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Wednesday didn’t start well. When lunchtime rolled around, I closed my laptop, threw on my jacket and stepped out into the sunlight. I squinted in the bright sun. Cars drove by. I looked towards the waterfront, then the Bay Bridge, over to Alcatraz, then back at the city. Coit Tower and the Transamerica Building watched from afar.
The fresh air felt good. It always does. The waterfront was more alive than I would have expected on a Wednesday afternoon. No time for that. I cut over to the side streets and weaved between brick warehouses, now repurposed for contemporary uses. I was thinking about everything—and nothing—when I rounded the corner. You know how this story goes.
There, right in front of me, was a mid-’60s Chrysler. Parallel parked and painted Forrest Green, it looked like it was meant to be there. It was a driver. Original black plates, white vinyl top, and a healthy helping of rust that only the San Francisco fog can create.
The more I looked, the more I liked. The white interior. The loooong trim. The quad headlights up front and the fender skirts out back. I approached it slowly, as if it were some sort of slumbering beast. I studied its dented front fender and the rock chips on the hood. This car has lived a lot of life in the past 50+ years, and I feel for it—dents, scrapes, rust and all.
As I walked by, I ran my hand along the top of the passenger side fender, making sure not to scratch anything. When I got to the headlight eyebrow, I gave the car a gentle pat. “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “It really is.”
***
Seeing that car—a daily driven mid-century Mopar—was the highlight of my day. Maybe it’s just how I’m wired, but seeing an old car will always bring a smile to my face. These cars make it through the toughest of times, and I’m grateful every time I see them in the wild.
—Joey Ukrop
Note: the aforementioned car was not a hot rod or custom, so I subbed in some Jo-Han model box art from our friends at Model Roundup.
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