(first posted 8/22/2013) High school: some say it was the best years of their life. Maybe for the prom queen. Intense and confusing, but the memories certainly are indelible. Finding this 1972 Corona Coupe parked in front of a local high school (Churchill) unleashed a barge-load of them. As did the old yearbooks my sister recently sent me, after clearing out our parent’s house. So you’re going to have to indulge me a bit (what else is new?), but this CC is going to be a tad heavy on personal high school history, and a wee bit light on the Corona’s. But it’s not every day you run into an old flame from forty years ago, sitting in front of a high school, no less. And Facebook had nothing to do with it.
Oddly enough, old Corona coupes figure into both of my high schools in significant ways.
I attended Loyola Blakefield for my freshman and sophomore years (1967 – 1969). It was a typical Jesuit boys prep school, and a venerable institution in Baltimore. We were told to expect four hours of homework per night. I took that as a personal challenge, to see how long I would last without ever doing any. Literally.
Two years; last I heard, no one had broken my record. A true personal best.
Which makes this picture of me as a yearbook centerfold extra ironic. I’m thinking real hard…whose homework assignment can I beg, buy, steal or borrow before the next Latin period? Or maybe this is how they paid tribute to my forced departure shortly thereafter? Good riddance!
Loyola in 1967-1969 reflected the dichotomy of times: the Prefect of Discipline, Brother “BoBo” Schmidt, was a pugnacious former Golden Gloves boxer who inspired absolute terror. Here he is assigning tasks for detention, which assembled after school in a science classroom. The tasks might be doing work on the grounds, or if nothing needed doing, just walking around the circle for an hour while carrying a concrete block in each hand. Seriously.
There were characters like this Math teacher sat on his desk and smoked his pipe. Several of the teachers would light up in class, my one-armed afternoon English teacher being the most reliable. The wafting smoke of his cigarette always triggered a minor nicotine fit in me. Why couldn’t we all light up? Actually, the seniors could smoke in “Senior’s Garden”.
The new Corona was owned by the bearded art teacher, Mr. Iampieri? Who else drove a Corona in Baltimore in 1967?
Needless to say, he was my favorite teacher, as was his subject. It’s not like they offered auto shop there. Or better yet, Auto Design. Now that I would have done homework for! He excitedly came in one day and played “I Am The Walrus” to the class and had us ponder what it meant for the whole period.
That didn’t amount to much; good luck trying to get a bunch of preppy 10th graders to analyze and deconstruct “I Am The Walrus”. But Mr. Iampieri fought the good fight at Loyola trying to expand preppy boys’ minds from 1966 to 2007, like my 10th grade home room class pictured here . His gentle persuasions resonated with me, but then I had “turned on and tuned in” earlier that year, although one would hardly know from external appearances. The “drop out” part would take another two years.
Anyway, a couple of us rode in his Corona to an art exhibit downtown; my first ride ever in a Toyota; memorable indeed. 1968 reeked of portentous future possibilities and change, and the Toyota fit right into that.
Now the student parking lot of Loyola had some nice heavy metal, including a spanking-new red GTO, although it turns out it only had the 265 hp two-barrel delete-option engine. I was hoping there might be some shots of it, but the only one in the whole book with a car was this one, an already-tired looking Mustang.
Us freshmen would hitch a ride into Towson at the parking lot, and that meant goading the driver to make a full-throttle run up Chestnut Avenue, right past Pickersgill, the retirement community my mother now resides in. The fastest we ever hit was ninety, before backing off to stop at Joppa Street. That was in a strong-running 327 four-barrel, four speed ’67 Camaro.
No wonder there’s several speed bumps on Chestnut now.
In the fall of 1969 I found myself at Towson Senior High (TSH), a proverbial factory of education. This is the only picture that captures a tiny slice of the vast parking lot. There’s a Lancer, as well as my favorite bus, a PD-4104. And before we get to the second Corona coupe, I just have to show you some of these stereotypical snippets from the TSH 1970 yearbook.
Miss Ziegler, my endless nemesis. Is she straight from Central Casting? I probably set some records in unexcused absences too. And in forged notes from my father.
If I told you the school nurse’s name was Mrs. Payne, you wouldn’t believe it, so I submit this as proof. I spent a couple of very difficult hours on one of her cots trying to metabolize something that I shouldn’t have swallowed during school hours. I can still see the swirling ceiling tiles of the Health Suite. If only she knew how close I was to…
TSH was very different from Loyola, in so many ways. This was just one of them. Not that a cheerleader would have had anything to do with me, other than possibly find herself in my imaginations, without her consent. Not that I was that unattractive, but they stuck to their tribe (the jocks), and we to ours.
I was a one of this hairy and bra-less tribe (can you find me?). The Student Union wasn’t the Student Council, but an activist group. I show it not to relive the politics of the time, but because the driver of the 1971 Corona coupe is in it too. But maybe I won’t tell you which one she is. Let’s just say my politics have taken a bit of a roller coaster ride over the decades. It’s better to actually try things on before adopting or discarding them, in parts or wholesale. And that goes for both ends of the spectrum. And that goes for girls too.
Anyway, she was a very smart Jewish girl, and her lawyer daddy bought her a spanking new 1971 Corona Coupe in the winter of 1970. Tell the truth, I was more attracted to her car than her. She reminded me a bit to much of Yoko Ono. And I was Paul, not John. And I think it took me too long to figure out what exactly she saw in me. It wasn’t meant to amount to much, but we had some fun until we figured that out. That’s what High School’s for, right? An endless Chemistry or Biology Lab. Too bad this experiment fizzled out; I sure loved that Corona coupe. Wrong girl, right car.
