The November 13th posting, “Chevy Bel Air Taillight Art” took me back to a June 1, 2009 posting, “We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie.”
We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie
“. . . bye-bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys
were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, ‘this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.'”
In the Don McLean song, “American Pie,” he wrote about “the day the music died,” referencing the 1959 plane crash causing the deaths of Budd Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper. Now it’s the Chevy’s (GM) turn to test destiny.
These were also the days when “See the USA in your Chevrolet” rang through the head of many a young boy, such as I. The first car that made me aware that I was hooked on cars was my grandfather’s 1945 Chevy. My first car was a 1950 Chevy, followed by a 1953. Emotions are the makings of the human experience. What would life be without feelings, without passions, whether short-lived, or life-long?
A part of me has always been a “car guy,” struggling with the other me (like a marriage), resulting in an intense love affair to this day. As with all relationships, the thrill of driving is about closing the gap. Connecting with a car is not about becoming one but about maintaining identity while always seeking to close the gap. Even though the evidence that GM would file for bankruptcy has been apparent for some time, today’s formal filing still came as a shock. Chevy and GM will live on, but an age has died – another piece of the American pie. Now we are singing:
“. . . bye-bye, Miss American Pie
GM drove to the Feds
But the Feds exposed their lie.
And them good old boys were still
Drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“This’ll be the day that I die.”
We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie. As Michael Moore recently wrote, “It is with sad irony that the company which invented “planned obsolescence” — the decision to build cars that would fall apart after a few years so that the customer would then have to buy a new one — has now made itself obsolete.” For the “car guy” in me, I experienced a real blow to my psyche. The pragmatic me is saying, “it’s about time!”
The “car guy” would now like to share a couple of blog posts over the last couple of years:
Soul of a Car
Signs of age
Tell the story
Miles on the gauge
Count the glory
Now at rest
In the shade
Once the best
Of the fifties decade
There is a key
Only to a past
Now rest free
At long last
A rusty door
A broken fan blade
Longing for more
Feeling only frayed
Having a heart
A few remaining horses
Seeking a start
From special forces
Old cars can rust
But never the soul
Covered with dust
Stuck in cruise control
Moving On…
How do you measure the worth of a “driving machine?”
Miles? Miles per hour? Drive-ability? Reliability?
Attractiveness? Safety? Maybe all these.
But the real worth of the 318i that I bought, September 1983,
and sold, September 2007 can only be measured by those
intangibles by which we measure passion.
It is not my nature to dwell on the past, but parting with something
that was an extension of my very being was not easy. If there is one
image that reflects more than a third of my life, it was this little BMW.
…the road always calls.
— kenne
An ode to a lover