To own a flashy old car is to talk to strangers. Some out-of-the-ordinary sights – facial tattoos, Pontiac Azteks, male Speedos – induce an urge to look away and keep moving. A surprising car, by contrast, is an invitation to a conversation, as all us chatty Curbsiders can confirm. That not every owner really wants to talk shouldn’t surprise me, but it does, and did, one lovely day last fall. Lincoln Week seems like the right time to share a visit that left an odd taste in my mouth, and gave me some feelings I’d rather not own up to. But carmakers aren’t the only sinners among us, and I’ve come to confess, seeking mercy and solace from the congregation.
The first thing I noticed about this Lincoln, as I passed it on the street, was its interior. It was like the tantalizing color flashed by a red-winged blackbird, if said bird was twenty-five feet tall.
I assumed I’d never see it again. I live inside Route 128 in metro Boston. Most houses are prewar, and most garages tend to be glorified shacks best suited to Model Ts. The pavement is often broken, the weather often wet, the traffic always bad and the drivers even worse. So I was pleasantly surprised to find it, a few days later, parked in the drive of an impressive old house with a big attached barn. I whooped at my wife and kids as we passed it, and decided to go get my own rare bird (CC here) and pay this one a visit.
I pulled into the driveway and introduced myself to the owner, who happened to be outside right then. He told me that both the Lincoln and its stretch conversion are from 1976. I wondered if it had been built as a parade car, but no, he had the top removed recently. It all looked quite professionally done.
And that was the extent of our conversation. He didn’t share any anecdotes or ask me anything about my car. Standing there, having taken a few pictures, I suddenly felt like an unwelcome intruder. Naively I had hoped for more, a chance to compare notes about gas mileage and local mechanics and leather cleaner and ZDDP additive.
It was an odd sort of emotional whiplash, and one reminiscent of childhood. I saw a kid with a ball, I got my glove, you don’t want to play catch? And then I snapped back to being an uninvited adult on someone else’s property. Who the hell am I to expect him to be buddy-buddy? I thanked him and went away, never to return.
So what is this curbside sin? Pride, I’d say, in expecting my car and my general affability to magically make a friend out of a stranger. And then a moment of envious resentment, driving away, thinking as one might about the owner of a jacked-up Hummer, “If I had that kind of money, that’s not how I’d spend it.” I’d like to believe I’m immune to the sort of wealth anxiety that afflicts many people, but there I was, bitten where I was vulnerable, right on the soft Corinthian backside.
The ride back to my house was just long enough to get that stuff out of my system. These sins are not deadly, all flaws are not fatal. A lesson learned, a bubble of self-regard burst, a reminder to cherish my little family and home, and to let these strangely provocative dream machines turn back into appliances for a while.
And besides, I’d take gold over raspberry any day.
Gee, I thought everyone in New England was like that. 🙂
Seriously, I know what you mean. You have a cool old car. You see someone else with a cool old car. You acknowledge his and say something nice about it, and the expectation is that the other guy will do the same. When the other guy doesn’t, its a sort of rejection. I imagine the same thing happens with young mothers and their babies.
Of course, they guy could have been in the middle of something or having a bad day. Perhaps his wife just finished screaming at him to get rid of that damned ugly Lincoln or he would have the house to himself.
I was once in a Model A club. Most of the guys were old-timers, and everyone was as nice to me as could be. There was one guy around my own age. I tried over and over to strike up conversations, but got nowhere. Oh well, as I discovered long ago, not everyone has to be like me.
Personally, I cannot imagine why someone would hack the roof off of a stretched limo. I cannot imagine that this helps the structural integrity of the vehicle, which was probably challenged enough via the initial stretch. I would take your Imp any day.
Right. There’s no sin here. Either the guy was just too busy for you, or he was an ass.
It really is kind of a New England trait. Not that we’re unfriendly, but we do tend to keep to ourselves. I’m probably less sociable than most, but when I see a CC, I tend to shoot and keep moving, unless it’s a situation where the car is deliberately on display.
