General Motors used to build cars that mattered. Cars with great names like Rocket 88, Sting Ray, Coupe DeVille, Starfire, Road Master, GTO, Gran Sport, El Dorado, Electra, and others. Big, fast, chromey cars that cruised toward the horizon, windows rolled down, AM radio blasting out the Beach Boys or Jan and Dean or Elvis or maybe Ike Turner. The world was full of promise and horsepower.
A GM car told the world that you were somebody. Wealthy business owners drove Cadillacs, doctors drove Buicks, lawyers drove Oldsmobiles, up-and-comers drove Pontiacs, and regular folks drove Chevys. Young men drove fast cars that had mag wheels, glass-packs, Mickey Thompson drag racing tires, Hurst shifters and a necker’s knob on the steering wheel so you could steer with your left hand while your right arm was around your girlfriend.
I can still remember that evening in 1957 when my father drove home in his first Cadillac - an all white convertible with red leather interior! A beastly thing with a steering wheel the size of a planet, fins ready to pierce anything that got in their way, and 6 inch wide whitewalls that looked like Bozo's hairline. Boy, was that cool! It was one of Dad's great status symbols, and a tradition he continued every two years as the brand got bigger and more posh until that final diesel Seville in the 1980's was such a piece of crap that he gave up on the marque and went with the much hated German brand. Like the rest of us, he never looked back....
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