Anyway, fitting in was always a bit of a problem. I may have hung out with the Student Union crowd at lunch, but none of them worked at a Ford dealer after school and read Hot Rod as happily as the new underground paper in town. I was an oddball, like the grille of this Corona. Nobody did grilles better than the Japanese during their long dark night of the designer’s soul, trying to create a new design language out of the dumpsters of Detroit’s studios. It came, eventually. And it was fun watching them get there. Kind of like the sixties in general. Wow; cool! I if you say so.
Almost as much fun as driving the Corona. Not that the Corona could match my buddy’s Datsun 510, but fun nonetheless. It probably would have taken his 510 in the straights, given that the Corona had the new 2.0 liter SOHC four that was rated at 97 hp, exactly one more than his Datsun. And true to the Toyota DNA, the 18R-C had a healthy torque curve, quite a bit fatter than the rev-happier 1.6 liter Datsun.
The Datsun was a better handler, and had better steering too. But the Toyota’s stick was every bit as good as the 510’s, and even though it was hardly brilliant, for the times, the Corona was amusing. But then, it didn’t take much to be amused in high school. Or we found ways to make anything amusing.
This girl was devious too. She rigged a seance in the basement of her house, with fairly elaborate sound effects from an accomplice behind a curtain, with a very dramatic finale. I was one of her dupes, natch. Of course, we were all stoned out of our gourds, and it scared the shit out of us. But I knew right there and then that we were not meant to be. She’s probably a psychotherapist now.
Enough of my high school years. Let’s just say I didn’t attend what would have been my fortieth reunion this year, given that I never graduated. I dropped out in February of 1971, packed a back pack, and hitchhiked towards the the West. Although if I could have arrived in this Corona, it would have been very tempting indeed.
Somehow, I suspect running into this Corona and unleashing the memories is probably better than the real thing might have been. Thank you, owner of this car; you saved me a lot of time, money and possible disappointment. Or am I still smarting from that seance? Anyway, my hat’s off to whoever is driving this thing. Can you imagine a forty year-old car in your high school parking lot?
[Update: here’s this car (and a second one) in more detail. ]
So how were your high school years?
My alma mater! Churchill High School (class of ’75).
My first car was a ’74 Toyota Corolla. I’d say that the Datsun 510 was better handling, but the Toyota Corona was more American car-like, more (relative) luxury and quietness. Better reliability too. Toyota ruled the Consumer Reports reliability charts–Datsun not so much.
That’s a rare one! This 1972 Corona coupe is much more common. What’s up with all these Coronas?
PS: It’s because this is a Corona Mark II, an entirely different bigger car. They liked that “Corona” brand. No brand debasement for Toyota.
Love the 69-72 Mark II 2dr hardtops!
I found myself wondering (not based on any particular information, just speculating) if Toyota had intended to replace the Corona with the Mark II, but found that the run-out Mk I model was selling too well to justify killing it. (If I’m remembering correctly, the Mark II was eventually replaced by the Cressida.) Sort of a Coca-Cola Classic thing.
My brother had a Mark II that came from our aunt (who lived in Wisconsin). It was a pretty nice car, but it disappeared in a cloud of (red) dust too soon – perhaps hastened by its Wisconsin and Illinois residency. The tin worm wasn’t kind to Japanese cars of that era.
High school years were great: Flogging $100 cars, visiting junkyards full of interesting ’50s and ’60s iron, learning to play guitar, long walks at night, summers off…
The years were great, but High school itself was the worst time of my life. It’s all about who you can persecute, and I was a great target as the geeky younger brother of a popular cheerleader type. I never went to the 25th anniversary of graduation, although sister did.
University and beyond has been WAAAAYYY better.
Growing up with two parents that were government civil service employees, we were very middle class. Dad had his 1970 GMC Jimmy, mom got a new GM product every year. I remember a Chevelle, Monte Carlo, Pontiac Catalina, Olds 98. Life was okay for us. One day in 1974 I left for elementary school, Pontiac Catalina safe in the driveway.. When I got home, I could not believe my eyes! 1974 Celica GT. My father, ever the “sky is falling” type, reacted to the increase in gas prices/availability. My parents decided to move us away from the beach community that we lived at the time and built a house 25 miles away. In order to pay cash for that project, my mom drove that car for 8 years. Rusted holes you could put your fist through. It’s undoing? A boat came off a trailer in front of her one night coming home from church. That started a long string of Toyotas at our household. My favorite were the Cressida’s. I myself have always been partial to the big 3. Currently drive a 2011 Silverado.
R. Nelson Snider High School in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I had a great time because I was in the band. I was a not-very-good trombone player, but the band made for a good peer group of kids who had fun and didn’t care much for the social strata thing. It was also fun during marching season, because if the parking lot was not clear by 3:30, we got to drag cars out of the way.
The car? 1967 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible. I lived a ten minute walk (through some backyards) from school, but I was so car crazy that I wangled an after school job into the reason why I needed to drive. Possibly the shortest commute of anyone at school. And what a great supporting cast: Lowell with the 68 Cougar (and a 69 mail Jeep), Katie and her brother John with the 63 Newport, Tom with the early 70 Falcon, another Tom with the 66 Impala wagon (a drummer), and Bob with the 65 Olds 88. I would take any one of those cars today.
