My personification of cars stretches back to early childhood. Even before I could read and understand the nuances of the printed ad copy in my parents’ National Geographic magazines, I watched television and was excited by commercial spots selling vehicles with dynamic cinematography, catchy music, and memorable slogans. As a kid, I was doing the “Toyota jump” in the living room right along with the happy, fictional owners of new Celicas and Corollas. I mention all of this only as I try to piece together when and how it all might have started with me assigning human-like attributes in my mind to various cars and trucks, based on what I perceived to be their personalities.
To expand on this idea, certain models might seem heavy on brute strength and light on grace and finesse, like a Chevy Camaro Z28. A BMW 3-Series might be seen as cerebral and precise. A Renault Fuego might be beautiful to look at, but also temperamental and unreliable. Nobody wants to party with a clinical Toyota Camry. Even up through my thirties and late nights spent out dancing, instead of seeing others at the club as the humans we were, it was sometimes easier for me to think of the dance floor as some kind of strobe-lit expressway with all of us participants representing various forms of automotive machinery as we moved together in the dark to the driving beat. Like tires and their rhythmic pounding over joints in the pavement – thump, thump, thump, thump…
Thinking of myself as a particular year, make, and model was a fun way to gain or feign the confidence I might otherwise have lacked in the moment and participate in the “show”, comfortable inside my own body and the way I moved and performed. It was a form of dissociation from what I perceived as my own inadequacies, but I saw it as a harmless form of escape and distraction. Combined with the anesthetic effects of alcohol, this mindset allowed me to step outside of myself just long enough to feel included, normal, and just like every other body in the room, styled as differently from one another as we were. “Every car has a story” goes the slogan here at Curbside Classic. It was just sometimes easier to think of myself as a machine not subject to moral judgements or too many feelings.
Fast-forwarding to middle age, there are still times and tasks during which I feel much less than confident. I was recently assigned a project at work that involves the kind of superficial, external social interaction that I’ve come to passionately dislike. I’m perfectly capable of flipping my “personality switch” to the on-position when needed, and this is something most successful working adults need to be able to do at different points. At the same time, none of us wants to be asked to do something with which we have had limited experience or success, especially in front of others whose trust and credibility we seek to either gain or maintain.
It’s natural that in such a situation, we might dig deep inside ourselves, pray, and/or think of a hero to emulate in that moment, someone else to “be” that feels more comfortable to us than our own, fearful selves. In this most recent episode at work, my sales calls were not quite a complete disaster, but I might have benefitted from remembering to remain cool like a Surf Green ’64 Riviera. The first iteration of the Riv, from the 1963 – ’65 model years, is one of those timeless shapes that exudes more cool than a vat of Aqua Velva. One could not imagine the soul of this car becoming flustered under any circumstances, especially with the power of one of two 425 cubic inch V8s under the hood. The standard Wildcat 465 engine put out 340 horsepower, and the Super Wildcat, with its dual carburetors and larger air cleaner, was good for 20 horses more.
Had I thought of it, I might have chanted to myself, “Be the Riviera… Be the Riviera…” as I waited for the recipients of those recent sales calls to pick up the receiver. A lot of the time, I am not anything close to being the Riviera. I’m courteous, efficient, empathic, logical, dedicated, and very hardworking, but those qualities don’t always necessarily fall into the category of calm, cool, and collected. I simply care too much about doing a good job and not looking foolish, sometimes at the expense of coming across as being robotic. The ’64 Riviera’s slight 6% sales dip to about 37,700 units in ’64 from the round, first-year number of 40,000, followed by 34,600 in ’65 seems to have indicated a certain steadiness to match this car’s solid, quiet, beautiful aura, both inside and out.
I’d like to think of the most perfect version of myself as being like a ’64 Riviera, Flint’s best, but with my tendency to focus on moving steadily forward and just getting things done correctly and efficiently without putting too much emphasis on being the most liked person in the world, I’m probably closer to something like a ’79 Ford Mustang with the turbocharged 2.3 liter four. Not always, but often enough I need to remind myself not to overheat and/or warp something. Maybe I’m not the early turbo Mustang, but something foreign that works best and endures with regular maintenance and good (self-)care. In any case, keeping it smooth like an early Riviera is always something to aspire toward.
