The Ultimate Car Show

                                                      The Ultimate Car Show

  It seems like “Cruise Ins” have become one of the pastimes for men who came up in the 1950-1960’s era. When warm weather hits, the great looking cars come out and I can only imagine the dollars that are parked in the shopping center parking lots or downtown squares on Saturday afternoons. I love looking at these gods of steel and leather as they set showing off their glorious curves. The pristine colors are eye candy as men like me walk by drooling at the bold colors of Candy Apple Red or Daytona Blue. Shiny mag wheel, roll and pleated seat covers beckon for me to sit and grab the steering wheel imagining I am cruising through the drive through restaurant checking out the scene. Oh, days of my youth, the times that were easy and the fun that we had.
  Cars in my teenage years usually sported names that fit their style. A couple I remember was a 1964 Chevelle SS, bright yellow and named, “Banana Boat” or the 1955 Chevrolet my older brother purchased and named “The Green Monster.” All of these vehicles had one thing in common, they were BAD! The story goes about these two cars was that my brother purchased the Green Monster from the guy who owned the Banana Boat; hopefully I haven’t lost you yet. The ’55 Chevy had a 327, with three speeds was bored, stroked and generally souped up as we used to say. The car was loud, so loud that my brother shut the engine off and coasted home at night so my Dad would not hear it and question his power. On Friday afternoon, he put new oil caskets and plugs in then repeated it again on Sunday because of the power the vehicle had and the way he drove it. One afternoon I rode with him to the service station, back then that was a place that pumped your gas, serviced your car, and changed your tires. The young man that sold him the car worked at this particular service station and when we pulled in the bragging started. He began saying the “Boat” was a badder car than the “Monster” and the green car didn’t have all that power any longer and the words went on and on. My brother went back and forth with him in a jovial way, just teenagers being teenagers. As we got back in the car to leave, I was told to hold on, now when my brother told me to hold on, I obeyed. He was an excellent driver, so good that others asked him to drive their car when they all went out to drag race. He pulled out of that station and before I could grasp the handle he hit second and spun the car around and when third came down the car straightened and we’re flying down the road toward home. Scared, you better believe it, proud you know it because he showed those loud mouth guys who was the “BOSS.” A few months later, Dad caught him drag racing out on the old Corn Field Road as we called it and made him sell the Green Monster.
  Those old muscle cars from the day were and are an impressive piece of machinery. In the early 60’s, I think 64,  Ford came up with a car that took the American public by storm, The Ford Mustang, a fabulous work of art that has not been able to be duplicated. At the age of sixteen, I was pleased to own a Mustang, black with red interior, it was a six cylinder. Due to the drag racing and the hot cars my oldest brother owned, Dad wouldn’t allow anything larger than a six cylinder from there on out, thanks big brother. I loved that car, I washed and cleaned it once a week, and I could fill it up for $5.00 and ride forever. In my senior year of high school, I passed a man doing eighty miles an hour and catapulted off a forty foot embankment into a swamp, luckily only getting bruised and breaking my nose, but totaling my prize Mustang. I remember after the healing process my Dad insisted I drive again and we found another ’66 Mustang. My love affair with the American sports car lives today. The thoughts of owning a red ’66 Mustang 2+2 Fastback is like a dream, I can even se myself washing and waxing the gem and smiling at all who see it as I cruise down the highways on Sunday afternoon.
  Cars like the Pontiac GTO, the Chevrolet Camaro, The Pontiac Firebird, The Plymouth Roadrunner, and the Dodge Charger all are a pretty sight and their picture of beauty is burned in my memory bank. I had friends who owned most of these cars and the stories I could tell are numerous and too numerous to put in a piece such as this. The one that is most prevalent in my mind was owned by a young man who was rather shy and not boisterous in high school, his name was Gary Mercer. He came to school one day in a white with black stripe, Mercury Cougar Eliminator. I fell in love with that car and to this day it is my all time favorite behind the Mustang. It was sleek, curvy, and just absolutely gorgeous. Even today I haven’t seen many of those particular vehicles at shows on the road or anywhere.
  The last muscle car that was in my possession actually was purchased by my wife, when she graduated high school. A small and timid teenage girl, who went to the local Chevrolet dealership with her Dad and picked out a 1970 Chevrolet Camaro, completely stock with a 350, automatic that sat possibly 10-15” off the ground. The shape of the car was reminiscent to a bullet and just as fast. Not knowing the power and speed of the car, she had purchased she left the lot and made her way to the highway. I always enjoyed driving the car, though she was rather timid with it. You could take a curve at seventy miles per hour and the dynamics of the car allowed you to simply float as the vehicle hugged the ground and sped off into the open highway.
  My Dad restored antique automobiles, Model A Coupes and Roadsters. He once owned a beautiful Packard, with its shiny wood dash and rolled and pleated leather seats. We took many trips to car shows and riding in parades, as I sat in the rumble seat enjoying the ride. His last request was that I sell his rolling stock as he called, because he thought me and the brothers would argue over the cars and that they were just too expensive to maintain.
So, I sold a 1966 Mustang convertible, a 1928 Ford Model A Coupe that had been in the family since I was a child and restored numerous times by my Dad, a 1927 Modal A Roadster, and a 1928 Model A with a Pinto engine. When the last one left we all knew an important era of our life had come to an end.
   Americans have a special love for the automobile. The local and National cruise ins are fun, the nostalgia they bring are priceless and the people love it when you come up and share stories that relate to the prize they have parked on the street. Summertime fun, riding in the cars with the top down and sporting the woman you love in the seat beside you reliving the days when cruising Shoney’s and going to sock hops was the excitement of  the weekend. We all need to relive our memories occasionally; it is good for the soul and brings pleasure to the minds of the ones that are still young at heart. I feel the need to get out the old 45’s and play some hits.

“Life Happens”