Only regret? That I was not buying up every Charger, Challenger and Roadrunner I could get my hands on at $500 a pop.
“Not that a cheerleader would have had anything to do with me, other than possibly find herself in my imaginations, without her consent.”
Baruthian!
I went to an international school in Beijing, so it wasn’t your typical HS experience. K-12, all crammed into one decrepit building surrounded by a few rows of pre-fabs. Only 56 in my graduating class, but man we had fun. The place was almost too small for cliques, everyone knew everyone. Not that they got along, but somehow it worked. We had freedom to roam the city in cabs, public transport and bikes, and the money to live it up in a time before things started getting expensive (at least comparatively) in China. A lot of kids acted like the over-privileged assholes that they were, as I’m sure I did from time to time.
But back to the cars. Obviously, none of us had them. But some of our parents did, and they often had drivers. My dad’s driver taught me how to drive stick at 15 on our VW Santana (Mk II Passat). A lot of people owned Beijing Jeep Cherokees, and whenever we would go joyriding, I was the one that drove. I still remember pushing the Cherokees out of the garages and down the street before starting them, just so the slow sound of that AMC starter wouldn’t wake the parents up. The Cherokees were cool, but the one I really wanted was a BJ2020, the civilian version of China’s military jeep, conveniently cribbed from the old FJ Land Cruisers.
During my senior year I somehow convinced my parents to get me a ChangJiang 750 (BMW sidecar replica). We bought it off our German neighbor, who had only put 500km on it, but those were some rough km. Let’s just say that the break-in procedures were not explicitly followed. I treated it the same way, and before long the engine needed a rebuild. I had a box of spare parts, so I took it to a local mechanic. $40 later and I was back on the road. And off the road actually, we lived out in the country and the bike did admirably out in the woods and fields. It was originally designed to conquer Europe after all.
That looks very similair to the Russian Cossack/Ural motorcycle.Not seen one since 1982 when a neighbour had one.
Nice to see that Corona coupe still being use. The mini muscle car styling reminds me of my Mazda 808 coupe. It looks a little battery but likely loved.
High School was fun – I got my license my sophomore year so I drove alot! Luckily my parents supplied a “teen” car so I drove alot. A 1969 Chrysler Town and Country station wagon was first, but a broken torsion bar (plus the 79 gas shortage) killed that car; a 1974 Vega Notchback, and a 1971 Fiat 124.
Paul, the 18R-C is a 2.0L, not 1.8L
I knew that, but my fingers didn’t get the message. And it brings home even further why it was so much torque-ier than the the Datsun.
High school, for me, was a downer – and shank’s mare. Class of 1976, from a school on Cleveland’s suburban West Side I won’t name. I didn’t get my license until my senior year; my old man was having money troubles and didn’t want the insurance rates going up. Even after I got the license, I wasn’t allowed to drive the family buggy.
Student car ownership was not universal in those years in that region. Most of us got our first car after graduation; often from working like hell at a summer job. Sometimes as a graduation present.
I, too, was somewhat the square peg in the round hole. Had a few friends, no close ones…childhood friendships had mostly evaporated when my buds discovered girls were more fun. I discovered that without money and status symbols, like a car, girls were not much in availability. Not unless they wanted help with homework; and since I was a slacker, my (demonstrated on the SATs) aptitudes in various subjects went unproven and unbelieved.
The first car for me, first one in my name, was a VW Super Beetle. The Beetle was still a common kid’s car, even as it was losing its place with the car-buying public. My former best buddy from grade school, bought a 1967 Beetle the same time, independent of me; and our shared experiences and comparisons fostered a reconnection of sorts. We compared problems; we compared Super versus standard; we discussed our issues. We had very-different reactions; but by then we had become very, very different people. And remain so to this day.
The world was probably a better place when teachers were allowed to smoke in class. It probably helped calm their nerves.
Hell…where I went to school, STUDENTS could smoke!
We had a Smoking Lounge…an outdoor courtyard area, where anyone could fire up a butt between classes or instead of Study Hall…which itself was optional. Study periods could be spent in the Cafeteria, to b.s. and wander out smoke in the Courtyard, or there was the Library and a Study Center. Quiet was enforced but anyone could come in or leave.
And…yeah…teachers could smoke in class. it was frowned upon; but a few did do it, and nobody got overly torqued. And nobody died of cancer there on the grounds.
At my son’s High School when they built it they had a number of smoking courtyards. Right in the middle of a number of the buildings there are 10’x20′ or larger courtyards, with built in benches which are still there in some of them. The really strange thing is there are opening windows into some of the class rooms. In the case of the now computer graphics, originally drafting class room those are the only windows in the class. The courtyards have long since been locked in one they have displayed some outside art and plants from the FFA program.
At Loyola, the seniors were allowed to smoke in “Senior Garden”. The rest of us hid in the bushes, or piled into someone’s car, or…
Several of the teachers smoked. English teacher always lit up in last period, triggering a powerful nicotine urge.
My HS English teacher (I graduated in ’73) also smoked in class, sitting on his desk too. If he wanted to get your attention, he would walk over and flick his ashes on your head. I don’t miss those days.
Our high school had a “smoking patio,” which saw a LOT of use. I shudder to think what those kids are in for later on, health-wise. Of course, our shop class made crossbows for a final project, so it was a whole different era back then, in so many ways.
One of the math teachers locked the door between periods so he could take a few puffs on a stogie. Nothing like entering a classroom that stunk of cigar smoke.
Students probably smoked more pot than tobacco.
