I had sat down to write this on Friday, just two days before Father’s Day. There was a combination of semi-recent events that had contributed to my selection of today’s featured car, including that the vehicle I had always associated most closely with my father was another yellow Plymouth from this era, a ’71 Duster. I had profiled that car here at Curbside Classic all the way back in June of 2015, but this essay isn’t a rewrite of that one. Almost fifteen years ago, I was back in Fort Myers, Florida a bit earlier than normal for the December holidays, as my dad was nearing the end of his time on this earth. Significantly older than my mom, he was by then an octogenarian and his health was fading fast. It was during this time of my own uncertainty and inability to fully process my feelings about all of this that I had found a certain car-based website on my company-issue qwerty Blackberry with trackball. That site wasn’t Curbside Classic. That discovery would come only a short while later.
Things were bleak at the house. My dad was in and out of coherent thought and speech, spending most of his time in the hospital bed that had been installed in the screened-in back porch where I had lived about thirteen years prior when I had taken a year off from college. While I understood that I had a limited amount of time left with my dad and wanted to make the most of it, I also seriously needed breaks from everyone and everything. Once I had sensed that things were basically done for the day and the music and Bible readings had stopped, I’d take a set of house keys and my MP3 player and would walk through the neighborhood to a small shopping center complex called the Bell Tower Shops, where there was a TGI Friday’s restaurant amid the upscale retail stores. I wouldn’t go there to eat, but rather to take advantage of their specials on martinis and appetizers. Out of respect for my family and everything going on at the house, there was no way I was going to be loudly shaking up a batch of Manhattans in the kitchen.
The ’72 Duster above was similar to the ’71 my dad drove almost exclusively when I was young.
I would sit at the bar, making friendly chit-chat with my server as I’d sip on cold, stiff, delicious cocktails that somehow made me feel like more of an adult and in control of at least a few aspects of my life in those moments. (For the record, I wouldn’t trade my four years of sobriety for anything.) However, once I got to the Ate Up With Motor website, I was soon completely and utterly engrossed. There were hourlong stretches I would spend reading at that restaurant in the evening that passed like nothing. My absorption in that site would often continue when I got back to the house, with a small desk lamp perched on a bookcase that acted as a headboard providing me with just enough light to keep me from straining my eyes. It wasn’t just the photography or the clever bylines. These articles at AUWM were (and are) academic-grade, in-depth reading about the genesis, development, and history of an entire library of individual car models that had long fascinated me.
The discovery of AUWM was akin to having been gifted my very first copy of The Encyclopedia Of American Cars by the editors of Consumer Guide when I was thirteen. The Pontiac Fiero. The AMC Gremlin and 1974 – ’78 Matador Coupe. Even the Pontiac Banshee show car made an appearance, likely in an article about the origins of the Firebird. At a time when dire circumstances around my father were adversely triggering not only me but everyone else in my family of origin, the AUWM site gave me a much-needed diversion, and site founder Aaron Severson, through his entertaining and engaging style of presenting factual data, had felt almost like a friend. That site buoyed me tremendously at a time when I really needed it, and I thank him very sincerely.
I took these pictures of our featured car the day after my father had passed away, while walking to that same TGI Friday’s. Though I felt present at the time, there was a part of me that was so busy worrying about how everyone else was doing that I’m sure there were some subconscious things at work with some of my choices in those days immediately after Dad died. Here was a ’73 (or ’74) Plymouth Road Runner in a shade of yellow similar to that of my dad’s old Duster, from one of the final two years it was offered as an option package for the Satellite before becoming part of the “small Fury” line for ’75 (and as a compact Volaré from ’76 through 1980). Just over 19,000 were built for ’73, with another 11,600 made for ’74. These sales figures were a far cry from the 84,400 sold for ’69 when the Road Runner, then its own model, had won the Motor Trend Car Of The Year award.
Other numbers reflected the times. According to my Encyclopedia Of American Cars, the base engine in a ’73 Road Runner was a 340 four-barrel V8 with 240 horsepower, but the factory brochure shows that a 318 V8 with dual exhausts (and 170 horsepower, according to the internet) was standard. The top engine option was a 440 four-barrel rated at 285 horsepower for ’73 and 275 hp for ’74. The condition of this particular car also reminded me of my father in his then-current state, and also of his and my relationship. My dad had always seemed like a mentally strong, cognitively bright, genuinely empathic person who loved teaching at the university and really wanted to help others maximize their potential. His students, coworkers, and fellow faculty, staff, church members, and many others loved him. He was the real deal – a great listener, analytical thinker, cool head, calming presence, and easy to love.