I’m not so sure I agree with everyone here being introverts, but I can attest to “Most houses are prewar, and most garages tend to be glorified shacks best suited to Model Ts. The pavement is often broken, the weather often wet, the traffic always bad and the drivers even worse.”
Thanks to everyone for the comments. As I hope is clear from the piece, I am in no way criticizing the owner. I was just reflecting on the chit-chat-with-strangers aspect of this obsession we share.
JP’s response reminded me of a story from my Dad. He was a sales rep for a truck equipment company in the 80s-early 90s. He had the idea to fit a ’47 Ford one-ton with a stake body to get attention at big ag shows in his territory. It worked, maybe too well! He once told me how he was grabbing some ZZZs in the cab before Empire Farm Days in upstate New York. A friendly old guy who kept farmers’ hours started banging on the fenders, just tickled by the old beast. Dad had to put on the available-salesman face about an hour earlier than he really wanted to!
I imagine it gets tiring after a while, particularly if your pride and joy solicits mixed opinions.
During the year I had the 63 VW on the road I learned that if I had to be somewhere on time (or didn’t feel like talking, I’m an ISTJ) I had to park the car and practically sprint away from it to avoid getting into a conversation with someone who had one just like it and wanted to tell me all their stories.
+1
Only I drove my ’64 for six years… Never got tired of the conversations, though.
…so let’s see the rest of YOUR car! Nice write-up and I totally understand how you feel. I seldom stop and bug people when I see an old car unless I’m in one of mine or have my wife with me. Being in an old car myself sometimes knocks down potential barriers and the owner won’t think I’m up to no-good. (My wife’s presence makes my presence less creepy).
Sometimes I get a little prideful though: I was admiring this man’s very nice ’76 Ninety-Eight in the Biscuitville parking lot one morning. He was nice enough to show it to me but I was a little disappointed (inside) when I pointed to my clean ’73 Bonneville a few spaces down and got kind of a “meh” reaction.
I have a Pontiac buddy that comes over every once in awhile and he stopped by while I was working on a ’73 Delta 88 I had just bought. It may as well have been a Camry to him — no response, not even a glance — Oldmsobiles aren’t that different than Pontiacs! Heck, the same hands assembled them in the Linden, Fairfax, Doraville, & other GMAD plants…
It’s hard for me to not appreciate ANY old American car if it’s original. I enjoy complimenting people’s old cars when I see them when I’m running around. I know how nice it makes me feel when someone says something neat about one of my rides…even if it’s just a “what year is that?”
I am indifferent to foreign makes but anything from “the big three” (& AMC) appeals to me. Thanks for posting this.
Alan (aka 73ImpCapn) did a write-up on his Imperial already, a couple of times.
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/curbside-classics-american/curbside-classic-1973-imperial-lebaron-by-chrysler/
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/automotive-histories/fender-blades-on-a-fuselage-the-design-of-the-1973-imperial-by-chrysler/
I didn’t know Alan and 73ImpCapn are one and the same — thanks!
Thanks guys!
JB, haven’t you noticed that we’re never photographed together? I don’t let that stuffy Yankee wear my good blazer. 🙂
Groovy look! I actually don’t mind when people chat me up about my ride, and I try to be cordial. The annoying question I’m tired of hearing is “Geez that must be heavy on gas” (usually asked by non car people).
Single brand zealots, don’t walk, run.
…sometimes I wonder ’bout them kind of folks… 🙂
Hard to believe sawing off the roof is an improvement. It looks like black plastic tape stuck on top of the pillar in the 4th picture. Is there a convertible roof under the cover?
Yes, there is, but I was respectful enough not to ask for a demo.
Ughh, that thing is like a one car Dealy Plaza……look out for the grassy knoll!