How were my high school years? I skipped the whole thing and got a job and a GED and a girl or two. Much better on the whole if you ask me!
High school sucked. If you’re not a jock, cheerleader, honor student, wealthy, type-A personality, etc, that’s pretty much a given. A lot of it was my own doing, too, but that’s just part of growing up. I didn’t (and still don’t) fit any of the regular stereotypes. Too nerdy for the cool kids, not nerdy enough for the nerds. Didn’t do any activities and didn’t really study that hard; My grades were good but should have been a lot better. Had a handful of friends, two of which I still stay in touch with. An utter failure with girls…and intentionally sabotaged the one “relationship” I had for reasons I still don’t understand.
Oh, right. The cars. Having been car crazy seemingly since birth, it was imperative that I had a car as soon as I got my license. But having overprotective, import-driving and somewhat cheap parents, it was deemed that my car be new, Japanese and “something everyone could use.” In other words, I got conned into using all my part-time job earnings to partially-subsidize a new family car: A Civic sedan with an automatic transmission.
Beggars can’t be choosers. And a brand new car at 16 (even if you have to have it home by 10:30 and your folks can swipe it whenever they feel like it) is pretty cool. But remember, I wasn’t one of the cool kids at my somewhat uppity parochial school. I knew kids with newish Land Rovers, BMWs, Camaros, etc, that were given to them by their parents no strings attached…I had absolutely nothing on them. At the same time, my new dork mobile was a lot nicer that what many of my “friends” were driving (or not driving) and they made their hate/jealousy well known. You just can’t win when you’re 16, I suppose.
Almost a decade later, it’s all pretty irrelevant. I’ve got a good career and I’m a much better person with better friends. Through a strange series of events, I still have the car. It doesn’t seem to make people jealous anymore…
Almost forgot. There were a couple of Super Beetles, a ’74ish Maverick coupe and a very nice ’68 Nova SS 350 in my high school parking lot. There was plenty of ’80s crap, too, including one poor sucker with a Country Squire, but those cars were still too new to have any kitsch factor – they were simply crap. This of course was in addition to the hand-me-down 3rd/4th gen Accords and A-body GMs that dominated at the time.
I prefer not to think of high school: It was a complete disaster for me.
Dad was the Chevy dealer, of course that mean my own car. Right. Dad left the dealership in Oct ’65, nine months before my 16th birthday. And other than a 90 day stay at the local Pontiac/Cadillac dealership, never went back into the car business.
Then, in the fall of ’66, he decides to “get me a Camaro”. Red ’67 RS, 327, Powerglide. Lets a few parents of classmates know about it, so the word got around. And when it arrived it suddenly became his car – and I continued to take the bus. Finally got to drive it to school for the last two half-days of my senior year, Jun ’68. And that was the only time I was ever seen behind the wheel of it. To his dying day, he had no clue what a fool he made out of me.
Never had a car of my own until late summer ’68, when he got me a ’37 Buick Special 2-door as a graduation gift. Left for college that fall, said to hell with the old HS and was never seen again until the 30th class reunion when I showed up. And had the kind of evening that a Hollywood scriptwriter couldn’t have come up with. “Living well is the best revenge.”
A tour de force, Paul.
I bet Miss Ziegler was under 50 years old in that photo.
People seem to age better these days…or I’m old.
I went thru HS is a daze graduating in ’78. Hung my jacket in the locker then walked around with my pen all day, smoking between classes and watching the clock. Somehow I graduated without seemingly doing any homework.
As previously stated, had ’69 Buick Wildcat for $300, worlds ugliest car, but fast and comfy!
Got some of those Buick deep dish wheel covers and made them shine…improved the looks a bit.
There must be something about religion based academies.. I went to a Christian Brothers College Prep and we also had a Golden Gloves boxer. Br. Peter would allow students that had a beef with each other to don headgear and gloves in the wrestling room and work out their issues.
Our Math teacher, who’s name escapes me right now, was the same type of odd character as well.
The best of all was Sr. Marylin. The Hot Rod sister. She had a mildly built 77 Nova.
Our parking lot had a mix of about 10 “car guys” cars, 75 basic transportation cars and 2 Jeeps.
The worst High School Grudge race I have ever witnessed was between those two Jeeps. One was a late CJ7 Renegade the other an early YJ Sunchaser(Islander?). No worries about breaking the law there. It seemed like a half hour for them to hit 40 mph!
Our sadistic Phys Ed teacher took it one step further: he sensed when two low-totem pole guys had an edge about them, or where just vulnerable to having one created between them, and then actively instigated a full-blown tiff, with everyone else piling in on it, with a boxing match as the finale. Pretty pathetic, and not likely to be tolerated today!
“Br. Peter would allow students that had a beef with each other to don headgear and gloves in the wrestling room and work out their issues.”
I dunno; that seems to be a whole lot more reasonable than pretending nothing’s happening and letting them knock each other’s teeth out in the parking lot.
Like Paul and others here, I did both venues, too…the Lutheran high-school teachers were unremarkable; but the “Public Fool system” teachers were, in some cases, vile, vile. One unsightly young skank invited a provoked buck to take a swing at her; she promised she’d have him jailed, AFTER she shivved him. She allowed as how the Union would take care of her; and how the bigger geto rats in Juvie Hall would take care of HIM.
That was what passed for teaching and guidance. More better, I’d say, to put two of them in gear and let them do their thing on the gym floor…
I’m late to the article, but make for a hat trick of mid-high-school Catholic->public transfers. In my case the public school (South Burlington HS, VT) was significantly less worse, one might even say better than the parochial one.