At home, however, the man I often got was my mother’s passive enabler who basically let her handle everything the way she wanted, with Dad probably just wanting to keep the peace at any cost. I’m sure there were racial dynamics at play under the surface in the relationship between my sub-Saharan African father and white American mother, things that probably won’t ever be discussed with the frankness and honesty they deserve. Things were what they were, and my radical acceptance of my experiences of unhealthy family enmeshment have helped free the adult me to just be. Thinking about some of the letters Dad had written me occasionally after I had moved away, it seems apparent that he had wanted to bridge our gap, but that maybe he just didn’t know the best way to go about it. I look at this Road Runner in its dented, rusty state from almost fifteen years ago, and recognize that despite its myriad imperfections, it was of much greater worth than would be apparent at first glance. Just like my complicated relationship with my late father.
Ft. Myers, Florida.
December 2009.
Brochure pages were as sourced from www.oldcarbrochures.org.
Relationships between father and son can indeed be complex, and for those of us here, our father’s cars can form lasting associations with their long-ago owners.
This was a touching remembrance of your father from a difficult time, so thank you for sharing it with us here.
Thank you, JP. I’ve been on something of a ’70s Mopar kick lately, as a local estate sale shop has had available many 1/18 scale models of classic Chrysler Corporation products, at discount prices. I always have my eyes peeled for a Duster like the one my dad drove, but so far I’ve picked up a couple of ’70 Cudas, a ’69 Road Runner, and a ’69 Barracuda fastback. My earliest memories of cars in the driveway were of Plymouths.
Fathers and sons are a tricky thing, you at least don’t hate nor fear him .
-Nate
Nate, all of what you say is and was true of my dad. Thanks.
I have endevoured to be a different Dad to my boys than mine was to me. Him and I did have a gap between us, and you have articulated yours with your Dad quite well Joseph. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks so much, Moparlee. My observation of generational changes is one of a swinging pendulum. I do believe it is possible to stabilize in course correction instead of going too far in the opposite direction, if a parent is intentional about it. I say this as a nonparent and completely as a theory.
Thanks for sharing this very personal remembrance, Joseph. Both of my parents have been gone for almost twenty years. My Mom had poor health for many years, and it wasn’t a surprise, but an inevitability, that I watched play out over the years. She passed away almost five years before my Dad, who was in much better health. It was during this time that I really got to know my Dad. I’d visit several times a week and we’d spend hours discussing a wide range of subjects, he had a great curiosity about the world. He was mostly self educated, taught himself English, auto mechanics, and electronics in the 50’s and ’60’s. He was the ultimate DIY guy. He would read books and articles from the encyclopedia to gain a basic understanding of a variety of subjects. He was an even tempered, easy going man, very concerned with his family, and a fierce advocate for my Mom as her life neared it’s end. Unfortunately, a series of unexpected events, led to his death.
As a father of three kids, I’d realized a lot of empathy with him in my 40’s and ’50’s. I also realized that there were areas that he wouldn’t share with me, I recognize that with my own family. As I said in his eulogy, I knew him as my Father, but as a kid I never realized that he had a life of his own until I found myself in the same role.
I can empathize with the need to take a break from all the tension, stress, and drama. The surviving family has to take care of themselves at this very tense and emotional time.
Thank you, Jose. And I like that you referenced the having gotten to know your dad better after having lost your mom. I’ll bet you remember those times with great fondness. And what you say at the end is absolutely true about the necessity of self-care during those tough times experiences along with other family.
Wow Joe – as usual, an article from you that uses a vehicle as the starting point for other musings. It sounds like your father was a wonderful, if flawed, man.
I lost my father in childhood and am looking at a photo of him on my desk as I am writing this. I was with him as he passed and miss him hugely, even all these years later. He was a really lovely guy – and wonder how different life would have been had he survived into my adulthood. I am very conscious of trying to be a good father to my nearly 8 year old son, even though I spend so much time absent from him on a different continent due to work. I don’t want to be the dad in Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s In The Cradle” and try to make the time we spend together really count. Luckily we have some shared interests such as mountainbiking and cars.
BTW I came to CC via TTAC and found AUWM through here. Aaron’s site is wonderful, so well researched and wonderfully written.
Thank you, Huey. It must have been so hard to lose your dad at such a young age. It’s great that it sounds like you have an intentional approach in the time you spend with your son.
