I was back in Michigan a couple of weekends ago for participation in a friend’s surprise birthday party. Lisa and I had first met in the summer of 1980 when I was new to the neighborhood and we were both in the Tot Lot summer program at the local elementary school. Many at the party thrown in her honor were friends I’ve known since single-digit age. Kim, who sat across from me at the table, had sat once in front of me in our first grade class, and our dads were friends. A former, favorite high school social studies teacher and his family were there. It was the best kind of reunion, and it wasn’t even my party. As I looked around the room, I silently gave thanks for these people, for knowing them, and for the various ways they have positively affected my life.
Earlier that same week back home in Chicago, I was on one of my hours-long neighborhood walks and had once again spotted this ’62 Ford I had first written about in 2017. Back in 2015, I was in a ride-share somewhere on a weekend afternoon, probably headed to a gathering at a bar to meet up with friends for “Sunday funday”. The limited view of this Galaxie 500 from the back of that ride-share afforded me only a handful of pictures which were enough for me to build an essay around, so I made it work. The driver had also accommodated my request to try to get as close to this car as possible so I could at least attempt some decent pictures. Still, I had been mildly frustrated by the constraints of the moment, headed somewhere else and unable to get a good shot of the front or side of the car. That was eight years ago.
Now in a place where I’ve been making many different choices of how and with whom I spend my recreational time and money on weekends, I had found myself on a much different kind of Sunday afternoon in peaceful solitude on foot, enjoying a long walk with my music, fresh air, a clear head, and with all of my senses engaged in enjoying the present moment. At an intersection in the neighborhood north of mine, this same Galaxie came into view all these years later, moving southbound on North Sheridan Road. My first thoughts were to focus on getting the shots I had missed years ago, later reflecting on how long it must have been since I had last seen this car. It still looked beautiful.
A lot can change in eight years. Just like I was able to finally get some good pictures of this beautiful, old Ford from the front and side, my visits with friends and loved ones the weekend of Lisa’s party seemed to have added depth compared to in years past, not to negate any of the genuinely good times. At some point in recent years, I was able to realize that bar culture, even with people I had considered to be my friends, was often superficial and satisfied only so much of the interpersonal connection I craved. This was true especially given the limited amount of unconditional acceptance and meaningful engagement I had experienced in my family of origin while growing up. Sobriety has changed all of this and added a certain intentionality to what I say, and more importantly, how I listen to others when they’re speaking. I feel even closer now to people I had already known for most of my life.
Sheridan-Chase Motor Hotel postcard photo, as sourced from the internet.
On the far left of the last frame I was able to capture of the Ford sits a Super 8 Motel that had originally opened in June of 1959 as the Sheridan-Chase Motor Hotel in that beautifully glassy, international architectural style. Seeing this motel for myself is what had originally drawn me to this section of the neighborhood five years ago. Unlike the now-demolished Days Inn in Battle Ground, Indiana I had featured in an essay that re-ran in the middle of last month, this little motel still appears to be in decent condition, although now stuccoed over and almost completely devoid of any of its former, midcentury glory. Still, it has persevered and also been given a chance to live on, even if in a different state than before. This motel was only three years old when this Galaxie was new. Perhaps old cars in present day against the backdrop of vintage lodging would make for a good Curbside essay topic, if it hasn’t already been done.
Super 8 Motel, formerly the Sheridan-Chase. Sunday, February 20, 2022.
The euphoria of taking a trip and staying in a hotel is inextricably tied in my mind to the promise of car sightings. It was also exciting just to be going somewhere, which is how things in my life feel at this writing… like I’m going somewhere, even if I’m not sure exactly where my road will wind. And that’s okay. A few of Lisa’s and my friends had related in one of many great conversations that night how we all seemed to be calmer, wiser, and more deliberate versions of ourselves in present day, and in such a great way. Just as I was in a different place physically the second time I was able to see this ’62 Ford in motion on the road, I’m also in a different headspace than the one I was in eight years ago when it was turning southeast onto DuSable Lake Shore Drive and I was headed to a bar. Indeed, sometimes it has felt like I’m the king of second chances.
Rogers Park, Chicago, Illinois.
Sunday, April 9, 2023.
Somebody is really looking after that 62 Ford its still tidy at this age, we only got the fordor V8 I remember some in a faded pea green one in particular had dunga status and it was only a few years old, I knew what all these cars were at an early age on my walks to school with my dad he was on his way to work, he knew every make and model what they were worth and often who owned them it was his job.
I had to look up “dunga” and now I feel like I using slang from your part of the world. What was so great about this particular car was that it looked in exactly the same condition as when I had seen it eight years ago. Grouse example of a ’62 Galaxie.
This essay makes a great point – a car sighting, as much of life, depends on context. Where were you, what were you doing, and who were you with. All of these things can be the difference between a pleasant memory and an unpleasant one. Your first interaction with this car was OK, if a little frustrating. This time was pure bliss. This kind of shows in your photos.
