19. Interlude: about cars

I’ve put a lot of miles on our car this July, driving to Colorado where I saw my sister, nephew and family; and driving to San Diego where I saw my brother.

On the Colorado trip I listened to a fair bit of Ry Cooder.  Two driving songs I’ll recommend to you: Drive like I never been hurt and, more humorously, Crazy ‘Bout An Automobile, a song composed by Billy “The Kid” Emerson.

The narrator of Crazy ‘Bout An Automobile mourns the fact that no woman will pay you any mind unless you have wheels.

Ever give any thought to how the fact of cars have impacted you or your family?

There was a shift in the 1920s in this country, in the way people courted. Young people could make plans to meet outside the home, to go somewhere with one another. Historian Peter Stearns talks about this in his history of American parenting: \”After World War II, aided by the ubiquitous automobile, adolescents\’ contacts with their parents decreased still further; even a common mealtime became negotiable.\”

Our ancestors often worked hard to own land, to be able to control their own destinies by having land, or at least a home on some land. The right to own land was associated with the right to vote in many states; property requirements for voting were outlawed in the US Constitution by the 24th Amendment passed in 1964 – pretty recently. I think it is no wonder then that Americans took to cars like fish to water, to have our own domain, however temporary. Cars would be status symbols and independence symbols, privacy from prying family, and could even be equalizing, democratizing: we all put our well being in one another’s hands when we drive, no matter how fancy our cars are or aren\’t, just as we do with the vote.

Driving allowed young people to meet others in wider circles. My parents may never have met without the advent of automobiles.

I love car stories from my family’s history.

Shortly after I was born, my parents drove their tiny Fiat (two doors, a box, approximately 52 inches wide, 52 inches high, twice as long, exterior measurements – for contrast, a “compact” today typically measures about 70 inches wide) across the country with their dog Susie and me, hardly stopping (always my father’s way), to surprise my Michigan grandparents, placing me in my grandmother’s arms unceremoniously.

My uncle Lynn worked for Ford Motor Company. My mother, a hometown beauty, posed with the Ford X100 concept car of the 1950s at a local event in 1955.

One of my earliest memories is locking the doors on the car when my father went inside to the post office. My sister and I laughed as he, from out there, tried to teach us to unlock the doors in here. We were just … not that interested.

We are trouble. About 1966.

After my father’s death and a number of other crises, my mother remade herself automotively by leasing a convertible Ford Mustang for a time. The license plate holder read “Granny Goes Topless”.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I applied and earned my driver’s license at the earliest possible moment, on my 16th birthday, as did everyone I knew. Before that, we loved our slightly older friends, but we especially loved that they could drive us places. Not long after I turned 16 I became the primary driver of the Country Squire Station Wagon, the long time family car. When it was their turn my brothers, each having more self respect, used their work earnings to buy themselves not-family cars to drive, as teenagers.

the family car, with the family, possibly 1970

My grandmother Edie played a game with my father and uncle. She would drive, but they would give her directions, random lefts and rights, as they explored their environs.

Much later I was a passenger as Edie drove her Dodge Dart, although by now she drove looking out between the prongs of the steering wheel. She rounded a corner and the driver’s door swung open. I grabbed her, she grabbed me and the steering wheel. Somehow we recovered.

After I inherited her car, in the late 1980s we drove in the Pacific Northwest one roadtrip, and learned that much of the Dodge Dart had been rusted out during its east coast life. Heavy rains flooded the interior of the car, water pouring in quite disconcertingly for a Los Angeles native. But that Dodge Dart, and that Country Squire, are still my first loves for their power and poise.

I expect to revisit the topic of cars, and I hope you’ll help by sharing your own stories!