I honestly don’t remember how I came to CC. I used to think it was from TTAC, but I don’t think that was it. I used to read a bunch of different car sites on my commutes into work. It might have even been a comment on a thread from Car Lust Blog from back in the late ’00s. At any rate, I’m so glad to be a part of the CC family.
Great article! I too remember my father- a great man who was flawed but such a good example that has shaped my life. He bought new in 1972 a AMC Javelin AMX, and was roundly mocked for htis at the time. But looking back, it was a solid, pleasant car and a beauty. I miss him and the car and those times very much.
Thanks, Scott, and I feel something like what you said about my own father. I’ve come to recognize a lot of him in myself as it relates to how he interacted with people and wanted to see good in them, and foster that.
As far as the Javelin (one of my favorite cars of all time), it’s hard for me to get the proper perspective on how they could ever be mocked, in either generation. Was the “AMC stigma” still that pervasive on a car that undoubtedly cool? By the time they were on second or third owners when I was a kid, they gave up nothing in coolness to same-vintage Mustangs and the like.
Thank you Joe for the essay. As most here have commented, it’s complex. And at least in my own experience, after 26 years it’s not really gotten any less complex.
I’ll echo Moparlee’s statement about trying to be a different Dad to my own sons. I guess that remains to be seen, but all one can do is to try to go onward and upward.
Thanks, Jeff. I honestly believe that trying to recognize different ways of doing things in a parental role, and being deliberate about it – just trying – automatically gets bonus points. I think the real tragedy is when generational issues simply get passed down with no real effort to try to understand or change the cycle. I hope you (and everyone) had a good Father’s Day.
Thanks Joe.
I normally wouldn’t go there, as I avoid stereotypes, but certain cultural traits are real and powerful. I had a couple with two older kids (one heading to college, the other in HS) move into one of my houses about 16 months ago. She is white, and was a familiar name, as I had heard her do the local news on our NPR station here for years. Her partner was a fair bit older, and originally from Africa, with an accent and a very calm and respectful demeanor. She did all the talking and seemed very much the one in charge.
They each paid half the rent; when hers started not getting paid last summer, I warned them of possible consequences. He then contacted me, asking to see me in person. He explained that she had long had a controlled drug issue, but that it suddenly blew up. She would be gone for days at a time, come home just to shower and sleep, then be gone again. She refused to interact with him and the kids. He was utterly befuddled and rather devastated by this; nothing in his background and cultural roots prepared him for something like this. Family is obviously an exceptionally powerful bond in his culture, along with respect for older male heads of households. She was utterly destroying his sense of how things should be. And now here he was paying all the rent and having to let her come and go in this very bad condition.
Due to our rent laws, it was a bit tricky getting her out of the house legally, but I finally figured out a strategy and hoped she wouldn’t try to challenge it. It worked, and he’s staying on with his son, and things are settled down. But like your dad (to one extent or another) it was clear that he too had been in denial about serious issues in their relationship, and that the whole relationship dynamic is one that he was enabling in order to maintain an appearance of normalcy. She was anything but.
He’s a lovely man, and I’m glad to have gotten to know him and be able to support him through this challenging situation.
Paul, thank you for this, and I appreciate your insights also as they relate to the situation you described. There are definitely a few, general parallels or things I can recognize in my own situation. First, I really hope for the best for your tenants in what sounds like a tenuous situation for all, including the mom who I hope gets the help that it sounds like she probably needs.
I was jealous as a kid of all attention my dad’s students got from him, and I just couldn’t understand why that wasn’t my experience of him at home. Was I not good enough, etc. Later and as I got older and as family dysfunction started to manifest itself more clearly, I started to wonder if my dad just gave his work and the people in his work life all that love simply because he *could* and was allowed to do so without compromise. I know my dad loved me, and hopefully, my mom (when she was able, at times) saw me as more than just a source of narcissistic supply. The learning process for me has been to learn to disengage from that role and see myself as my own man and not a part of the Dennis family “super-self”.
That, therapy, and being able to write and photograph things (both on my own and as shared here) have all contributed immeasurably to my healing in adulthood. So, as far as CC goes, I also thank you for giving me that chance.
