A blast! Groovy! The ginchiest! Far out! Keen! The utmost! Cool! Sunday’s Benicia High School Classic Car Show really took me back in time — not as far as the Model Ts or the streamlined coupes but to the halcyon days of the ’57 Chevys, the Mustang convertibles, and the “little” GTO’s. It didn’t hurt that James Brown’s screams were blasting from a 1941 Burgundy 8 Coupe — a bit of a mismatch of time zones. But it worked. Didn’t want to leave the hardest working man in show business as he belted out “Get Up, Get up! Get in the Groove. Huh”
As I approached the Benicia Green, I was struck with the sight of scores of vintage cars polished within an inch of their lives packed onto the turf and lined up on the curbs from the cul-de-sac up to E Street. My first discovery was a green 1973 Mustang convertible with avocado green seats that were so yummy they made me crave guacamole. It was parked next to a sweet pink and white T-Bird like Suzanne Somers drove in American Graffiti. “The color is called Ivy Glow,” said proud owner Mark Vasgerdsian from Pleasant Hill. “Green cars never win prizes,” he said. “People like the reds and silvers and golds.” He continued, “I just sold a T-Bird that I kept for years. It was originally to go to Marilyn Monroe. Joe DiMaggio wanted her to trade in her black 1955 Thunderbird for a 1962 model and put down a $500 deposit on it, but she died before Joe could make the final payment.”
So I started looking for the elusive green cars. A neon chartreuse pick up truck the color of a florescent dragonfly made the grass beneath it look anemic. A Chevrolet 3100 from the late 1940s or ‘50s was a cross between a bus, a station wagon, and a van. Serape seat covers and little green plastic and chrome eye shades over the headlights were accented with big green marbles that looked like Dot’s candies. There was a significant outside visor over the windshield and a chrome bumper as large as a train’s cowcatcher. Whitewalls peaking out from low Art Deco fenders embellished with chrome stripes gave the illusion of speed. A pea soup green custom Chevy Nova with dazzling grillwork sported a paint job that was so highly waxed it reflected the grass and looked like marbled paper.
This was a family affair — with camp chairs set in convivial circles behind each car— showing off the family jewel. Few stayed seated as they wandered the green checking out the competition and talking shop. Two little girls sat in back of an azure blue pickup, its bed decorated with a bower of roses. I almost stepped on a small pug with its leg up against a hubcap doing it’s business until I realized the dog was a fake. As I took a picture laughing, I noticed a fellow with his phone out standing behind me. “I was waiting for the dog to finish his business before taking a photo of the car,” he laughed. A somber and stately black 1959 Lincoln Continental was parked along the promenade as if waiting for the candidate, a “Kennedy for President” bumper sticker affixed to a significant chrome bumper.
Was able to get a good seat for the grand finale when the cars exited en masse up First Street at 3 pm. Ordered a chicken fried rice at the Burmese place and scored one of the tables in front. Perfect.
Passing through the police barricades a few at a time, groups of five cars would wait their turns, racing their engines, and eagerly waiting for the opportunity to put pedal to the metal.
A 1950 Oldsmobile Deluxe Holiday 88 cruised by and my heart skipped a beat. Mom and Dad used to drive a green 88 and the sensuous roundness of its posterior with the ringed planet and the rocket logo brought back sweet memories. We always drove Oldsmobiles. My parents knew a classic when they saw one — sometimes breaking into “In my Merry Oldsmobile.” Then along came what I would call an old jalopy but with a major makeover. A teenager sat in the rumble seat his knit cap pulled low over his ears, looking more like he would have preferred a skateboard. I smiled as two low riders showed their unique skills, roaring their engines while their cars danced up and down on hydraulic suspension systems. I got a chill at this display of testosterone. Orale! Although most of the owners were male and of a certain age, there were some young folks carrying on the tradition. Counted three women, there may have been more leaving on E. 2nd St., deftly maneuvering their rides up First. The noise level was high and the exhaust fumes potent — vintage cars are exempt from clean air regulations, for practical reasons — but those became secondary to the dazzling parade of eye candy. “Alright! Outta sight!” Exactamundo.
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Letters From Benicia 