Ouch! But yeah, if you’re old enough to “remember where you were the moment you heard” etc., you probably have mixed feelings about big open Lincolns.
If I had done this, I’d probably be a bit stand-offish too. He’s probably had the question “Why in the hell did you do this?” asked once too often.
Exactly!
Maybe he lost a bet and had to cut the top off of the stretch?
As JCP so sagely observed, Mrs. ‘Vertible probably not on board, either.
This probably has a value reduced to that of the remaining usable parts.
I don’t live in North America anymore, but If I did, I would no longer drive any attention grabbing car . My dad bought a ’66 Mustang as a X-mas present for my mom in December ’65, bright red of course. We had it restored in ’82, and I often drove it until they sold it in ’87. It attracted a lot of attention in the small prairie city in which we lived. Looking back, I can’t believe I actually did this. I would never consider standing out in such a manner nowadays. Truth be known, I’m not really a fan of people talking to me at the best of times, never mind in an impromptu encounter.
Even if I did have a interesting ride, I would never ever bring it to a car show or cruise night, since I recall ones I attended in the 90s while home, and vividly recall that the attendee populace was liberally peppered with gawking, mouth-agape riff-raf.
My experience at an outdoor show in Victoria last summer did nothing to dispel that view, as I recall an EMS crew attending to some drug-addled ner-do-well who had passed out on the sidewalk. Nope, if I ever go home, it’s going to be white Camrys all the way for me. I want to be as invisible as possible in the desperate, dystopian future we seem to be headed for. BTW My bucket list dream house has a high concrete wall surrounding it, with CC TV cameras all around, and proximity sensors embedded in the grounds and driveway for early alert, and I would be answering the door by appointment only.
Well Roger I am not a paranoid as you are but driving and old, grey Acura is even more invisible than a white Camry since something like half the cars on the road here are grey, the sky is usually grey and the road is grey, too! You blend right in.
On the security front, you could always move back to Saskatchewan, get a piece of land way off some section road and become a bushwhacker. The last time I did a rural SK tour I was surprised how many signs we saw saying, “Stay Out!”
Unfortunately, Roger, you are correct. The cruise nights and shows are “liberally peppered with riff raff.” I attend one show a year. In my town, the annual car show starts at 3:00 pm, but the town is well stocked with old cars by 9:00 am. Around that time,to get into the spirit, I’ll drive one of my old cars and park several blocks away. At the early hour, the streets are not crowded, and I walk around looking at the displayed cars. About an hour of that, and I go home.
I can never understand how anyone can sit by their cars or BS for 12 hours. Saving spots and other obnoxious behavior abounds. I’ve heard many stories about cowboy belt buckle scratches and ice cream cones dripped on seats, etc. Whether this stuff is done on purpose is for further thought.
Another very valid point you make is invisibility. I rarely drive with a roof down, or all windows down, due to a concern for attracting unwanted and potentially dangerous attention.
This applies to dress, too. In our slob society, someone well dressed can be a target. I hate to think like this, but it seems it’s the way it is.
Driving around with one’s windows down can be an adventure, especially where I live. (Near) downtown Richmond has lots of folks standing around on street corners hassling passers-by for change, and many of them will walk right up to any car with windows open as well. I’ve not felt threatened, but it’s certainly annoying.
Not going to let that stop me on a nice day, though. Or on any warm day in the Volvo as the A/C is not currently playing nice!
“The Count” from Counting Cars seems to be the master of these types of situations. He’s going to talk to you about your car, whether you want to or not!
Welcome to New England…now get the hell off my property! Its none of your GD business pal.
I’ve been on both sides of this particular equation. Back when I had a strange car for my only car (the orange 1976 Vega), a lot of people wanted to talk to me about it, but I didn’t always have time! Sometimes the best I could do would be to yell, “Thanks! Yeah, it has the original aluminum block engine,” while hurrying away to whatever I was doing. Nowadays as a cohort contributor with no wife or oddball car of my own available to mitigate my creepiness, I’m pretty cautious about approaching someone about their car, and I only take interior shots if I have the owner’s permission.