Edgewater, Chicago, Illinois.
Saturday, May 13, 2017.
Factory brochure photos were as sourced from www.oldcarbrochures.org.
Excellent points, all. Having to give another presentation today (the third in a series of six this month) in front of a group of around 70 or so, this is a good reminder that if one is naturally a Camry or Avalon, they need to TRD it up a bit. In that vein, striving to be a Riviera such as this is pretty shrewd – classy without overt ostentatiousness, relatable but not common. Now you have me thinking of what best represents me – that’s a scary proposition.
Perhaps this piece could serve as a good springboard for a QOTD – What Vehicle Best Captures Your Personality?
Jason, I like the way you think. I’ve been in meetings where presenters really knew how to up the TRD (or in old-school Toyota-speak, “SR-5”) factor. That’s a gift. I also tend to rely on humor as one of the tools in my arsenal. I also think your QOTD idea is a great one, if it hasn’t been asked already. I honestly can’t remember.
This series of Riviera was to me one of the best of GMs personal luxury cars. In 77, bought a new black Monte Carlo (love how cars used to have aspirational names, not numbers) that I loved and, kept for seven years until rust became an issue. Sitting in the dealership signing for my new car, I asked dealer to have the Monte Carlo moved out of sight. Felt like I was betraying an old friend 😪. Going back to 62, parents traded our 55 DeSoto (which I learned to drive on) for an UGLY 62 Plymouth Belvedere. 🤮 🤮 🤮. The DeSoto sat on front row of dealership for several weeks before being sold. Every time we passed, I felt that car was sad to be abandoned by our family. To make matters worse, dealer offered to sell the DeSoto back to us for what he had in the car, mentioning that it would be a good CAR for me! We were already a two car family, so that idea was given a firm NO from Dad. Have always had strong feelings for most cars I have owned. Yes, there are a million stories about love of our automobiles! THIS is just one of mine! 😎
I quite like that you were attached to that ’55 DeSoto. I imagine that seeing it at the dealership, and outside of your family’s possession and care, must have felt a little unsettling.
I’m also a fan of the aspirational names of cars. Last year at some point, I had come across a YouTube channel that featured car advertisements from the ’70s. One that especially got me was one for a ’74 Dodge Monaco, that appeared to be filmed actually in Monaco! This was a far cry from the police-car treatment these cars would later receive and be mostly associated with.
I get exactly what you mean about making a presentation in a way that is out of your natural comfort zone. I also remember taking on the persona of a car – as a tween I remember imagining myself as a big Mercury on an oval track as I skated around an ice rink, building confidence and getting faster.
Our discussion on compact sales charts yesterday made the production numbers on these jump out at me. Almost everyone agrees that the original Riviera was an instant classic. Yet it never hit even half of Thunderbird’s numbers (even if we subtract convertibles from Thunderbird’s totals). I wonder why this is? And why did sales droop a bit each year – as the economy got stronger and overall industry sales went up in 1964 and 1965? There are probably two dozen good reasons, but it would be an interesting analysis.
This Riviera in this color – is this close enough to provide Aaron65 with a kind of a pep talk as he works through the unexpected issues on the 63? I think it would work for me – I would happily slide behind the wheel of this one and glide – – anywhere.
Almost everyone agrees that the original Riviera was an instant classic. Yet it never hit even half of Thunderbird’s numbers (even if we subtract convertibles from Thunderbird’s totals). I wonder why this is? And why did sales droop a bit each year – as the economy got stronger and overall industry sales went up in 1964 and 1965? There are probably two dozen good reasons, but it would be an interesting analysis.
There’s really only one good reason: the Pontiac Grand Prix.
Although it didn’t have a totally distinct body like the Riviera, it managed to convey a very similar level of exclusivity and prestige as the TBird and Riviera, and for considerably less money.
If you add Riviera and GP sales, they cream the T-Bird, as in 113k in ’63 vs. 64k. And so on… for every year thereafter.