What you wrote above that your mom saw you as “a source of narcissistic supply” is a great description of how some parents regard their offspring. I remember my mom refusing to come to my degree show, as she didn’t really like what I had chosen to do. Anything that was to do with industry in the UK was seen as worthless compared to the legal, finance or medical professions – socially unworthy and paid accordingly, which is why I left for Germany. I became more acceptable when I worked for Porsche and appeared home in nice shiny 911s. She came from a dirt poor (no inside plumbing) mining background and was very determined and strong, being widowed quite early and doing 3 jobs to keep us afloat. She was great to her friends and definitely loved me, even if she didn’t like me.
I am very luck to have ayoung son that I not only love unconditionally, but like intensely, too – he is a smart, humorous and creative little guy that I love spending time with. i am in no way a perfect, or even great parent, but try to let him know how much I respect him.
Your writing and that of others on this site that use cars as starting off points to tells more personal stories is inspiring – maybe I’ll start assembling a sort of history I can give to my son as a momento – a DOAL (Designs Of A Lifetime)?
Huey, thank you again, and I think your DOAL idea is a great idea – both for your son and for yourself. And one can’t fake genuine love, so it’s my hope that your son feels all of that from you! There is something very positive to be said for the quality of time spent together.
It’s also true that narcissistic parents often look to the accomplishments and qualities of their children as something they can use with others to point back to themselves as something they can try to take credit for. I remember years ago having shared some of my Curbside Classic posts with my mother, who was also trying to do a blog to paint herself and experiences a certain way. One particular time, all she could say to me was, “Wow. Your post got more comments than mine.”.That’s her in a nutshell. (Dad would have cared about what I was actually saying in that essay.)
She experienced racial horrors from her family of origin after getting with my dad, and that sucks. It affected her deeply, but she also had responsibilities to the rest of us. Her situation was neither my fault nor my responsibility to fix. I’ll say it again: Therapy saves lives.
I’d recommend YouTube videos from Dr. Ramani and Dr. Jerry Wise for anyone in the process of healing from narcissistic abuse.
A few years ago I found one of the Dad’s Logs, at Barnes and Nobles. These books have a series of questions and a space to write an answer. I thought that this might be a good idea. After my Dad was gone, I realized that there were things that I would have liked to ask him about but I never did. Not that he would have written the responses out! I bought one of those Dad books and used the questions as starting points and wrote the responses down in a blank log book. It took a volume and a half!
I wrote it with my family in mind, I’ve encouraged them to read it, but sad to say, younger people don’t like to read “books” like my generation did, and does. But I’m glad that I wrote it all down. At least there’s a record.
Jose, the Dad Book is a brilliant idea and it’s great that you found one and completed one. I think many people should do such a thing, not just fathers. Just to be able to know that record of the details of your life have been out to pen and paper (whether literally or figuratively) must give a great sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. It would for me, anyway. There are so many holes iny understanding of not only my dad’s but also my maternal grandparents. I’m at peace with that, but certain things would have been good to know.
Great tip, Jose – I’ll look at that!
Joseph, thank you. My father passed in 2005, and while our family struggled with many race/ethnic/cultural/age differences, the issue at hand was that my father (and mother, and myself) are/were on the spectrum. I could never understand their detachment until I had my own child and I struggle. My father did not care to have a car that was “status”. He cared that he could fix it in his driveway. One of those cars was a used, beat up 1963 Impala SS, 327-300 with a 2 speed power glide. He maintained that car like he always did with everything, meticulous and exacting. He always had me out with him, teaching me the why instead of juat the how, showing me proper use and care of tools, how to log repairs and costs. He created a deep passion in me about autos, from pedestrian to sublime, without him even knowing it. From the position of hindsight, he gave me the best love he knew how. Your essay brought all of that into focus. Thanks again for a great Father’s day present!
Thomas, thank you for sharing this. There is so much more autism awareness today, and while I don’t have any immediate family members on the spectrum, I have family-by-choice whose kids are. Just having that knowledge of how that can play into relationships must be freeing, no matter where one falls on the spectrum.
To have that car connection with your late father sounds like such a a wonderful thing, and I suspect that more than a handful of readers had their car fandom start with experiences with their dads.
I missed out on this with my dad. He would have loved it and been such a good – teacher – he maintained RR Merlins and the aircraft they went in, so old Triumphs would have been a doddle. I hope to live long enough to work on my old heaps with my son, not that I’m that great of a mechanic. He’s decided he wants to build a VW rat rod or beach buggy with me – he’s only 7, so that may change. In the meantime I have shown him how to maintain and adjust our bikes, which is a start…
Joseph — thanks for the kind words. I really appreciate them!
I thank *you*. You don’t understand.