Oh, for Days of Shrouded Mystery

Hey, car lovers, are you old enough to remember when the new year models were kept under wraps? When trucks transported Detroit’s shiny new objects of affection, they would be shrouded, heightening anticipation beyond our wildest dreams. Being a Court House lad limited the selections to basically two dealerships, Burke Motors, at Shellbay Avenue and Route 9, in the space now occupied by a Cape Bank building and Billy Bob’s Car Wash, and Kindle Ford, at Hand Avenue and Route 9, now empty except for an antique car. Both relocated to Stone Harbor Boulevard with hundreds of the latest offerings not only from Detroit but around the globe.
Back then, both were of sufficient interest to make the neighborhood lads (I don’t think girls cared much about cars then) wonder what fins and flashiness could be expected on the new V-8-powered models.
Who could imagine what those 1958 Fairlanes would look like? Or what about those snazzy Chevy Delrays or Impalas, aerodynamically shaped with heart-throbbing dual headlights in the style of the day?
Like so much of this modern age, there’s little pizzazz around new cars except at big metro car shows where buxom lasses in tight skirts draw away attention from the flashiest motor cars. Seems they introduce the next year’s cars before we even get used to writing the New Year’s date on checks. Heck, by September, who cares about next year?
In a world where some retailers are preparing to display their Christmas merchandise before we wave the flags for good old Christopher Columbus, should we give a hoot about new cars in the fall? Well, yes. It was part of our national pastime now gone awry. I, for one, miss the big deal made about next year’s models. It gave us reason to dream and maybe wonder if it wasn’t time for a new chariot.
All that seems to brood on the nation’s collective mind in early September is that NFL games are broadcast Sunday and Monday, or that Syria is seemingly “waiting for dad to get home and give ‘em a lickin’.” No one wants another war, especially the guys and gals who would have to fight, oh that’s right, this would not be a war, and time it would be a nice “surgical strike.” No one gets killed by them but bad guys, or so we are led to believe. Hence we need that new car “fix” for a national distraction.
If we had more to salivate over regarding Detroit’s newest cars and trucks now, we’d be less likely to care about all that other stuff. Oh, forget that nasty worry about gas for those cars and pick-em up trucks, it’ll surely come from somewhere.
During our recent chat with U.S. Frank LoBiondo (R-2nd), I asked him why he opposed drilling for oil and gas off the coast here if it would chop our need for foreign oil. That black gold only bankrolls those who loathe everything about us except our loot. My thought, keep it in country and we’d all be better served.
LoBiondo’s reply was more circumspect than my query. He noted this great nation has vast supplies of petroleum, enormous supplies of coal, and proximity (oh, Canada, how we love ye!) to oil owned by an actual FRIEND of the good old U.S.A. And you know we can count our pals on one hand and still have enough left to grip a chicken leg.
For all those reasons, the good congressman asked why risk an oil spill that would taint the only act in town – tourism ¬– for a few barrels of oil? He even reminded me of that time when he was newly elected, and there was a “minor” oil spill in the Delaware Bay. Tar balls flopped upon the fair shining sands of Cape May County and Philadelphia TV stations (always wont to smear this fair peninsula with mud anyway) gleefully reported the mess and its impact on perspiring locals. Area chambers of commerce sweated bullets as phones rang off the hook just before the all-important Memorial Day Weekend to cancel room reservations or inquire about the truth of tar balls in the surf.
Gosh, that was awful, and it took Frank LoBiondo to revive those dark memories. His point was well taken. We then began to wonder about the collective mindset that has turned the nation against virtually every source of energy except sun and wind. Oh heck, I forgot, wind turbines can’t be erected along the seashore because migrating birds have an affinity to fly straight into them and meet their maker. OK, that leaves sun. Surely something ill will be uncovered about that subject some fine day.
While technology has improved coal-burning facilities, environmental regulations have made coal the veritable red-haired stepchild. Look at the B.L. England Generating Station, which burned coal, and has plans to use natural gas to meet environmental rules. While South Jersey Gas attempts to get approval to run a pipeline, the environmental corps ganged up on the notion as being worse than ants on a wedding cake. So tell us, what is acceptable? Give up all gadgets that rely on “the grid?” That would make ‘em grin for sure.
Maybe it is time for some whiz kid in Detroit, or even someone in Paw Paw, W. Va. (population 508) to invent a wood-burning car that would require nothing other than wood and cow chips to speed along the interstates. That way, no one could throw darts, and we would still be able to envy those racy, shiny objects of affection.
A thought just crossed my mind; I believe I heard Billy Graham mention it. There are two tragedies in life, not getting what you want and getting what you want. If we get more environmentally-friendly cars, will they be so friendly they won’t burn anything, because there will be so many all will be parked bumper to bumper?
Think Garden State Parkway north on Labor Day Weekend in Court House. I know, I know, that will all change in two years when the overpasses are done, but what about those daily travel camera photos of traffic jams in Philly or Atlanta? All those shiny new cars, with everything from guidance systems to chilling seats, and everyone is sitting there going nowhere.
That is where we are headed, all en route down that merrie path in a hand basket. Don’t despair or weep, even though it’s illegal as bootleg whisky, we will still be able to chat on our cell phones as we drive. Oh, if only I had a buck for every person I see chatting as they drive on forbidden hand-held phones, why, I’d be rich enough to drive one of those 2014 objects of affection…and pay cash for it.