The Idiots of Seville

I was surfing through my music library the other day, when I came across, "Love is Life" by a Brit-Club music band called Candyflip. The music lives up to the band's name, and has a very trippy-sounding, semi-House feel to it.

It's not really what I'm into anymore, but throughout 1990-1992 year, my friend Vinnie and I used to play that album constantly!

We loved it because the bass used to travel throughout the interior of Vinnie's car, and we'd put the windows down and crank up the music wherever we went. In hindsight, it's no wonder neither of us got laid back then.

So while our music wasn't particularly appealing, the third part of our trio was - a 1976 Cadillac Seville.

Vinnie had assumed ownership of it during his Sophomore year in high school. It had belonged to his grandparents, who had purchased it brand-new in 1975 and loaded it with every option. It was finished in white with a blue vinyl top and plush blue Velour interior. Once his grandmother became too old to drive, she passed it along to Vinnie. It had a grand total of 31,000 miles on it when Vinnie got his hands on it, and had probably never traveled over 40mph. Vinnie and I changed all that.

In 1976, Cadillac released the Seville model as a top-of-the-line model (it actually cost more than the 1976 Eldorado) aimed towards the impending fuel and emissions problems that plagued American carmakers in the mid-'70s. Nevertheless, GM stylist Bill Mitchell (famous for the initial look of the Corvette Sting Rays and 1960s-era GMs) designed a wonderfully-proportioned 4-door sedan that gently sloped towards the rear, arguably later copied by the current Rolls Royce Phantom.

It featured an Oldsmobile-sourced 350ci small block V8 with a Bendix electronic fuel injection, all backed up by a TH400 automatic transmission and either a 2.56 or optional 3.08 rear end. The whole thing was good for 180hp and 275 lb-ft of torque just off idle. The torque came in handy, as it was required to lug around two idiots, a CD player, and 4300lbs of vehicle!

Despite its seemingly lack of performance numbers, Vinnie drove all four doors off that car. We'd hustle it down narrow, twisty back roads like it was a sports car. It would cruise from stoplight to stoplight like it was it's job. And we discovered that it would glide along for many, many miles of highway at speeds that buried at least one gauge needle in the process.

It's certainly a good thing that neither one of us knew anything about cars, because we'd sit and fantasize about fiberglass body panels, a roller cam, and some wicked twin-turbo setup we'd somehow find on a junked Callaway Corvette. We could dream with the best of them!

Unfortunately, it was a bad thing that neither one of us knew anything about cars, because the car proved to be very unreliable. The aging electrical system seemed to throw fits, whether it was an oddball accessory that was shorting out, or the alternator burning out again.

After a few years of investing a small fortune into the Seville, Vinnie's parents suggested he get rid of the car. He ended up with a used, 4-cylinder '92 Mustang notchback (ironically in the same color combination as the Seville). We both cried when he traded in the Caddy.

I still occasionally come across one of those boxy Sevilles, and the memories of those days of my youth become numerous enough to have filled the car's ginormous trunk. I just don't think anyone who owns one ever plays anything as cool as Candyflip.

Photo from OrlandoClassicCars.com

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Bench Racing, and Other Great Lies #3

Everyone knows what a great paint job looks like, right? It's the one that's done by a master painter; the car gleams from a block away, and the paint looks to be 20 feet deep when you stare at the fender in the sunlight. But what if that master painter were to masterfully do a poor paint job?

This is that story.

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One afternoon many years ago, I stopped by a body shop that belonged to friends of mine. It was always a lot of fun to drop in and see what they were up to. Their specialty was hot rods, restorations, and customs, but like most body shops, their bread-and-butter business was repair work.

On this day, I arrived to find a late '80s Cadillac Coupe DeVille. It was obvious to anyone that this car had never been waxed, much less washed, and its light blue paint was shredded. "What's this in for?" I asked.

"We fixed the bodywork on it. The guy hit a guard rail," I was told.

A guardrail??? He must have just tapped it, right?

"No way - he wiped out the whole driver's side!"

"Impossible," I thought. "There's not a scratch on this old beater."

But sure enough, the driver had spun in the rain, smacked the guardrail with the entire left side of the car, and had came close to totaling the vehicle. The shop had replaced the bent sheet metal, and repainted the car. "What did you do, find used blue parts for it?"