We are really on a 62 Galaxie jag – which I think is a good thing. These were always a little exotic to me, being old enough that not many were around when I was old enough to really be paying attention. But there was always something about these that I found appealing.
And I cannot help loving on that “Chestnut” paint color on this car.
When I went to high school in the late 60s, these were still new enough to be fairly common, yet cheap enough to be affordable by high schoolers. This chestnut color was quite common as well as some ungodly shade of purple. They either seemed to have a 223-6 or a 352 V8. Never saw many with the standard engine.
Even with the 3 speed Cruise-O-Matic and a 352, a 283 Powerglide Chev would show one of these nothing but tail lights. Still, they were nice solid cars.
Funny how certain cars trigger a memory even many years later. For me, a certain chestnut ’62 Galaxie triggers a memory of riding in a car full with some underage high school buddies and a trunk full of beer one evening. You could always tell the town ’67 Plymouth cop car by the lights and it pulled out after us that night. We were nervous as heck that we were going to get pulled over when suddenly the sounds of Bobby Fuller came over the radio singing “I fought the law and the law won”.
The song wasn’t prophetic. We didn’t get caught – that time. But we sure were nervous until the cop car turned off. While many of these cars may have been around back then, this is my one memory of such a car. It stuck with me all these years and the sight of a chestnut ’62 Galaxie ALWAYS triggers that memory and that song.
Weird.
Loved reading this – thanks for sharing it, Rob. Had my heart pounding a little bit for something that didn’t even happen to me, and which occurred long ago.
JP, these are great observations, and I feel that they extend even outside of car sightings. Like you, I’m a music enthusiast / collector, and sometimes, the context of the day on which I listen to a particular album – whether a “good” day or a “bad” day – can color how I feel about the music until the next listening experience. I’m glad this ’62 Galaxie got some redemption in my mind by association on this second viewing. The “Chestnut” color is stunning – I agree. It’s like the color of a cold Dr. Pepper.
There seems to be a strong connection with cars from our youth. Often we associate them with memorable events. This OLD Dog 🐕 fondly looks back on so many such connections. Many friends are now gone, as is most of biological family. Would so like to return to the days of my youth. One friend has told me not to return to a favorite city because it has changed so much. I realize I also am not the same. So like the Christmas song 🎵 I’ll be there, if only in my dreams 🎶 and treasured memories. Make memories to last for a lifetime while you are able 😎
Great reflections, Rick. What your friend said about cautioning you against returning to your one-time favorite city reminds me a little bit of what I’ve read online about former Flint residents (my hometown) being reluctant to go back after being away for so long. I’ll always return. And your advice at the end is sage. I’ve been actively trying to be more present and just enjoy even the little things and experiences.
” … how we all seemed to be calmer, wiser, and more deliberate versions of ourselves in present day, and in such a great way… ”
Snarky teenagers (like both my sons were back then) often make fun of the manner in which older, or even elderly, people they encounter enjoy the little things in life. Simple and heartfelt conversations, walks in all sorts of weather and going as far as their energy allows, maybe an occasional afternoon nap, and usually an earlier bedtime.
They make fun of us – then (if they’re lucky) they become us.
Are we boring, or wiser and being more careful in the use of one’s (increasingly more limited amount of) time?
My almost fond memories of a high school cohort’s black ’62 Ford coupe with a 3 speed column shift and big V8 involved riding in the trunk with another dumb buddy to sneak into the Islip Drag Strip on Long Island without paying. The rough dirt road to the entrance made for a lot unpleasant bumps which I think the driver was hitting on purpose. But it was a big trunk with plenty of room for two jerky teenagers.
Thank you for this. As I’ve seen a shift even in myself to the age I’m at now, it’s interesting now to be on this point of life’s spectrum and have certain things now make sense – like you mention about more mature people taking time to enjoy simple things. Life at any stage is a blessing, and I’m sure if and when I’m in my 60s or 70s, I’ll look at my 40s like “I was so young back then”. I’m starting to think that a lot of it is perspective.
It’s funny that you mention riding in the trunk, which I had done often as a teenager, for a ride home from school in an otherwise packed car that would easily have been maybe a 20 minute walk. I was risking my life, they way Mike drove that Mazda!
Another terrific and insightful essay, Joseph.
My drinking phase was very short (ages 14-15) and then my drug phase was almost as short (15-18) after which point I learned to meditate. From then on I could never relate to partying and drinking/heavy drug taking. It meant that there were a lot of folks I just couldn’t relate to, but the relationships I did find were based on a significantly deeper and clearer connection than being intoxicated.
There were times I thought I was missing out on something important socially, by not drinking, but I have no regrets. My drug of choice was walking and hiking, and I used to ramble all over Iowa City at night looking at houses and buildings while my friends were at the bar. Sounds like you’ve come to fully appreciate that too.