And then of course the Toronado came along in ’66 and the Eldorado in ’67. If you add those, GM really trounced the T-Bird.
The Riviera more than hit half the Thunderbird’s numbers: In 1963, Thunderbird: 64k; Riviera: 40k = 62%. And that includes convertibles. Also in ’66. And ’67.
For 1964 the Grand Prix was certainly desirable. But, price class alone, the Grand Prix simply didn’t convey the same prestige with a cost 22% below that of the Riviera. In dollars, the price difference was a 50% down payment on a brand new Chevy II.
The Grand Prix was essentially a mildly customized Bonneville coupe, and priced like a Pontiac Bonneville.
The Riviera’s price, unique sheet metal and interior – save for the the bulk of the dash – made it Buick’s senior car for 1964. With typical options, it moved into entry level Cadillac territory.
T-Bird started even a bit higher priced than the Riviera, and was arguably the most unique of these three cars, and certainly the most unique among Ford Motor products.
Of course GM’s five divisions collectively trounced Ford, as they did every year. But, I’ll maintain that the ’60s era Thunderbird, Riviera, Toronado, Eldorado and Mark III represented a senior series of personal luxury cars – defined as largely exclusive bodies, interiors, high levels of standard equipment and range topping prices. Nice as it was, the Poncho was not a senior personal luxury car.
The Grand Prix initially competed as as a mildly customized full-size coupe, a class that included the early (1962) Buick Wildcat, Oldsmobile Starfire, Mercury Marauder, and throw in the Chrysler 300 and Dodge Monaco for honorable mention – a class that was short lived and dead by 1971. The Grand Prix morphed into an entry level personal luxury car as that class was defined further by the introduction of the 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.
The 4-seat Thunderbird created a marketing class, not a price class, like 2-seat sports cars created a marketing class, not a price class. The Thunderbird started out as unique in all the world, as the ads said. Plenty of people who bought a Grand Prix might have bought a Thunderbird, and could afford it. For them, paying less for a car that scratched the same itch was just a great opportunity.
Marketing class and price class are somewhat interchangeable terms. At the least, price is critical component of a marketing class.
As noted, the “marketing class” I was referring to was personal luxury car, a group of vehicles that by the early 1970s had morphed into a moderate price class, and a high price class – including the five cars I mentioned.
The personal luxury car as it came to be known was not necessarily a four seat car. The first gen Riviera was a four seat car, as was the concurrent Thunderbird. The competition that came after them was five/six passenger (Toronado, Eldorado, Mark III), and all five eventually came as six passenger cars. None of this is exact science, everything changes.
The Grand Prix was initially, and briefly, a very successful medium price full-size coupe. Introduced in 1962, it peaked in 1963, then sales dropped severely every year until it was completely reworked as a spin off of the GM mid-size A body in 1969. Extremely successful as a mid-size its first year, sales took a hit in 1970, very likely due to the introduction of the Monte Carlo (and possibly the protracted 1970 GM labor strike) – and the medium price PLC wars were on.
JP, I’m glad you mentioned that you also had taken on the persona of a car – so it wasn’t just me. I suspect there are many who have also done so.
My goodness – I hadn’t given it serious thought that I might have been encroaching on Aaron65’s turf with this little essay. It certainly wasn’t my intent. Unlike me, he actually knows a lot about these cars – I love his contributions. (If you’re reading this, Aaron, you’re my homie!)
It’s a car worth revisiting many times, Joseph. Plus, this one is a really nice example, far nicer than my work-in-progress. I will say that mine is finally starting to act as if it’s a normal car. Literally over the course of this evening, I installed a steering box for the third time (bad box first, small leak second, third time looks like the charm), installed a Pertronix module after the car limped me home (just a guess – bad condenser), and set the toe-in. There are still things to do, but I can at least drive it now.
Aaron, beautiful shot of your ’63. I’m so glad this post didn’t come across as stepping on Curbside toes! It sounds like you got a lot done yesterday. When I get home from work on Tuesdays, it’s all I can do to eat, watch a little TV, mess around on my phone, and peace out for the day. At least now, you can enjoy this amazing weather – which I hope is the same in Michigan as it is here in Chicago.