Years later I found out a fellow Catholic school classmate-turned-refugee (who transferred to a different public school in a different district and has purged parochial school entirely from his personal record) is now the local state’s attorney.
I had some jock friends at the second school, mostly kids I had been in Cub Scouts with some years before, but found my home with the nerds. I liken it to Screech from Saved By The Bell (same era, after all…)
Lyons Township HS in the western Chicago suburbs. I was one of the “smart” kids, but usually not at honors–I ticked off my advisor by insisting on taking drafting and metal shop while doing just-under honors academic stuff. Aside from terrible welding skills, I might have gotten more use out of the shop stuff… At least the greasers left me alone–I knew as many dirty jokes as they did.
My father did not believe in cool cars. After spending the ’50s working in Detroit, when we moved back to Chicago he opted to take the train to work. Our last Detroit car was a 58 Biscayne wagon, followed by a 63 Biscayne wagon, then a 66 Monterey breezeway. I learned to drive on the Merc, and later got to drive the tall-geared ’70 Poncho (Catalina, IIRC) with a badly smogged out 400 CID V8. The 410 in the Merc almost made up for the weight. I did drag a Super Bee and got smoked…
My first own car was in college, a thoroughly clapped out 64 MGB with more rust than metal. Fun to drive, but not too reliable. I developed the skill of ice driving in the storms in downstate Illinois. Kind of fun to come to a stop sign with the car sideways.
I had one of those 6cylinder Corona sedans in Tasmania as payment for rebuilding a VW beetle I scored a hardtop version for parts it was too far gone to revive but had been a well appointed car in its day only had a 2.2litre engine the sedan had the 2.6 crown motor and was a great cruiser, We ran that car for 3 years and when we left for NZ I sold it to a work colleague he loved it.
High Sxchool yeah I went but didnt fit in or like it, I was deemed unsuitable for education and let out into the world been there ever since.
In my High School most of the student cars were common of the era hand me downs from the parents. The oldest car in the bunch was a friend of mine’s 57 Chevy, so not even 25 years old at the time.
At my son’s high school there is usually a 60 something Coronet sitting out on the street in the “free parking” area. In the permit lot there is a 75ish Monza with an obvious repaint. But there are also new Camaros and Mustangs too. For the most part however the lot is filled with hand me down Explorers, Cherokees, Boring sedans, along with an occasional fairly new BMW.
As to me in HS I seem to fit in here better being the too nerdy for the mainstream, too much of a partyier for the real nerds, too much of a grearhead but not interested in Cameros and Chevelles that couldn’t go around a corner, too smart but also too lazy and interested in other things.
Our strange/creepy/hippie/questions as to their sexual orientation, teacher was the photography teacher. For the most part people took the class because once you showed up in the room and set through 1-10 minutes of “instruction” were pretty much free to roam. So we could take pictures as well as develop them in the dark room down the hall. For the most part “taking pictures” in the woods behind the school where taking pics was a secondary activity was quite popular.
The drafting teacher was particularly clueless and un-engaged. While we weren’t allowed to run free, after the first 5 minutes or so his head was buried in the news paper and he was oblivious to the fact that the guys sitting the back row near the open windows eventually got brave enough that they occasionally lit up in class.
Welcome to “Classmates.com”!
I’ll be back later. Too busy right now, but I’ll probably have a story to tell – or two.
Groovy comments above as declared by a “class of 1974” “does not play nor work well with others” lone wolf type, mostly.
One semi-friend did have a what? 1969 or ’68 Plymouth GTX with the 440 and a 4-speed. Neato.
Another had a ’68 Roadrunner 383, 4-speed.
Older guy gave me a ride in his… either a 1973 or 1974 Trans Am with the SD 455. Incredible amount of smooth power output vice the raw power of the Mopars.
The ’65 Bug I was allowed to use some weekends with the AM radio delete did allow a couple bucks to haul me quite a distance while roaming the Modesto, CA and environs.
Never did attend a HS reunion. The 2/2 year split between high schools, on suburban Frisco Bay area 9-10 grades and finishing in a rural small hamlet agricultural area 90 miles away did offer differing learning experiences.
Always lusted after the local gas station owners Mopar… forget the exact year and model but it was a true 440 6-pack model.
I believe the Nortenos took over the town once the HUGE tidal wave of the “invasion” from across the southern border overwhelmed the existing society in that general area now forever altered for the negative in my opinion.
Federal Way High School, class of ’57. My car was a 1947 Chevy Fleetline 2-door without any front shocks. One rich kid had a ’55 Bel Air 2-door hardtop, another had a still-new-looking ’48 Chev ragtop that could smoke my ’47 without difficulty. Most other cars in the HS student lot were mid-40’s and older. One teacher had a purple, black, and white ’55 Dodge Lancer, the shop teacher had a yellow ’51 Merc wagon; since he lived right next to the school I only saw it once outside his basement garage. The principal had a turquoise and white ’56 Belvedere sedan, which didn’t fit his colorless personality at all.
I was one of those in-between smart but lazy kids too; I’d sit in study hall and draw cars, mostly with fins. Most of my friends in junior year were seniors, which led to a weird senior year for me. Also, my father was in the construction business and did enough jobs for the school district that he was on a first-name basis with the superintendent. Thus it was made known to me that I’d best not be involved in any shenanigans that would mean a trip to his office.