I don’t know why anyone would want to ruin a car by chopping the roof off, even if it is professionally done. You could’ve caught the guy on a bad day or when he was busy, or he could’ve been an asshole. People everywhere are assholes, I don’t think geography plays any part in determining it though.
Professionally done. Yes, butt what is the profession of the person who did this? Butcher perhaps?
I just operate on the assumption that everyone hates me and my cars.
Having been the one with the car out front, I have enjoyed the conversations – to a point.
One guy stopped and had the hood open on my ’63 Galaxie when the wife saw him, came outside, and politely yet firmly told him to scram. He claimed he wanted to buy it.
With garage sales, the same car did generate conversation, mostly about when I was going to sell it, all Galaxie’s came with a straight-six (so mine was wrong), or how they knew somebody in Saudi Arabia who would pay me well for it.
It’s a mixed bag.
I pulled at some lights recently beside an Aisian family driving a Mini Clubman a real one from 1974 I was in my Minx nice car bro was all I said and vely nice how old came back, 1959, wow 1974.
Green light and gone, nice people I thought. I belong to a one make club but those that drive the low priced beater from new cars like mine actually own the true survivors.
There has never been a time when a Humber Super Snipe was a cheap car in NZ they alway sucked gas at an amazing rate never mind what it cost to buy so they were looked after mostly, Minxes and the Humber80 it became were raced rallied and rolled in their thousands I’m responsible for several, my one is more what I should have done and my mate Geoff has all the parts books I know where most of the parts lurk its just marrying it all, Im taking you guys to the British car Museum at Haumoana, ah google it dont try to say it, I want to measure a Sunbeam Rapier I know is upper level and Austin/Morris 1800 for Paul and Triumphs for Aaron. A Morris Isis 6 because its the only one anywhere I know of, my one rusted away, Any REQUESTS ?
I can appreciate anybodies old car but I can spend a long time looking at this rare Lancer and Ive seen enough of that already.
The house that the car is parked at just screams Cohasset. How close am I?
Not that far south, Stan, but you’re right, it would fit in down there.
Alan, do you ever take your Imperial to any shows in the area?
I went to “Extinct Car Day” at Larz Anderson last fall, it’s on my list to write a post about. If you have a favorite show let me know!
I just prefer seeing less common older cars, and I have something of a Mopar bias as well. I haven’t been to many shows in the Boston area.
When I was in college I had a 30K green (“golden olive”) ’73 Pontiac Bonneville 2-door hardtop with white cordova top and white interior. It was a lovely car but I grew tired of the most frequent comment I heard from people, “man you ought to cut the top off that thing and make it a convertible”. Sheesh!
I suppose “today’s” stupid comment would be something like, “all that car needs is a set of rims”.
While driving my hardtop, I’ve had a few comments to the effect that I should lower it. No thanks, I like my car’s stance just the way it is.
Last weekend I was over talking to the owner of a restoration shop about doing the paint on my hardtop. I brought along my pictures. I took 4 pictures down the length of the car and printed them on 8.5×11 paper so I could write notes on them. I was laying out the pictures and the guy says, “A lot like my first car, but it was a ’66 Charger…. wait, that’s not a Coronet. What is it?!”
Then he asked me if I was going to keep the fender skirts on it. I said, “All 1966 Chryslers came STANDARD with fender skirts. They look dumb without them.” Then he said some people get rid of them. If I had been on the ball, I would have reminded him that it’s not a Coronet. 🙂
I’ve always thought that if you drive an old car, anyone who starts a conversation about it deserves a decent, friendly response. I always reply as if I’ve known the guy for years. On the other hand, I’ve been snubbed by enough guys that I really won’t ask about their cars. I don’t go to many car shows, but if I stop to look at a car, I will say “Hello” to the owner, out of courtesy.