Definitely an aspirational car in more ways than one, Joseph! You nailed it!
Introspectively, I would say I strive and am like a Toyota Tacoma. No frills, really but GD hardworking, reliable, relatively efficient and loyal. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s also what I drive.
Thanks, Sam! I think in many ways, people will naturally gravitate toward the vehicles that really do suit their personalities, unless it’s like a transportation car where there’s really not much choice involved.
Always a beautiful automobile. In the last photo, my caption, “John, I finally got the power window regulator repaired.”
Haha! This reminds me that I have to go back to yesterday’s Studebaker caption post to finish reading the other entries / comments!
Very nice little article, as usual!
The clean, integrated form of this timeless Riviera will always be a welcome sight. Compared to the over wrought, tortured, non-cohesive forms slathered onto todays’ vehicles this Riv certainly is a feast for the eyes! 🙂 DFO
Thanks, Dennis! Like you, I am waiting for the pendulum to swing back to genuinely beautiful designs, versus ones that go for a strong brand identity no matter whether the end result is actually attractive. The BMW buck-teeth have reached their extreme, for one example.
I was getting ready to compliment Aaron65 on the acquisition of the wire wheel covers until I noticed the byline. The ’65 Riviera I had wore those, and I thought them quite sharp, especially before the look played itself out in the early 1980s.
My bias from experience, the Riviera interior, especially the deluxe version shown with all the options may be one of the finest ever made. Virtually no plastic, real wood trim, heavily chromed metals, extravagant without being over-the-top, just a delight to be in.
It was sort of odd (as JPC points out) that Riviera sales didn’t rival its archrival Thunderbird more closely. Probably a conspiracy of the Buick brand being rather tarnished from its heyday in the mid ’50s during the ’58-’60 model years, the Thunderbird being on a different product cycle and being all new for 1964, and, was there anyplace on the planet hotter than a Ford showroom from March 1964 through 1966?
Interiors like this were just gorgeous. Couldn’t some engineers figure out how to continue making designs like this, without resorting to an overabundance of Rubbermaid? I suppose a fairer question to ask would be why safe interiors can’t look this suave and chic.
” I’m perfectly capable of flipping my “personality switch” to the on-position when needed … ” .
As a life-long introvert and one who works best alone, turning that “personality switch” to the on position resulted in a increased level of fatigue in a short period of time (akin to driving on the interstate in second gear … in a Type 1 Beetle.)
I couldn’t keep that switch on for long; I wasn’t made that way That’s why my happiest years at work were programming computers (largely solo work except for the very beginning and the very end of a project).
Retirement… is best defined by me as never having to turn that personality switch on.
Well, maybe turning it on two or three times a year, like during Thanksgiving, Christmas, and perhaps somebody’s birthday.
PS: I too at first thought this was a post about Aaron65’s Riviera… “boy that looks great” but then, this is Tuesday, it is Joseph Dennis’ Curbside Musings day. Time to refill my coffee cup, relax, and read.
The Type 1 Beetle metaphor drives the point home! I do genuinely like being around people when I want to be, but I understand the fatigue of which you speak. I think most people around me now better understand my limits, so it’s no big shock or with no hurt feelings when I’m the first to leave the after-work mixer or someone’s social event.
I honestly believe I’m in the best line and area of work for someone like me – with just enough social interaction to make it fun and to feel included, and enough isolation where I can execute and feel good about what I got done in a day. Thank you for the food for thought, as always.
@Dennis: Evertime I see your byline on an article, I always prepare myself for some of the most interesting takes on a presentation! I, too, am one of those introverted types who was forced to “flip a switch’ to do the presentations that my former job required. I’ve also noticed that my and your musical tastes align much more than they skew, whatever that means, LOL! Keep up the geat work!! 🙂
Moparman, thank you so much. I think about how it might have seemed easier for me to flip that switch when I was younger, but I think that today, it’s just that more of my filter has worn off. Which is okay.