I found this one online – he owns not one but two green Corona coupes!
http://japanesenostalgiccar.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=16601
Growing up in small town Nova Scotia in the 1960’s, the concept of a high school student having their own car was very…ummm…American I guess. We saw it on TV, but doubted it was for real. There was one fellow in our metropolis of 3000 souls (separated by 60 miles of questionable highway from the nearest place with a traffic light) whose father bought him a spanking new 1965 Pontiac Parisienne convertible when when he turned 16. It was bright yellow and about 30 feet long. I think it was at that point that he left the planet.
We all drove our parents’ cars of course. One of the upsides of the time and place was the miles of dirt road where a 14 year old could safely practise his driving skills undisturbed by authority figures. It was there that I learned just how badly even a 6 month old Ford Galaxie could be induced to rattle.
More typical of our modest means was the junior high science teacher who arrived at school one day in a very spiffy white Corvair coupe with red bucket seats. I know nothing of his dating history, but I’m sure it improved. My own car virginity came to an end in the summer after high school when my parents rented (thanks Mum & Dad!) a Mini Traveller for me for my last summer at home before college. It went back to the dealer with a partially seized engine at the end of August.
Cool old Corona and cool old school photos.
I laughed out loud when I saw the photo caption under Mrs. Payne’s “Health Suite” photo.
No yearbook today would EVER get away with a skinny girl on a scale with “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast today” scribed underneath.
High school for me? Palo Alto High, 70-74. Not great but not as hellish as junior high school. Still, how great could it be for a perpetually virginal, near-friendless, drug-free, four-year member of the Latin Club, Aspergers (pre-awareness, pre-sympathy) kid?
But during all that time, though not by any means rich, I had British and French cars shipped to me from — and this is the gospel truth — Towson, MD.
If I ever explain that, it will be for CC.
I’m looking forward to that!
What a sense of timing. Getting to re-read the article and my original response – while spending last weekend at my class’ 45th anniversary reunion. Aka, “The best revenge is living well, chapter two.”
As my attitude to my high school class hasn’t changed in the slightest, this year I showed up on a blockhead Harley FXR with a good looking, leggy, barely-dressed MILF who was born three years after we graduated (my old lady) riding pillion.
We stayed for dinner, a lot of nasty staring from the women towards Maggie (boy, 60 year old women can be touchy!), one scene regarding a married couple where hubby was showing a bit too much interest, and the natural realization that, at your class reunion, for the night the social order reverts to what it was on graduation day. So what else is new?
Almost immediately after, knowing that the local Outlaws chapter was having a much more interesting party at the clubhouse (that’s where we spent the afternoon), we politely said our goodbyes and hit the highway.
Fifty is in five years. I see no need to go back. It’ll be just as dull, snobbish,mundane. And after two visits in fifteen years even the blindest members of my class can live with the knowledge that the guy they considered the lowest dweeb in school has lived the last forty plus years in a much more interesting manner.
This is great! It’s amazing how some peak in high school and how others realize life begins after high school. I like this.
I can well relate. I’ve harbored some thoughts about a reunion, but then the memories come back…no thanks. And your comment only cemented that further.
Of course, I wouldn’t know exactly what re-union to attend, as I was technically between grades 11 and 12 when I finally dropped out.
Wow! I’m having fun picturing THIS!
Class of 92. 80s-vintage Cutlasses/Grand Prix’s/Monte Carlos/Regals and Camaros and Firebirds were the cool cars to have, and a couple of kids and Mustangs and of course hand-me-down Corollas and Sentras. Jeeps were just getting popular as kid’s cars and one of the rich kids got a new one.
High school was OK, I played football and lacrosse but I didn’t consider myself a jock or really part of any social subset, I just had a couple of close friends here and there and the occasional girlfriend. I didnt really keep in touch with anyone after I joined the military right after high school and that’s where I grew up and became a man. So I don’t really consider my high school years as either my glory years or years of doom and gloom, they were just a period of my life.
Anyway, as far as my high school ride, I still have my high school car, a 1973 Grand Prix with 75K miles that I inherited from my brother who bought it as a 1-owner used car in 1983. I had fun partying in it, cruising endless miles in it while enjoying newly found teenage freedoms including losing my virginity in it the summer between my junior and senior year. I parked it after I left for boot camp and just got it back on the road a few years ago after a quickie mild restoration.
Beautiful ride LT Dan!
Is it a J or SJ?
I would love to add one of those to the fleet, exact color combo in an SJ please.
thank you Phil!
Its a J that thinks its an SJ. Its an oddball; its optioned with all the SJ features (455, upgraded suspension, buckets, etc) but its a J.
Honduras maroon? That was the color of my mother’s 74 Luxury LeMans.
Florentine red. With a red top and red interior. Its very red, she said.
Its a bad cell phone picture that makes the back half look darker and the front half look lighter than it actually is.
Thinking back to high school again, my football coach also had a 73 Grand Prix, but his was an actual SJ and it was white with a black top. Even in the mid-to late1980s those cars were still all over the place. He used to tell me that if I didn’t hit harder that he was going to start taking parts off of mine. There were so many 73-77 GM Colonnades when I was in high school I cant remember them all.
Growing up in a very rural area had advantages and disadvantages.
In high school, missing a day required a trip to the office for an excuse slip. It was filled out by my mother’s cousin. When she retired, my aunt competed for – and got – this position
At lunch, my grandmother was the head cook in the cafeteria.
In English class, the teacher was a high school classmate of my father; plus they had dated briefly.
