Good Friends & Memories Can Sometimes Be Hard To Come By These Days

    I can remember being a kid in northern suburban New Jersey in the late 60's. I had a good friend and neighbor named Kevin, who, like me, was also really into fast cars. That's what we called them anyways, as the term "muscle car" wasn't very common. Magazines mostly called them super cars. Ford used the term "muscle" occasionally in their advertising, but at the tender age of eight, we were just starting to read magazines like Car Craft, Popular Hot Rodding, and Hot Rod. The magazine of choice usually contained the coolest pictures or the prettiest women. Hey - what do you expect? We were eight!

   Anyways, we used to sit on a stone wall at the end of our street and watch cars go by. We thought it was a cool way to pass the time, especially when one of our Moms told us to go and outside burn off some energy. Back then, you could easily tell the difference between a domestic vehicle and an import without even batting an eyelash. Our families were living proof of that. Kevin's family had a 1968 Ford Torino GT complete with a 390 engine. My dad was Mr. Counter Culture and drove a VW Beetle. My other neighbor, to his credit, had a 1967 Camaro SS with a transplanted 396 big block in addition to a 1966 Plymouth drag car. Even when it solely came to identifying domestic models, one could tell the difference between a GM, Chrysler Corporation, or Ford-Lincoln-Mercury model. Even the differences between the model years gave you obvious clues, at least until the early 70's. By the mid 90's, every vehicle was so homogenized, you couldn't tell what was what. At least today, some auto manufacturers are attempting to put distinctive body lines back into the design mix. 

   If Kevin and I partook in this car watching ritual, which was always more common in the summer, we usually had a bottle of 7-up in our hands that were in those funky green bottles. And those bottles were glass, not plastic - with metal twist off caps that sometimes turned your hands red from trying to remove them with a piece of cork on the underside. Unfortunately, I lost track of Keven after we moved away in 1974. I don't know if he's even still alive. I hope so. I do know that his Mom & Dad traded in that "gas guzzling" Torino in late 1973 for a new Mustang II with a 4-banger under the hood. In less than 4 months, they had buyers remorse. Who knows if the Torino is still in existence. 

   Kevin was a great guy, even if our relationship fizzled. We always had a blast watching the cars go by. A good number of people waved without even being prompted and no creepers trying to kidnap us ever bothered us or came into the picture. More than a few hot rodders would nail the gas for us as they went by so we could groove on the sound of the often modified engines. As kids, I don't think problems even entered our minds - ditto with the worlds circumstances. The Vietnam war was ranging and it was on the tube a lot and not just on the evening news. My way older cousins had friends who were drafted right out of high school and a few didn't come back. My neighbors with the Camaro and Plymouth were in their late 40's and they lost their son to that unwinnable conflict. They both sort of adopted me as I used to drool over their vehicles. She made the best chocolate chip cookies and he was the first to teach me about cars. I owe so much to both of them, even though they have both passed on.

  

Fast forward to junior high school and my freshman year of high school. I had another good friend named Carl who had this sign that used to sit on one of his stereo speakers that said "Think". I lost track of him as well after 9th grade, but caught up with him in my early 20's in Massachusetts as he worked at an automotive garage where I just happened to take my vehicle for some exhaust repair. He just finished building a 1968 Dodge Dart drag car with a viscous 440 cubic inch engine. He fired it up for me and it sounded savage with the open headers. I found it a tad ironic, but maybe not, that he had a plaque on the dash of that Dart that said "Think". Both the engine idling as well as the plaque were pleasant reminders of younger days. I kept in touch with Carl over the years, but he's drifted away a bit, especially now that he's no longer on Facebook. Hasn't been on it for about 8 years. He said he just got sick of all the bullshit - especially the politics. I can remember when the exhaust work on my car was finished and the bill was paid, that I tanked him for starting up the Dart. It made my day. I hope my appreciation of that rig, despite it's lower budget build, made his day too. 

   Jumping to 2024 when I purchased my latest street rod. After paying the former owner and affixing the transit plate on the back, I drove the Plymouth home - over 100 miles. It was an absolute trouble free ride and a blast to drive. On the way home, I passed numerous vintage vehicles and we both waved as we passed - similar to motorcyclists do. It's like a fraternity of sorts, even though you don't know the brothers. But then again, aren't we all brothers and sisters under the skin?

Until next time, peace out