Why On God’s Green Earth Would Anyone Buy A Car Like This?
Oh, sorry, it’s a truck
This is an Op/Ed, Not a Review!
Two weeks after I got my driver’s license in 1972, I totaled my Dad’s 1968 red Pontiac GTO. After a short respite, it meant a return to my ten-speed bicycle for transportation.
Dad had a pickup which was his and his only. These were my high school years; everybody at least had access to a car. After all, we were in Southern California.
Knowing that his life would be made easier, one day, he went to buy a replacement car and came back with this:
I was petrified.
I thought it was ugly and looked like a tin can. (It was.) You couldn’t roll down the windows—you had to take them out. He only got it with an AM radio when FM was all the rage. I was initially embarrassed to drive it, but it became part of my identity. People certainly knew it was me when I pulled up!
One of my good high school friends was adept at hill climbing in Volkswagens in the landscape above Ventura. It was as thrilling as a rollercoaster! After thrashing the car on…