The elementary school principal had also been my fifth grade teacher. Yep, he was a cousin-in-law to my father.
The superintendent would occasionally stop by the house at night to speak with my father as he was elected to the school board when I was in first grade. At the beginning of my ninth grade year, my father was elected president of the school board. His signature is on my high school diploma and I watched him sign it on the dining room table.
My mother had been the school nurse for the 1971-72 school year but did not come back for the ’72-’73 school year due to her pregnancy with me.
The guidance counselor she shared an office with would later be my history teacher in junior high. His wife was the jr. high English teacher.
The high school history teacher was married to a first grade teacher.
The high school math teacher was married to the speech pathologist.
The jr high math teacher was the father to the high school P.E. teacher.
The director of transportation had one son who taught ag and another who was a part-time basketball coach.
Plus, while dad was secretary of the school board, and later president, he had to sign pay roll checks as well as other bills for the school. I routinely had $250,000 worth of negotiable checks in my backpack for the 12 mile bus ride to school.
Could I misbehave? Hell no, everybody knew. I swear this is all true; some things simply cannot be fabricated.
You might as well have been home-schooling. 🙂
Seriously, that is quite the family-web there.
I don’t know if I mentioned it in the post, but on more than one occasion, I impersonated my father on the phone at night, having been told by a teacher to “have him call me tonight”. I put on a very exaggerated German accent, and got away with it. They would never have met in my circumstances, since my father would never have gone to a school function. Sort of the polar opposite.
Never thought about it, but maybe that’s why we are home-schooling our spawn!!! It just wraps all these various positions into two people – and it’s a lot less confusing!
I could not pass for my father on the phone, but I could forge his handwriting. Not that I ever would have…
At last, we meet the real Ferris Bueller! 🙂
The grille looks like the pigeon slot grille on the 71’Cuda.American schools seemed like a lot more fun than British ones,I was an art and music loving 6 ‘ overweight red haired girl who had 2 dates and was wrongly assumed to be a lesbian by the school bully and her gang and picked on til I painted a wall with her.Few pupils had cars,I remember a rusty Morris Oxford and a nearly new Hillman Hunter one of the rich kids got as a hand me down from his parents.My teachers drove Ford Cortinas and Anglias and Escorts,,Vauxhall Vivas and Victors my favourite was my Art Teachers Mk1 Woody Cortina despite it’s severe rust.The boy’s from metalwork class welded it up til there was nothing left to weld to.I went back to a few school reunions,good fun met some old friends,made some new ones and even discovered some relatives I never knew about.
Attended a small public high school in a restrained New England shoreline town during the late 90s, very very early 00s. Was a musical, and somewhat shy honors student who nonetheless was president of lots of things. Was also much more popular than I ever realized. A lot of missed signals and a lot of missed out on education outside the classroom had I been less clueless and less awkward. I liked high school, though. Those particular years we had some very cohesive and talented classes and we all got along quite well by junior year. It was the height of the 90s economic boom. Gas was cheap, parents were buying big new SUVs, and the stock market was ripping upwards. “Flagpole Sitta” by Harvey Danger was on the radio. “Fight Club” was a popular film. It was fairly early in the full-on transition to computer and internet use, and only a few people had cell phones. Really my class and maybe the one or two behind us were the last to grow up in an “off-the-grid” world before age 21.
I look back on that time very fondly. I liked my classmates and many of us, especially the good students, reasonably believed we’d be successful, a view that carried on through college and about halfway through law school, despite the economic stagnation of the next decade, before my law school class graduated in May 2008 directly into the teeth of the oncoming crash that fall. I can’t help but be nostalgic for a time when it felt like our hard work would put us on a linear path to success and responsibility, and, for the earlier part of those years when we were untroubled by cell phones, texts, and facebook.
As for the cars, there were very few new ones. The town was a mix of middle class blue and white collar residence and a yankee upper middle class which I suppose my family was part of. But the culture was one of “Puritan” restraint. Not a lot of BMWs driving around. Plenty of Buicks and Camrys.
In our high school student lot it was mostly early 90s Japanese and American for the kids…2nd Generation Ford Tauri, Gen 2 Camrys, a couple of big 80s trucks attempting to be “bro-dozers”, one kid with a new BMW (restaurant owner’s son), a few old Jettas and Altimas, and then…the land yacht crew…me with my ’87 Ford Crown Victoria (two-tone navy/sky blue, crank windows), an ’86 grey Lincoln Town Car (burgundy leather), and a burgundy ’84 Oldsmobile 98 Regency (burgundy push-button velour seats). Later, a freshman showed up with an ’83 Delta 88 white coupe.
Teachers also drove mostly non-descript cars. Newer Accords, minivans, there was an art teacher and a French teacher who had Mustangs.
Paul, Do you know if that green Toyota Corona is for sale? I would like to get my hands on that one. Thanks, Larry
Wow ~ love the comments , now i’ll be remembering those years all next week =8-) .
-Nate
I drove a 1939 Chevrolet coupe to school,the Ford dealers son drove a new Mustang.
I stepped out of the door in 1966,never wanted to go back for reunions. Went forward,not backward.
Catholic High Schools. I attended two over my four years. The 1967 year was spent at Chaminade in Canoga Park California. The 68-71 years were spent at the University of San Diego High School across the street from USD. These schools did have characters as teachers since most all were Lay teachers.
