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Dream Cruising Memories
My father never attended the Woodward Dream Cruise. He lived the last three decades of his life in Missouri. He moved down there about the same time a job brought me to Michigan. He did visit us once or twice, but never on that weekend. We were more likely to meet in Chicago where one of my brothers lived, and he could see both of us. He would have loved the cars. He was a definite car guy. I swear I spent half my childhood in car lots as he would stop after a supper out and walk through the car lots to see the new models. He was a policeman, and he said he had to keep up on the new model cars and be able to recognize them when he saw them.
That was only an excuse, though. He loved cars. Had he been a billionaire, he probably would have bought a new vehicle every day. He would buy a new car, and the next day, he would be stopping at another car lot to see what they had. The main drag in our city must have had twenty or thirty car dealerships. That was on the West Side of the city alone. If he took us out for dinner, that’s where we would wind up. In one of the many car lots along Jefferson. Bill Jacobs Chevrolet. Fred Emich Ford. Burt Adams Pontiac. I don’t remember them all. There were dealers in other parts of the city, too. There was a Buick dealership downtown. The family bought a few cars there in 1978.
My father would not have liked attending the event of the Woodward Dream Cruise. Too many people. Too much traffic. As I said, he was a retired policeman. He didn’t like crowds. He didn’t like traffic. He didn’t like big cities. When he retired, he moved to a rural town that reminded him of where he had grown up as a boy.
But he loved cars, and especially old cars from his youth. The cars cruise more than only Woodward. They often make great circles around and through on some of the larger streets. I remember having dinner at a local Pizza Hut several years back on Dream Cruise weekend. It was at Fourteen Mile and Main in Clawson. Classic cars kept passing while we ate. Woodward gets too crowded for all of the cars, so many bleed out on both sides and into all the little suburbs. As we drove home that night, we were passed by the Golden Herd. I made up that name for them. It seems to be a club for owners of bright yellow Ford Mustangs. Imagine twenty or thirty yellow Mustangs from all different years cruising along together. My father would have loved that. He would have loved to sit out in our front yard and see all the classics pass by on our main road. Even being about four miles from Woodward, we see plenty pass by each year.
The Woodward Dream Cruise (https://www.woodwarddreamcruise.com/) was started as an event in 1995. It takes place on the third Saturday in August. My father’s birthday fell within this week. Some Dream Cruises were held on his birthday.
Dad died back in 2019, a bit short of his eighty-fifth birthday. Somehow, I can’t help thinking of him this time of year.
I’ll leave you with this:
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Published in History
Great story. My dads preferences were simpler; like Chevy’s since they could be driven a million miles which he had to do in the oil & gas business in Texas. Loved convertibles. So my first one in college was a ’62 Impala. Then he saw the Mustang and fell in love. Offered me a ’67 Mustang convertible when I went into the Navy. Like an idiot turned it down as was living in Manhattan and who needed a car there? First car was a ’71 Chevy Vega. Exactly what I deserved. Still pining for that Mustang.
A beautiful remembrance of your Dad, and with a damn good old car post thrown in for good measure! Thanks, Arahant.
I keep coming back to this post. My Dad is 92. One way or another, too soon I’ll go through what you’ve gone through.
My dad knows it, and my five brothers know it. It’s natural, it’s inevitable. And I dread it.
It’s thinned somewhat. There is a little more geographical diversity in the layout. Most of the dealership facilities have remained, but they sport new maker’s marks. Kia, Volkswagen, Hyundai – quite an assortment.
With all that concentrated diversity, we bought our Chevy from the dealer in Wilmington.
Change happens. It’s been a very long time since I was there. Maybe 1995.
Beautiful post, and an evocative song at the end.
My families, both by birth and by marriage, viewed the automobile only as a necessary device for getting from place to place, although Mr. She–who was the right age to be such–was a fount of useless information when it came to American cars of the 1950s, and could identify just about any of them passing us, or approaching from the other direction, at any speed and with only a glimpse, and we both enjoyed old car shows where you could get a good look at them while they were stationary.
From 1981 until 2001, I had a succession of mediocre vehicles, many of them used (some of them very used), often with parts painted different colors, sundry dents, and an increasing amount of chewing gum and baler twine employed before inspection each year. The highest accolade I could give a vehicle passing, or approaching from the other direction, and with only a glimpse, was “there’s a car I’d be proud to drive.” My co-workers gamely endured my idiosyncrasy, although–now I come to think of it–rarely allowed themselves to enjoy a ride in the passenger seat with me during that period of my life.
Eventually, all good things come to an end, and Mr. She and I made the momentous decision to buy a new car–a 2001 Ford Escape. The first day I drove it to work, I left at the end of the day to find a small crowd gathered around it in the parking lot, cheering wildly. They even had cake!
Many car memories for me too. And memories of those missing. Sometimes both at once.
That’s how I am. Will it get me where I need to go? If yes, good enough.
I had one of those as well….No one deserved that.
Many years ago my brother asked, “Who would ever come home and proudly announce, guess what Honey, I bought us a Vega!”
We were on a motorcycle trip in backwoods Arkansas some years back and I spotted a Vega in apparently decent shape parked in a driveway. I couldn’t remember having seen one for years. Where did they all go? I bet they made all the beer cans we used up in the 80’s.
Indeed a beautiful story and wonderfully written.
The engine blocks, anyway.
I was so hot to get rid of mine jumped at the chance to give it an 18 year brother in law as his first car. Only condition was he had to drive it from California back to Oklahoma. He barely made it. He junked it in 2 years for a used pick up.
Years ago I remember an article in a car magazine saying that the Vega was the vehicle that kept the Rusty Jones company in business.
A lovely story, Arahant. Thanks.
I lived in Michigan for 20 years, my last house was in Birmingham, one block from Woodward. The cruise was a good time
Not far away at all. I’m in Troy.
I do remember when cars made life more glamorous. What is it with modern cars? It’s like they’re trying not to be noticed. And that has really taken something out of modern life. Who’d spend two hours buffing Turtle Wax into a modern car? For my brother and his tail-finned Impala, it was an act of devotion.
Most people don’t want cars anymore. They want pickups, SUV’s and crossovers. There are still interesting cars being made, they just don’t sell in high volumes. And it seems that 75% of new car customers want vehicles in white, black, silver, or some shade of grey. If the typical consumer wants a white pickup, you can’t blame the auto companies for building them and not building many glamorous cars.
I blame wind tunnels.
Whut?
I think he’s using them as a proxy for CAFE regulations. (I won’t call them standards.)