More cool than a vat of Aqua Velva – excellent! 🙂
They still make it, apparently! I read your comment on my lunch break and had to look this up to verify!
Ah, the days when Buick actually made cars. I miss those days. Today all they offer is 3 very bland crossovers. Give me Lesabre. Give me Park Avenue. Give me Skylark. Give me Regal. Give me Riviera. Just give customers something other than what they offer today.
I miss all of these cars you mentioned, even if I never owned any of them. Even the Skyhawk. Make mine a T-Type.
For some reason, despite sharing a similar fascination with cars going back to early childhood, I’ve never tried to think of myself as a particular make or model. Maybe that’s because I’m afraid what the result would be – like I’d conclude I’m that Camry no one wants to party with. But if I were to come up with an aspirational model – a car I’d love to resemble – it would be this Riviera. Confident, classy and well-respected. This car actually seems closer to the personification of James Bond than does an Aston Martin.
And goodness – work tasks that require superficial social interaction… my least favorite thing. Going outside of one’s comfort zone is often a good thing, but ideally done on our own terms, not our bosses’.
Eric, you had me mentally recasting Thunderball with an early Riviera (Dr. No. was probably filmed before the Riv was in dealerships). What an ultra-cool thing that might have been. Or even one of the Rat Pack movies from the ’60s.
And you said it all in that last paragraph. I like to push myself as a self-motivated thing – not because someone else wants me to. Human nature, maybe.
Being asked to do something at work that is perhaps out of your comfort zone, experience and/or training by someone (usually in authority) who says it is “easy, I’ve done it” and therefore assumes all can and want to, is an ultimately unsuccessful practice that good managers eventually learn. Some don’t though.
Interesting to read that you identify as courteous, empathic and logical – these traits are apparent in your thoughts and the marshalling of them, and can be overlooked by some the “do it, it’s easy” persuasion.
Keep up your good work!
Roger, thank you so much! I’m glad that the qualities I’ve self-perceived come through in my writing. And not specific to a work situation, but I wonder how many times in one’s life we’ll be asked to do something unpleasant by someone else who had once had to struggle with executing the same task. Food for thought.
i had one back in 1974. A friend GAVE it to me after he lost his drivers license for one year due to many speeding tickets and ‘points’ on his license. It was gray with a beige leather interior, full power and air (not working) of course. There was some rust and some minor dents, but the body was straight. I had it parked a few blocks away from where I lived, but the next day I found a cinder block somebody heaved through the windshield. I had it repaired-a hefty hundred bucks back then, and kept it for about seven more months. It was never ‘minty’, or like the photos in this article, but it was a joy to drive. I even let a girlfriend drive with her learner`s permit, and she was pretty good, but she never returned the power drivers seat to my position!
Wow! I wonder what your friend must have done in that car to incur that kind of wrath with the cinder block through the windshield! I can imagine that in ’74, when gas was being rationed and was super-expensive, it must have been tricky to keep the tank full. That’s another thing I think about with big, powerful, old cars like this. It was hard enough scraping up enough allowance money to keep the two-barrel 350 V8 in my ’76 Malibu Classic fed!
Yes, gas was getting expensive back then, but I had a friend who worked in a 24 hour Texaco gas station Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. I would hang out with him and he would sell me as much gas as I needed, so getting it was not a problem. He also had access to the lifts inside the station so I could do my own oil changes after I bought the oil and the filter. He was about 12 years older than I and he -and myself used to listen to the oldies on WCBS FM in the NY area, Brooklyn to be specific. The station closed about 10 years ago, was leveled and a medical center and a senior citizens home was built there. We still stay in touch and every time we get together, we always talk about it. Good times, good memories.
That’s all amazing stuff. I don’t know that (in your shoes) if I’d want to see the medical center standing where the Texaco used to be, but those are some great memories to have. So great that the friendship (and the music) lives on.
So much to unpack here. Agree with the early Riviera being an aspirational vehicle and one I like very much. Paul mentions above that the Gran Prix was a direct competitor, but Pontiacs always seemed louder and more expressive than I would feel comfortable being. The Buick is more what I would aspire to be – calm, cool, classy, and smooth – I may not be there on all counts, even on my best days, but the Riv is a good role model.