I got an annoyed look. "No, dumbass. I painted it."

As it turned out, the same painting master who I had seen lay down some of the most beautiful laquers and acrylics (and the most gorgeous flames you'll ever see) had worked his magic on the old beater Caddy. He'd mixed the original blue color, then added some clear and silver into it. Then adjusted the nozzle on the paint sprayer, and stood four feet away from the car and "misted" the paint onto the body.

The result was a perfect impersonation of an unwaxed and unwashed old blue Cadillac. "If I'd have done it right, there would have been a shiny side, and this awful side. It would have looked like shit!"

And that's why he's a master.


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Driving Music - "You Really Got Me"

One thing that I really miss about the current stereo setup in my car is that I don't have iPod connectivity (yet). As a result, I'm still stuck with channel surfing through radio stations, trying to find that great playlist that usually ends up being mediocre with long commercial segments in-between.

Occasionally, though, you get a real gem in the mix. You know it instantly because your pulse unconsciously starts to race, you reach for the volume knob, and no matter the weather outside, the windows get put down and you belt out the lyrics. It turns you back into that wild-eyed 17 year old, doesn't it? Sure it does. No need to deny it, or be ashamed of it.

So what was my song the other night? The old Kinks song, "You Really Got Me", as done by Van Halen. Granted, the original was a great song, but there's something about Eddie Van Halen's feedback-heavy guitar, Alex Van Halen's drumming, Michael Anthony's thundering bass, and the over-the-top vocal ownership that can only come from David Lee Roth that makes the adrenaline rush through me whenever this song comes on the radio.

Back in 1996, Nissan licensed this particular version for a TV commercial featuring their flagship 300ZX twin turbo. By then, the writing was on the wall for the car's demise, but Nissan hired ad firm TBWA Chiat/Day North America, who jumped on the popularity of the "Toy Story" movie (released in November, 1995), and made a farewell commercial for the car. 

The spot featured a G.I. Joe type of toy who speeds across the playroom in a red, remote-control 300ZX turbo. He eventually steals the heart of a Barbie-esque doll, who descends from her Malibu beach house and zips away with Joe in the Z, her boyfriend looking on in horror. "Oh no no NOOOOOO!!" wails David Lee Roth as Eddie hammers away at the neck of his Music Man guitar. 

It's still one of my favorite commercials, and it's one of those pieces of film that I think of whenever I hear that song. Fortunately, it wasn't ruined for me like Cadillac did with "Rock 'n' Roll" by Led Zeppelin. I suppose it's the combination of a really great piece of music, and a car that was truly timeless in its design. To this day, I still stand in awe when I see a 1990-1996 300ZX coupe. 

Should I ever be fortunate enough to drive one, rest assured I plan on popping some Van Halen into the CD player. But sorry, Barbie. I'm already hitched.

When Cadillac was king

I met my friend Bob about five years ago while working at the motorcycle shop. He's a wonderfully unassuming, yet classy gentleman who's been around cars and motorcycles (and boats and planes) his whole life. But one of his endearing (and admirable) qualities is his great attention to detail. When making repairs, he's very particular, and everything is done carefully in proper sequence.

This, of course, makes him the perfect one to own and care for some fine machinery.

One of the vehicles he owns is a 1931 Cadillac All-Season sedan. Now, this isn't just any old Cadillac. It's fully restored. It's a Pebble Beach class winner. And it's one of only 4,067 chassis that came with Cadillac's V16 engine.

From 1930-1940, at the height of The Great Depression, Cadillac introduced it's most powerful, most expensive car ever: the Cadillac Series 452. At the time, Cadillacs were available in V8, V12, and now a V16 configuration. Rumor has it that Cadillac heard Packard was developing a new V12 in the late 1920s, and waited until after Packard released the V12 to launch their own V16, and steal Packard's marketing thunder.

GM's design chief, Harley Earl (arguably the father of "tail fins" which appeared on cars in the 1950s),wanted GM to build a car in the same fashion as European cars of the time. When you purchased a new Cadillac, you purchased the chassis and engine. Then, you were given a choice of 10 body styles, and dealers had an additional 30 design sketches that buyers could choose. Colors were to the buyer's tastes. Today, the Cadillac/LaSalle club estimates there were over 70 different body configurations that buyers could choose!

