OK, I'll try to keep it brief.
In 1984, I had a '67 LeMans. Cool car: 2-door post, '73 400, TH400, go-fast. I'm tooling around one afternoon after having replaced a distributor the night before - HEI! OK, so I'm heading up the road, and she starts running a little rough. Then a lot rough. Then backfiring like, well, me on chili. Finally, she conks out and I ease her to the side of the road. Then I hotis something rather peculiar. As smoke begins to creep from the sides of the hood, the center of the hood is rapidly going all chameleon on me.
Well, I'm smart enough to not open the hood. I'm also lucky enough to be less than a block from a fire station. So I trot (not run, because, well, I've got insurance) to the fire house. The doors are open because it's a lovely fall day. Except, there's nobody around downstairs. After a few seconds, I start, "Hello? Hell-oooooooo?" and a firefighter comes around.
FF: "Hi. Can I help you?"
DB: "Yeah. My car's on fire."
FF: "Ha."
DB: "No, really. My car's on fire. Right now."
FF: "Yeah? Well, where is it?"
DB: "Right out there."
FF: "At the grocery store up the street?"
DB: "No, in the street. Right out front, almost."
So he gives me a sideways glance, and walks to the open overhead door.
DB: (Points to smoking blue Pontiac) "See?"
At this point, he nearly flattens me running back into the guts of the station.
FF: "Ron? Ron! We got a call, man!"
Within about 10 seconds, 5 more FFs come from nowhere, board the pumper and split - lights, sirens, the whole she-bang. So fast, in fact, that I'm still standing there. So I flat-foot my skinny ass back to the car, getting there just as one FF raises the hood. At the same instant, another FF hits it with like a 1.5" hose, and the fire is out. It takes them longer to roll the hose back up than to do anything else.
I got a new intake, carb, HEI, wires, battery and some other stuff, plus repainted hood and fenders. The paint guy color-sanded the whole car, and she was gorgeous! I took a trunkload of BBQ to the FFs.