age owner didn’t know much about it and apparently hadn’t owned it for very long. My dad
bought it for 80 dollars and towed it home.
Daddy and Uncle Al overhauled the engine and my cousin Bonnie took it to Portland for 3 years of
nursing school. She was the one who named it “Little Fart” and assigned it a male gender because it
back-fired a lot and needed a new muffler. By the time she had both problems fixed, the name was
stuck. When she graduated, she bought a new Subaru and gave the Tiara back to me. I drove it all
through high school and took it with me when I went to the University of Portland. I ran cross-
country and track in high school and college and had fun hauling teammates all over so we could run
in different places. We’d sit 3 across the front and 4 across the back (distance runners with skinny
butts) and away we’d go! I had a Nike window sticker that said, “I run better than this car,” which is
no longer true.
Little Fart has a “3 on the tree”. I laughed because when it got up to about 40 or 45 in 3rd gear,
someone always said, “Are you going to shift it into 4th, or what?” But 4th gear doesn’t exist and it
gets a pretty high pitched roar at 60.
I only got into trouble once in my car. High school got out at 3 and since we were all anxious to get
the heck out of there, exiting traffic could really back up. There were usually no fewer than 8 buses
backed-up at the stop sign on “A” Street waiting for traffic to break so they could turn right or left. It
seemed like a huge waste of my time to sit and wait behind them when all I had to do was ease up the
bicycle ramp and drive Little Fart on the sidewalk for 30 yards, whip across the parking lot and take
a right onto “A” Street in front of all the buses. Life was blissful for many weeks until I saw the
flashing lights behind me just shy of “7th” street. No one needs a harsh lesson in humility like the one
I got when all the school buses I just blew by, caught up again and got a good look at me being
“interviewed” by a very nice but very big police officer. He didn't write me a ticket but made it very
clear that he wanted me to mend my ways when he said in a very deep baritone, “Young lady, I don’t
want to see you driving that little car on the sidewalk any more.”
Little Fart never left me stranded in all those years but I once got pretty close to hoofing it. I
commuted home to Grants Pass from U of P about once a month and I usually bought gas in
Roseburg. Then one day I figured that if it was 245 miles from Portland to Grants Pass, and since I
had a 10 gallon tank and I got 25 miles to the gallon…why not go for it! So I got the tank really full in
Portland and headed south on I-5 after class on Friday. Now I can’t say that I wasn’t pretty nervous
when I watched that gas gage needle creep lower and lower as the gas stations got fewer and farther
between and finally non-existent beyond Canyonville, but I will say that I felt pretty accomplished and
smug as I pulled into the driveway at home in time for dinner. But my mistake was in forgetting to buy
gas when I GOT to Grants Pass. We were eating when my littlest sister called and said she needed a
ride home from her friends’ house. Daddy took Little Fart because it was the last car in the driveway
and ten minutes after he left, he was home again... on foot. It got really quiet when he said he’d run
out of gas 3 blocks from home!
Remembering all those fun times just made me feel sadder when I looked at Little Fart now. He
deserved better. I knew that the longer I waited, the worse the situation was going to get and the
harder the restoration project was going to be. I decided to place an ad in Hemmings and hope
someone would read it who could appreciate the treasure the car once was and could be again.
Next: What was I thinking? A few TORC Club members contacted me with interest in buying an
restoring the Tiara and they all seemed very nice and I knew they would give it a nice new home. But
I finally realized that my friend of 30 years had to stay with me.
This story originally appeared in the January/February 2003 issue of the TORC newsletter.
Prologue: Terresa owns a 1965 Toyota Tiara – but it almost didn’t stay that way. You see, I
first met Terresa in the fall of 2002, when she and her husband David were advertising their
Tiara in Hemmings Motor News. At that time I had never even opened an issue of Hemmings.
I did belong to the Toyota Owner's and Restorer's Club (TORC), and so, many of my friends
were regular readers of HMN. Well, as it would be, word of the car eventually made it to me
through the grapevine. Since my friends were all busy with their own projects, and I was
always interested in buying an 'old' Toyota, I contacted Terresa. After a few emails, it was
apparent that Terresa would have regrets if she & the Tiara parted ways. I sent Terresa a CD
with photos of some Tiara brochures that were in my collection & some info about TORC.