The first two years saw a production of nearly 3,000 cars, then production dropped off sharply. In 1935 and 1936, only 50 cars each year were built. From 1930-1937, the V16 was an overhead valve, 452ci behemoth, and looks much like two straight-eights side by side. By 1938, Cadillac went to a smaller 431 engine, which had a wider V to the cylinders, along with a flathead-style cylinder head design (and dual everything). All of which made for a smoother engine that still put out the same power as the previous one.

Bob's 1931 is an All-Weather sedan, which means it is a four-door convertible. There is even a glass divider window between the front and rear seats. It is a late Fleetwood body, which is easily recognizable by it's v-shaped split windshield (Fisher-bodied cars have a flat, one-piece window). It weighs nearly three tons, and is larger than most Ryder trucks. But it is loaded up with chrome, and is a polarizingly beautiful automobile. I say "automobile", because calling it a "car" would be an insult to such a fine machine!

So several weeks ago, I got a call from Bob. He'd been invited to bring the Cadillac to a private car show, and asked if I wanted to ride along. I said "yes" instantaneously, figuring whatever else might be on the calendar could be blown off.

Early on a Saturday morning, his Corvette rumbled up my driveway in the darkness, and we sped off into the dawn sunrise towards the car's storage facility.

Upon arrival, we parked the 'Vette, and stood there in the chilly pre-dawn light staring at a white garage door. The door rolled open, and there sat the Cadillac. In the darkness of the garage, I could only make out the chrome details which sparkled like the jewelry it was intended to be. Bob got behind the wheel, and the slowest starter I'd ever heard turned over the massive crankshaft. The engine came to life, and 16 cylinders of power forced their exhaust gasses into the morning with authority.

As the car backed out of the garage, I stood there staring at it nearly breathless. The car was stunning in it's dark blue and silver paint, wide white wall tires and perfect chrome details. By today's standards, it's an antique. I can only imagine how it looked to a young car enthusiast when it was new in 1931. Eighty years later, it'll still melts the heart of nearly anyone who lays an eye upon it.

I opened the suicide-style front door and climbed in over the chrome and polished wood running boards. Once inside, you sit on a springy bench seat covered in silvery leather. The dash board is a gorgeous piece of machine-turned metal, which houses eight gauges done in art-deco font. You'd be happy to hang it on your wall as art. A little to the left is a massive ivory steering wheel with levers to adjust fuel, idle and choke. And if you can pry your eyes away from the beauty of the interior, you can look down the long hood and see the hood ornament on the radiator cap - a graceful, chromed swan standing nearly 10" from feet to upraised wing tips.

The transmission is a three-speed manual. The first two gears are straight-cut, so the gear whine is tremendously loud, and your initial comparison is that this fine machine sounds much like a mundane school bus. But it's not until you change to third gear that the gear noise vanishes, the engine's song comes through the firewall, and the car moves down the road in all its majesty. Out on the highway, it's been said these cars will cruise at 80+ miles per hour.

For 1930s technology, the leaf spring suspension (along with the tall tire sidewalls) rides quite nice for a 6,000lb vehicle. You wouldn't want to test the handling capabilities, however, as the steering and brakes are both manual (power for both came along much later in the production run). This makes for interesting travel, as the co-pilot tends to be the one who's monitoring the road at much further distances than the driver. All maneuvers are planned far in advance, and you realize quickly that modern traffic patterns don't work for this car. The massive steering wheel mentioned earlier isn't just there for looks - it's there for leverage, too.

But treat it right, and the car brings it in spades. People wave and honk. Pedestrians stop in their tracks. Kids point with huge smiles on their faces. And that's what this car was made for. It's in its element on the road, making a lasting impression on all that see it.

It's why I'm thrilled that a car like this is owned by someone like Bob. His appreciation for such a fine automobile, and his willingness to share it with others makes him a relative rarity among car collectors. To him, it's not an investment - it's something he owns because he enjoys it.

And I feel honored that, on this day, he chose to enjoy it with me.