Hello from the outside table at the local Starbucks,
It’s a great morning, starting out cool and pleasant, though now the humidity and heat are both on the rise, and it’s a typical June, nearly summer, day in Pennsylvania (btw, do you know that this is the only state where both the abbreviation of PA as well as the entire state is understood and acceptable?). It will probably blow up into a bit of a storm before the day is out, but the storms here are seldom like the storms I remember back in Iowa that would roll in across the prairie. I’ve seen some of those storm clouds here but nothing like I remember as a child. Or like the summer I spent working wheat harvest from Texas to Montana. I remember a tornado coming across and diving out of a pick up truck into a ditch – that was more than close enough to a tornado.
While I’ve chatted more than once with others as well as have written about memory, and what seems to jog our memory, there are two things that seem to do that for me more than anything else. The first is music, and the second, at least for me, relates to a vehicle, something I have owned in the past. My first car was in 1964 Impala, which I bought for $175. I managed to get both my first speeding ticket (I actually got two in the same day, which infuriated my mother) and I was involved in my first accident (again, I was involved in two on the same day – yes, true story). That poor car went through a lot. The first car that I really had an attachment to was a car that I purchased when I got out of the service. It was a 1971 Chevelle SS, with a 454, and it would pass anything but a gas station. It was a copper brown color (the picture above resembles it closely) with black stripes on the hood and trunk. It has 60 series raised white-letter tires, and Cragers. It had an eight track player and 6 x 9 coaxial speakers and a 40 W power booster with the stereo. I thought I was pretty cool. I remember taking my father to vote once, and he stated without hesitation, “ I am not sure what is worse, the mufflers or the music!” he was not the only person who had a distinctive lack of appreciation for my Chevelle. Ruth, my pastor’s wife, once asked if I delighted in noise-polluting the neighborhood. There was no way my Chevelle would sneak into the driveway. The music I remember most significantly with that car were the albums. Masque by Kansas, Dreamweaver by Gary Wright, Frampton Comes Alive, by Peter Frampton, Hair of the Dog, by Nazareth to name a few. That car went through a lot with me, but I did love it. Over the years I’ve owned a 1970 El Camino, which was also quite hopped up, a 1983 Dodge Lancer, 1993 Dodge Shadow ES, a 1995 Ford Mustang, a couple of HHRs, a 2003 Grand Am GT, and a 2013 BMW 328i. Perhaps the best driving car I’ve owned was a 2014 Chevrolet Malibu. One thing always hope for, or install, is a good sound system. When I reminisce about each vehicle, I remember what music went with that time.
What is it about a vehicle that creates such a bond? Why is it, for some, so much of our identity is connected to our wheels? And while I am willing to admit that men are probably more likely to do this and women, I do not believe it is totally gender specific. Studies show unlike a house, which not everyone can afford, cars create an important connection to how we have perceived, in part, because they travel with us and are highly visible; they become a mobile billboard. Then there are things like vanity plates, something I have gotten for the first time ever with my last vehicle. Personalization creates an emotional bond between person and the machine. Additionally, there can be a social connection between the type of vehicle you have and others who drive a similar motive transportation. It is a branding.
I saw this both with my Harleys and my Beetles. While I have owned motorcycles from the time I was in my teens, I did not get my first Harley until I was in my 40s. I’ve had a motorcycle license since I was 16 years old, much to my mother‘s displeasure. i’ve also had my obligatory motorcycle accident, which resulted in two skull fractures, serious facial, lacerations, and variable hardware store in my left pinky finger. I’ve owned everything from a Sportster to a fully decked-out Street Glide, and a couple in between. More than one had a serious stereo system. And I’ve driven them completely across the United States. I’ve been to Sturgis twice and Laconia once. Anyone who has written the motorcycle, understands the camaraderie of those on those two wheelers, from the recognition given when meeting someone on the road to the gear that one wears. And of course, Harley has its own special sound. Much like those who own Apple products or a bug, there is a social recognition that goes along with them.
My older brother had a 1969 Karmen Ghia, which my father hated. He went everywhere in that little yellow car, and he fit the antiestablishment vibe of that time incredibly well. I of course, grew up in the Disney time of Herbie, the love bug, and found the little car created in Germany as “the people‘s car,” to be adorable, something I always wanted. My last two cars have been Beetles, and to say that it is a love-hate relationship would be an understatement. I think I love them, but I believe they hate me. Both Beetles have endured more than one revision of their physical appearance (although not all my fault), and the seeming jinx of the relationship between bug and Michael has some telling me it’s time to change my vehicle or cease my love of the bugs. My first bug had a Bose system with a subwoofer (stock to the car); it was quite incredible and I loved tooling around in Bruce, as I named it. The second (and current) bug is a fun-metal blue customized “denim” convertible, the first convertible I’ve ever owned. It is beyond enjoyable, and while it is not as decked out in terms of extras as Bruce was, Bella (as this one is named) is still quite stylish.
What I’ve realized is the profound degree both vehicles and music and both connected and characterized my life, both in terms of identity and attitude. The memories of both seem like a mirror into my soul. Enjoy those memories, relive those moments, and anticipate what is yet to come.
Reminisce and thank you for reading,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 