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Old Cars

Photo of Vince Basehart

By Vince Basehart

March 14 -- Heading north on Lincoln I pull next to a ’69 Nova which is as gray and menacing as a shark. Its rear is jacked-up, street slicks poking out from the rear quarters. It has side pipes like a race car and it is loud. Banda music is blaring from the interior.

We come to a light. The driver is a young Mexican kid. I yell out to him, “Whatcha’ got?”

“383.”

“A stroker?”

He nods.

“Cool,” I reply.

He would gladly go on about his ride, but we get the green. He lights up the slicks just to impress me.

This is deep old car geek culture, and there may be few better places to experience it than Santa Monica.

Sure. Drool over the perfectly restored cream puffs awaiting purchase in the climate controlled show room down from El Cholo. But it’s where the old iron gets driven -- out on the street - where you will find the beating heart of Santa Monica’s old car passion.

Next time you are out see if you can spot a few of these regulars:

A ’64 Ford Ranchero the color of an old barn parked under a tree along Berkeley. The driver is a college-aged woman who steers the relic with one finger on the wheel.

A pristine, vanilla-toned 1960 Cadillac Eldorado which glides through the Wilshire business corridor around mid-day. Its fins reflect in the glass storefronts as it passes.

A mid-‘60s Chevy Suburban panel wagon in bright turquoise paint. It’s driven daily by a dark haired man to and from work. It’s a workhorse, an SUV built in the day before the term “SUV.” You’ll find it traveling south on 20th most evenings.

A VW Transporter, one of the classic hippies-era vans converted at the factory into a pick up truck. This one is red and white and shiny as a new toy. You’ll see it exiting north off the 10 during rush hour.

A black Studebaker Commander is regularly parked in the neighborhood near Saint John’s Medical Center. It’s worth stopping to gawk at its entirely original red tuck-and-roll interior, hyper-stylized dashboard, and to imagine that its owner is the same one who drove it off of a Santa Monica car lot in ’51.

You will want to keep the following phrases handy in the event you pull up to one of these cars in traffic:

For a loud car: “Whatcha got?” For a sweet old shiny car: “What year?” The drivers will tell you. Perhaps far more than you really want to know.

You might find the green ’67 Mustang fastback done up in the style of Steve McQueen’s car in “Bullit,” often found in the parking lot of the 76 station on Cloverfield. I asked the guy, “Whatcha’ got?” and the young gearhead reeled off not only the engine type, but data about compression ratios, gear spreads and camshaft profiles.

Keep an eye out for a red, wedge-shaped Oldsmobile Starfire convertible cruising near the beach. A guy in his 20s drives it and wears a pork-pie hat. I asked him, “What year?” “’62,” he told me, then informed me of the number of convertible models built that year, and the fact that these cars used the first production all-aluminum engine block put out by Detroit.

These great old cars are all around us. In other parts of the country most of these oldies have rusted away. When you see one of these old cars driving past, give the driver a smile and a wave.

You may spy a ’61 Falcon tearing up the streets. It may be hiding a transplanted, fire-breathing V8 under its original, grocery getter exterior. It will be loud. If you pull up to this car yell out, “Whatcha got?”

The Lens will tell you. Perhaps more than you really want to know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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The views expressed in this column are those of Vince Basehart and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Lookout.
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