I do recall my PE teacher, at Chaminade, had a split window medium blue Corvette Sting Ray. At University a young Father Byrnes, why he was a priest beats me, had a 1969 Charger 440 RT in metallic brown. I remember no other cars of any other teachers besides those two. Should have paid more attention to match cars up to the quirky personalities.
Speaking of Towson that is a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Just recently heard Ellicott City when talking with my father. We lived In Catonsville from 1962-66.
During a friend’s high school years in Towson, he street-raced 55/56 Chevies. The local priest would visit on Sunday for dinner, drink a fair bit, and be driven home at some point.
One particular Sunday, two things converged, a) my friend had done some mods that he wanted to test, and b) the bypass had just opened and was sparsely occupied.
The catalyst was the priest, who needed a ride home. He got in my friend’s car and fell asleep. Then awoke while testing was in progress.
According to my friend, he yelled “holy mother of god!” and then closed his eyes again. My friend was not asked to drive him home again.
At least he didn’t chunder .
Our Foster boys all go to Washington Prep High School on So., Denker Av. in L.A., I’ve never seen a single student driving their own vehicle to school .
Times have changed .
-Nate
Titusville High School in the Cape Canaveral area, central Florida – Class of ’72. It was an OK experience. I was a fairly smart and straight verging-on-nerdy “band geek” (alto sax) kid at first but after I turned 16 I became a surfer, part-time rock musician, and something of a “head”. Being in the band enabled me to surreptitiously borrow school-owned tenor and baritone saxes for extracurricular gigs. Very nearly succeeded in permanently keeping a cool old silver baritone sax but the band director found out from some other kid and he threatened to prevent my graduation if I didn’t return it. I attended the 10th year reunion at the insistence of a friend of the family but it was pretty dull – the people I wanted to see most weren’t there. Haven’t gone back since nor have I kept track.
I didn’t own a car in high school but my primary set of wheels was the family’s yellow 1969 Fairlane 500 wagon. It had a 351, automatic, and A/C. The pictured car is basically identical. In ’69 at age 14 I came *this* close into talking my dad into buying a Ranchero instead of a wagon. I had visions of hauling surfboards, girls, kegs, and the family Airedale to the beach in a cool ride. However, the only Ranchero at the local dealer was a strippo maroon affair complete with dog-dish hubcaps and Dad would have nothing to do with it. So it was the wagon.
I went to High School in Wisconsin from 1978-1981. A friend of mine had a ’73 Toyota Corolla – his Key would open the doors and start another friend’s 73 Datsun 1200 (Nissan Sunny) and vice versa.
The most memorable cars in my High School’s parking lot was a Gym Teacher’s ’63 Split Window Corvette an an English Teacher’s who had a very thick hipster style beard (very odd then) early 1950’s black 4 door Packard (probably a ’52 250). I really like looking at that nearly 30 y/o Packard each day and loved how the door handles appeared to be consealed like on a Volvo Amazon.
What a great, highly entertaining read. This one was right up my alley, as I’ve been feeling all kinds of nostalgia for high school, lately. This year would have been my HS 25-year, but no one arranged anything. Or maybe I just wasn’t invited. LOL
Miss Ziegler looks like she did not play.
So my sister and I attended high school between 1965 and 1973. At her school, one kid drove a Model A and that seemed kind of nerdy, perhaps like a Falcon might have been in the ’80’s or ’90’s before they were hipster-cool. One of her surfer boyfriends drove a Squareback. In my school, one kid had an XK150 and one had a GT6. Other than that, mostly parental hand-me-downs of the Impala, Dart or Beetle variety.
Sad to hear stories that high school was so dysfunctional for so many people. Public or private, these institutions were founded with high ideals, but these ideals seem to be lost in the execution.
I think schools should teach more relevant subjects that are interesting and related to real life, such as entrepreneurship, life skills, and other things young people can actually use. Schools also waste a lot of time–the whole thing could probably be condensed into three years, with the remaining year used for time off for “self discovery” or engaging in work-related or creative pursuits.
Students should be treated as sovereign individuals who, if they have problems, can discuss them with a wise counselor on an individual basis, rather than be grouped as a “herd” to be “corralled”. The recent anti-bullying crusade may be a positive step, but teen boys are naturally competitive, and I wouldn’t want the “bullies” to be demonized as “aggressors” and those who are bullied, as permanent “victims”.
Real changes are almost impossible to make because of the stultifying inertia and blind adherence to tradition of “The System” (i.e. the administrators, the government, and the unions).
Taft High School, Woodland Hills, CA, class of ’87. Generally miserable experience, I vowed never to send my kids to the LAUSD, but Ice Cube was in my graduating class. Turns out we did all of Junior and Senior High together. The yearbooks are hilarious. The car scene was similar to the movie depiction in his bio-pic. Lots of new higher-end stuff for many of the better-off kids and then some more beater-y cars for those of us from the other side of the valley. Ice Cube took the bus along with the others bussed in from Compton and other parts of LA. I didn’t/won’t go back for any of the reunions. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t talk about me when he posts stuff anywhere.
RE: High School ;
Maybe chaotic would be the right word ? .
I had some fun times, got my GF preggers, lots of not very nice things occurred as i was learning about life etc. on a very accelerated pace .
Lucky I lived through it, quite a few back then didn’t mostly because of drugs/alcohol .
Some got stabbed/shot, that wasn’t much fun for any of us there .
-Nate
Paul,
Great read, LHS Homework Challenge accepted…graduated 200th out of 204 in ’64. My ex-wife graduated from Towson in ’64. Small world.