Last year for Father's Day, I answered an open call on Open Salon and submitted, anonymously, a piece that was the text of the eulogy I read at my father's burial service in July 2005.  It was challenging to write - trying to sum up my feelings about my father was something I wasn't ever really prepared to have to do - but I was proud to read it in his honor at his graveside and to publish it later on OS.

This year, I decided to answer the open call again, but to honor Dad's memory in a different way:  by lamenting the state of today's cars.

Dad came of age in the 1950's, the golden age of car culture in America, long before we had to worry about oil spills, fuel efficiency standards, or even seat belts.  Of course, the 50's produced some cars that approached sheer lunacy in terms of length and "space-age" tail fins.

The 1959 Cadillac Eldorado

(Perhaps "Jaws" would have had a different ending had Quint been driving one of these things.  It is, indeed, a bigger boat.) 

But, overall, the 40's, 50's and 60's were also the golden age of American automobile design.  So many classics, many of them lovingly restored or customized by collectors - some with only one car, some with dozens.  (Here's a picture of one of my favorites.) Just about any Saturday night anywhere in the country, you'll find groups of these guys, set up in Denny's parking lots or little strip malls, hoods open, doo wop music playing, accompanied by the characteristic low rumble of dual exhaust pipes.

After my Dad got out of the Army, he started working as a journeyman mechanic, and in the early 60's, he took the incredible risk of losing a half day's pay to interview with United Parcel Service.  It turned out to be worth it, as that was where he spent the rest of his career, first as a mechanic and then moving up to become manager of a large automotive center in northeast Ohio.  His job was to keep those brown trucks running, and he was very good at it.  UPS put us through Catholic grade school and high school, state university, paid for weddings for me and my sister, helped us to buy our first houses, and enabled him and my Mom to spoil their grandchildren.

He took good care of us.  Sometimes I think he used himself up taking care of us, but we always came first.

I'm not sure how many or what  kind of cars my Dad had before I came along. (After all, he didn't really exist before that, as far as I knew!)  But I know he liked cars that had "personality".  And although being a father to three kids born very close together called for a change in the kinds of cars he was able to have during those years, he never settled for some boring old station wagon or faceless "family" sedan.  Like all "car guys", he could look back and tell you what he was driving during any given year, and the phases of his life were marked by what was in the driveway at the time.

When he hit middle age, he didn't go out and buy some flashy little red sports car.  He came home with a 1950 Mercury, which he then proceeded to work on for the rest of his life.  In many ways, I think that "finishing" that car was never really the point.  It was always a work in progress, and on those Saturday nights he spent out cruising and going to car meets, half the fun was talking about what he was planning next for the 'Merc.  He always kept it in black primer, postponing that paint job to some unknown future date.  I'm pretty sure he never would have had it painted, though.  Primer made it more of a "street rod" than a flashy show car, and I think he wanted to stay true to his roots as a greaser.

Dad retired when he was 55, and I'm so glad he did.  If he had waited until normal retirement age, he would've only been able to enjoy a few years before being diagnosed with cancer and passing away on April 4, 2005, a week after his 69th birthday.

Among the many little things I remember about my Dad, there is one that, for reasons you'll come to see, makes me smile a lot more these days.  As I said, he had strong opinions on auto styling and body design.  As the 80's and 90's progressed, he became increasingly annoyed - well, probably more bemused than anything else - about the  progression toward "squareness" in new cars.  I heard him say many times, upon seeing some new monstrosity (more than likely something like my husband's Volkswagen Rabbit), "These cars nowadays look like damn boxes on wheels!"

And in the five years since he has been gone, it seems to be getting worse and worse.

Here we have examples of two of the more egregious offenders:

The Honda Element

The Toyota Scion

I suppose one could be charitable and say that the designs above harken back to the old Chevy panel trucks of the 40's and 50's. But really, can you see anyone customizing one of these things with a flame paint job, frenched headlights, or fender skirts 30 years from now?  I kind of doubt it.  And while I'm sure these vehicles are very practical and get good gas mileage, they just don't have that much character, and I can't imagine anyone having the kind of feelings about a 2009 Honda Element as many do about, say, a 1955 Chevy Bel Air.  

And my Dad might have a few choice words for my current vehicle, a Honda Fit, which I 'm sure he would say looks like some sort of mutant insect.  I couldn't really argue with that assessment.  (Not that we agreed on everything. When he was debating buying a Lincoln Town Car, I told him that only old people drove those things!) 

I still miss my Dad more than I can say.  His death has left a void in our family that will never be filled.  But part of me is almost glad that he isn't here to see this, his worst automotive nightmare realized...

The Nissan Cube

(Good golly, Miss Molly!  Can an actual box on wheels be far behind?)

The fact that this car is called the "Cube" would, I'm sure, have amazed him to no end - like they're actually proud of the fact!  I can almost picture him at a stoplight in the 'Merc, next to a Cube.  With one of my Mom's sheer scarves tied around the rearview mirror, Hank Ballard and the Midnighters spilling out of the sound system, revving up the engine, he would surely show the driver of the Cube who owned that particular piece of road when the light turned green.

Paul Sabo (1936-2005)

Hope you're cruisin' in a sweet ride, Dad.