Terresa decided to keep her car & join TORC instead. Ah well, my loss was TORC’s gain. The
story doesn’t end there though – but I think I’ll let Terresa tell the rest…
Tiara Tales by Terresa Holmes
I looked in the barn and saw a tractor, a boat, hay bales, a pickup canopy, and a bunch of stacked
lumber. Beyond all the clutter in the back corner was my Toyota Tiara. “Little Fart” looked sad. He
had been my faithful friend and was now being neglected. I started him and rinsed him off every once
in awhile, but that was no substitute for frequent driving. Parts were hard to come by and I had been
busy working and raising two kids. It was easier to just park the car and to think, “Someday”.
My dad bought the car when I was 12. He found it in a field in Grants Pass, Oregon where we lived.
It had the blown engine on the back seat in two boxes and a “FOR SALE” sign on the front
windshield. He learned that it was a 1965 Toyota Tiara and the asking price was 120 dollars. The
college age owner didn’t know much about it and apparently hadn’t owned it for very long. My dad
bought it for 80 dollars and towed it home.
Daddy and Uncle Al overhauled the engine and my cousin Bonnie took it to Portland for 3 years of
nursing school. She was the one who named it “Little Fart” and assigned it a male gender because it
back-fired a lot and needed a new muffler. By the time she had both problems fixed, the name was
stuck. When she graduated, she bought a new Subaru and gave the Tiara back to me. I drove it all
through high school and took it with me when I went to the University of Portland. I ran cross-
country and track in high school and college and had fun hauling teammates all over so we could run
in different places. We’d sit 3 across the front and 4 across the back (distance runners with skinny
butts) and away we’d go! I had a Nike window sticker that said, “I run better than this car,” which is
no longer true.
Little Fart has a “3 on the tree”. I laughed because when it got up to about 40 or 45 in 3rd gear,
someone always said, “Are you going to shift it into 4th, or what?” But 4th gear doesn’t exist and it
gets a pretty high pitched roar at 60.
I only got into trouble once in my car. High school got out at 3 and since we were all anxious to get
the heck out of there, exiting traffic could really back up. There were usually no fewer than 8 buses
backed-up at the stop sign on “A” Street waiting for traffic to break so they could turn right or left. It
seemed like a huge waste of my time to sit and wait behind them when all I had to do was ease up the
bicycle ramp and drive Little Fart on the sidewalk for 30 yards, whip across the parking lot and take
a right onto “A” Street in front of all the buses. Life was blissful for many weeks until I saw the
flashing lights behind me just shy of “7th” street. No one needs a harsh lesson in humility like the one
I got when all the school buses I just blew by, caught up again and got a good look at me being
“interviewed” by a very nice but very big police officer. He didn't write me a ticket but made it very
clear that he wanted me to mend my ways when he said in a very deep baritone, “Young lady, I don’t
want to see you driving that little car on the sidewalk any more.”
Little Fart never left me stranded in all those years but I once got pretty close to hoofing it. I
commuted home to Grants Pass from U of P about once a month and I usually bought gas in
Roseburg. Then one day I figured that if it was 245 miles from Portland to Grants Pass, and since I
had a 10 gallon tank and I got 25 miles to the gallon…why not go for it! So I got the tank really full in
Portland and headed south on I-5 after class on Friday. Now I can’t say that I wasn’t pretty nervous
when I watched that gas gage needle creep lower and lower as the gas stations got fewer and farther
between and finally non-existent beyond Canyonville, but I will say that I felt pretty accomplished and
smug as I pulled into the driveway at home in time for dinner. But my mistake was in forgetting to buy
gas when I GOT to Grants Pass. We were eating when my littlest sister called and said she needed a
ride home from her friends’ house. Daddy took Little Fart because it was the last car in the driveway
and ten minutes after he left, he was home again... on foot. It got really quiet when he said he’d run
out of gas 3 blocks from home!
Remembering all those fun times just made me feel sadder when I looked at Little Fart now. He
deserved better. I knew that the longer I waited, the worse the situation was going to get and the
harder the restoration project was going to be. I decided to place an ad in Hemmings and hope
someone would read it who could appreciate the treasure the car once was and could be again.
Next: What was I thinking? A few TORC Club members contacted me with interest in buying an
restoring the Tiara and they all seemed very nice and I knew they would give it a nice new home. But
I finally realized that my friend of 30 years had to stay with me.
This story originally appeared in the January/February 2003 issue of the TORC newsletter.
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