I remember 1972 well. Nixon crushed McGovern and then bombed North Vietnam. Watergate started. The A's won their first of three straight pennants. The decade ushered in bad music, worse fashion and the death of the American automobile industry. The cars that Detroit produced from 1950 up to today reflect American self confidence and power and our willingness to project it around the world. Face it. If you were stuck in a foxhole under enemy fire, who would you want to have engineered the equipment that will rescue your ass: the New Age conformist who invented the Chevy Vega or the wild eyed eccentric who put fins on the 1957 Cadillac El Dorado? You get the picture. When it comes down to what really mattered in my life in 1972, booze and broads, not even Viagra can light up a man's libido today like the old fashioned in your face V8 engine with all the trimmings did then. Which brings me to my own attempt to go back in time. A good client of mine was in town this week and while here bought a 1972 Cadillac.
He is shipping it out later in the week so let me use it for the weekend. And use it I will. I called a sometime girlfriend who is (barely) old enough to keep me out of the hoosegow but young enough to still believe my bullshit that her youth has nothing to do with my wanting to date her. It's off for a steak dinner, a bottle of wine, and a nice drive down I95 with the windows down and the AM radio blasting away (assuming there still is AM radio). After examining the interior of the car, I am thankful that I grew up in the 60's/70's before the worst standard feature in a car ever: the console that separates the driver from his passenger. This contraption did more to reduce teenage shenanigans than any lecture by some overly protective father or pleasure hating minister. But not tonight. My girlfriend will slide over and put her head on my shoulder and her body next to mine and I will party like it's 1972!