I do feel some pangs when you describe getting together with very old friends. Having moved so many times since early childhood, I don’t have any of those kind of connections. That’s a bit less than ideal, but I focus on finding and cultivating new friends, although I’m not really a big socializer. That probably explains the not-drinking too, as that activity is of course a great social bonding thing. So there’s a trade-off in sobriety, but one well worth it, at least to my way of thinking.
Nice ’62 Galaxie. There used to be one in my neighborhood and I spent a lot of time looking at it, so it feels like a childhood friend to me. That’s the rapport I have with cars from my childhood; the friends I still have.
Paul, thank you so much. In a way, it feels a little bit like I’ve come full-circle from when I was a teenager. While I had my small friend group, I would spend a lot of time just roaming around by myself, but I’d be in a car then instead of on foot now. I love that time alone with my thoughts, and it only enhances my appreciation of being around other people for when I feel like doing that.
A few years drink-free now, I’ve relearned the art of hanging out with others without even wanting to drink anymore, and no one seems to care that I’m not. If anything, I’ve been fortunate in that some of my friends have told me they actually like me better as a teetotaler. So, there’s that.
And I like what you said about the cars you remember providing that continuity. I feel that way every time I see a one-time favorite car, either in person or in a glossy photograph in a book. I also don’t take my friendships for granted and try to recognize their value.
Looks like it has at least a 390.
That would also be my guess, for an example this nice.
Some profound introspection on gaining wisdom, as always, thanks Joseph.
Dad bought a ’62 Fairlane 500 sedan with little 221 V8 at Towson Ford in March of ’62. It was that same Chestnut Brown color, a very pretty glowing shade with a 2 tone Chestnut and lighter brown vinyl seats that were very attractive. I remember clearly going there with him for a test drive in a light beige one, out around Loch Raven, then later on to pick up our special ordered one, I was 12 and deep in the throes of car passion by then. One of my fondest car and Dad memories.
Loved reading this. When I had first drafted this essay a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t paid any special attention to the color, but since you and JP have mentioned it, the more I’m noticing what an appealing shade of reddish-brown it is. Your dad’s car sounds like a really beautiful example.
Hummmm. That charge seems to fit with exactly something that I’d like to spend years writing about. Something (for me) to think about.
Me too.
Another very insightful and thought-provoking essay. Thank you Joseph.
Thanks so much, Jeff. I’m thinking I may start searching my photos to see what I can come up with.
These Fords always seemed dorky compared to 62 Impalas,but this one is is mighty fine in that pretty chestnut hopefully it has a 390!
I had to Google pictures of a ’62 Impala just to refresh my memory. Through the lens of 2023, I can find things to like about both car in different ways, kind of like I now view the Mustangs and Camaros of the mid-’80s, different as they were from one another. I also hope it has that 390 with that beautiful sound!
Very well written piece, thanks. An “older” (mid-20”s) guy I met in high school (68-70) had a ’62 with a 406& a 4speed in red. I thought it was it was pretty frickin cool as my transport back then was at the end of my legs. I have a request of Joe Dennis: please cut back on the caffeine or have a cup of that new brand: “shut the h-ll up” 😉 Mad Max in Ore.
I drink two cups of coffee a day.
A lovely sighting.
Thanks, Peter.
That’s a stunningly beautiful car .
I hope you catch it parked some day .
-Nate
I too am now a teetotaler .
It’s amazing what one learns when not inebriated .
Sadly many get old and never learn to pay attention, cherish the little things and enjoy life .
Glad to hear you’re doing well Joseph .
-Nate
It’s amazing what one learns when not inebriated.
Yep! Thank you, Nate.
Thank your self and no one else .
I come from a long history of Scots/Irish drunks and every one of them was a mean drunk to boot .
I came of age when pot and the counter culture thing was the thing to do, because of my bad memories I never did like being drunk and I hated how so many just zoned out and so missed much of life .
What you did is no small thing .
-Nate
My rich Aunt Kate saw this same 62 Galaxie 500 on a local car commercial. Ben Alexander Ford. Chestnut reddish brown ( happened to be – b&w TV -1962). She called the dealership and insisted that Mr. Alexander himself deliver it to her house, which the former Hollywood actor did . Then dear Aunt Kate bequeathed it to her nephew, my Dad. My dad had always had a company car which were always Chevys. But now , at 12, I became a Ford man. I inherited the car at 17. I drove until a drunk guy ran a red light totaled it in 1970. I loved that car. I always thought the lines were sublime and tasteful. Someone wrote in that a 283 Chevy was faster. My sister had a 63 Impala, 283 ” slip&slide” 2 speed. And yes, he was right!
What a great story, and equally sad end to the car. Your Aunt Kate sounds like a really cool lady to have given your Dad that car.