As far as switching into sales mode, I too have an on/off switch, but I grow exhausted being “on” for too long, because it’s something that doesn’t come naturally. In a calmer mode, I like to play the role of the competent professional with a point of view that is borne of experience and empirical evidence. I’m not sure what that translates to automotively speaking, but I’m pretty confident that no current Buick would be a match!
In a calmer mode, I like to play the role of the competent professional with a point of view that is borne of experience and empirical evidence.
*This* is ultimately what I aspire toward – beautifully stated. I like what I do, but when it comes to sales calls, I’m comfortable in a supporting role alongside the person who is paid to actually do that job. And then we both shine.
Ah, personality switches and comfort zones. Takes me back to high school.
I think it was Form Three/Year Nine. We had to do a talk on some current event. For me that was like being pushed through the gates of hell. The class I was in was full of bullies, and I was the stereotypical, bumble-footed genius. Not a 98lb weakling, because I was a bit of a fatty even in those days, but you get the idea. talking in public with my stutter was hard enough, but in front of that mob? The teacher eventually took pity on me, and although I still had to give a talk, I could choose whatever topic I was comfortable with. Bingo! Car design from 1930 to 1960. Illustrated by half a dozen models I’d built, naturally. Totally un-shy, I proceeded to give the talk without stammering, without notes, because it was such a fascinating topic I knew so well.
Cue one astonished cute blonde: “Did you actually make those?” 🙂 Of course I was too shy to follow through. The tough guys looked at me in a different light; I knew something about a topic they could relate to, something worthwhile. No more bullying after that, now that I think about it.
My personality switched around so many times over the years since that I pretty much lost myself (which was the real me?) and became something of a chameleon, but have now settled down. Introvert, except at writing group, where I’m among like-minded friends and feel safe to open up a little.
I might not have a ’64 Riviera (and didn’t back then), but could I interest you in a ’65?
Peter, your story is proof positive that everyone should recognize their unique gifts, and also that being able to speak with authority on the things we genuinely care and know about will always command a certain level of respect. You won! “Vote for Pedro!” (Napoleon Dynamite reference.)
I have a die cast model of a ’65 Riviera (gold in color) that’s part of my living room decor. It doesn’t have those fabulous wide whitewall tires like your nice example, but it certainly goes with the midcentury vibe in here.
Yes, those whites are way oversize, but I didn’t realize that back when I painted them on. 🙂
For some reason, I’ve never really tried to think of myself as a car. I’m not sure why, since this seems otherwise to be exactly the sort of thing I’d endlessly try to work out.
So without giving it a lot of thought, I’d say that a green first generation Riviera would be hard to beat.
Apparently that’s also what the lady in your last picture is thinking as she seems to have unwholesome thoughts about that car’s door card.
Jeff, that last brochure photo definitely seems like something out of Mad Men. It must have been the martinis.
I just shared this in another post, from my father’s Esso days.
Terrific shot, Tom! Love that the Esso Tiger was present. For years, I had never known that “Esso” stood for “S. O.”, or “Standard Oil”.
I fully empathized with that image of yourself personalizing a car. As a kid, I’d sit down in an armchair with a cookie jar lid, about 10 inches in diameter, and drive. I had “mastered” all kinds of cars, trucks and buses, or so I thought. As we had two armchairs side by side, I could also drive on the left….I spent much more time of grammar school doing that than I’d admit.
But, while you, Joe, and so many others thought of yourselves as luxury coupes, I think I, as a quite insecure kid, would have wrapped myself in a Checker Marathon, fully equipped with all creature comforts, to be strong and well isolated from whatever came my way.
That’s awesome. I don’t remember La-Z-Boy driving (i.e. at my grandparents’ house), but that sounds just like the kind of imaginative thing I would have enjoyed.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the solid armor of a Checker Marathon. Many of us learned to grow thicker skin / sheetmetal through a variety of life experiences.