When I was a kid growing up in New York in the late 50’s, it was a really cool time. The airwaves were full of doo-wop, the street corners had singing groups practicing their sweet harmonies, the neighborhoods were full of friendly people and merchants who knew you by name, and the streets were lined with cars destined to become classics. How cool is that? And so my love affair with the car had begun.
I can remember playing ball one day right after the ’57 Chevy’s were unveiled. Well, one of those beauties came in wearing bright red with a white top and my friends and I were like, “Wow, look at those fins!” Little did we know what was in store for us in 1959 when Cadillac came out with the biggest fins ever! We sure were careful not to fall into one of those while playing stick ball in the street. Oh!
Tail fins and 1950s cars go hand in hand. Almost everyone seemed to have them. Chevy and Cadillacs as I already mentioned. Ford had a small one but it was still there. Plymouth and Chrysler Imperials had them. In 1959 we saw Chevy come out with that big bat wing, which squared off a bit for ’60 and by ’61 the era of fins was gone. While it lasted, though, we sure had some fabulous designs from Detroit. Giant fins and lots of shiny chrome. A combination that is still sought today.
So back in the old neighborhood, I remember a guy near me who had a ’57 Ford retractable hardtop. The gang and I were wide-eyed as the hardtop gently slid into the trunk. . Amazing! One minute with a hardtop and the next minute with a convertible.
During our frequent and intense games of stickball or a good game of “fly up” (remember that one? Take a “pinkie” from Spaulding and hit it on the ground right in front of the wall of a neighbor’s house letting it hit against the wall and explode into the air where a group of boys waited anxiously to catch it and record it), we watched with envy as the older teenagers, the boys we thought were already “men,” passed cars from the 1940s and early ’40s. 50, all rigged and burned to impress the boys, and the girls, of course. And I must tell you, we were impressed. We envy those guys in the cars with cruiser skirts, continental kits, lake pipes, and Cherry Bomb mufflers. Those lucky ones at the wheel of a Chevy Belair or Ford Crestliner or, if you’re really lucky, a custom flamed Merc. I couldn’t drive one so I built Revell and Monogram plastic models of all the cars I loved and kept dreaming of. I even wanted to do my hair in a DA and a buff pompadour. My mom didn’t like the look. And now there just isn’t enough hair left to pull off the look, even if I still wanted it.
Yes, those were the days. You could buy a Model A for a couple hundred bucks or less, and not a total beater either. Hell, some were still used as daily drivers. And cars from the late 30s and 40s, well, they were all over the place. Much is still running and running like the family car and you could buy one, by today’s standard, which would amount to a major car theft – a real theft!
In my mind I can still go back in time and look out the front window of our apartment. Hey, look, my classmate’s grandfather’s maroon Ford 40 coupe is parked on the street. And look across the street: there’s another ’48 Buick from another neighbor, all black and shiny. Down the street I can see a two-tone ’55 Dodge and two houses up from where I lived, my friend’s father had a ’57 Cadillac Eldorado Biaritz, a beautiful blue with a brushed metal roof.
They came from one side of the street to the other: Fords, Chevy, Buicks, Pontiacs, De Soto, Chryslers, Plymouth, Mercs and more. A car show every day. And now, those beautiful works of art have given way to just the memories along with the Toyotas, Nissans and Hondas that now roam the streets. Fortunately, we have a great and thriving car show culture that keeps things alive and I attend as many as I can along with beautiful diecast models to display, admire and dream about. Even my son became a car freak by owning a ’57 Chevy, a ’67 Camaro, and a ’51 Ford pickup. I guess I got it right. My diecast collection is over 35 years old and growing, making it possible to own all the cars I could never afford, helping to keep those childhood dreams alive.
But if I could get into a time machine, I would know where I would go. I would go back to those days of tail fins and chrome, pompadour and drive-ins, drug store soda fountains, Peggy Sue, American Bandstand, and my new transistor radio playing “In The Still of the Night.” What a great time to be alive. Ike was our president and the world was good, at least for us children. Well let me get that comb out of my back pocket, apply some Brylcreem and work on that DA, roll down the top of my Chevy and go find my best girl, Rosie, and head to the drive-in. See you there.
