The 1963 white Impala convertible with red leather interior,
chrome grille work, white walls, rear tire walls, low slung to the ground.
What was Uncle Gord and Aunt Gloria’s car. Working class,
pride of ownership, the identification of personality – and automobile. When
Uncle Gord is behind the wheel of his Impala (was it golden??), how sexy and in
command of his life did he feel?
What do you feel when you go to a car show at a country fair
in 2019?
You reach out and touch something deep inside. Which car is
for you? And why?
Sadly, cars today do not seem like extensions of the self.
Something is lost.
A person’s connection to their car is seen to be an
aberration, a broken thing, a maladjustment.
There is no human bond to the car brad, size of the world,
how not one place, one group of workers – men and women – built it, own it.
The only place I’ve seen my reflection this weekend is in
the lustrous finish of the 1972 Chevy Nova, painted darkest brown with a hint
of red, a promise of burgundy …
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