Remember when you could immediately tell a car’s make and model on sight?
It was easy because cars were spectacular back in the 50s and 60s.
GTOs, Camaros, Mustangs, Corvettes, Road Runners, Dodge Darts, Chevelles, Barricudas, Thunderbirds, Beetles, Ramblers, Studebakers, Corvairs, Pintos, Furys, Marlins, Gremlins, Mavericks, Cougars, Impalas, Fairlanes, Cutlasses, Continentals, Galaxys, El Dorados, Cordobas, LeSabres, Biscaynes, Belairs and many more.
They were so distinctive. And the color combinations were amazing. Not to mention the power under the hood.
Cars were facinating and fun.
That’s why I enjoyed covering the Great American Race in 1986 — the cross-country timed road race featuring antique, classic and vintage cars. I was thrilled. The race began in Anaheim, California, and snaked across the U.S., ending in New York City.
The race ran through Wilkes-Barre on its way to NYC and the cars staged in Kirby Park. They all returned to Wilkes-Barre after the race was completed for the big awards dinner.
We stopped in Kingman, Arizona, where we saw many of the old locomotive steam engines and then at the Grand Canyon — breathtaking.
Some more highlights:
• Eating rattlesnake at the Big Texan Steakhouse in Amarillo.
• Seeing the arch in St. Louis and stopping in a beautiful park in Rolla, Missouri.
• The Mississippi River.
• Driving on every mile of what was left of the original Route 66.
• Driving around the brickyard track at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.
• Watching all those historic cars head into Manhattan with the glorious skyline in the distance.
• Eating smoked alligator in Alexandria, Va.
• Staging the cars on the National Mall in Washington, D.C.
• Feeling proud as thousands of NEPA residents stood on overheads along I-81, waving banners and flags and cheering as the cars drove by.
• Seeing the tremendous crowd that came to Kirby Park to see the cars and meet the drivers/owners.
This was a fun event.
And Wilkes-Barre really celebrated The Great American Race well and the officials were quick to acknowledge that.
Thousands of spectators came out when Wilkes-Barre served as a stop-over site in 1986 and 1988 — infusing thousands of dollars into local businesses.
About 100 classic cars raced in the 13-day, 4,000-mile event every year.
But getting to travel Route 66 really was a kick. I enjoyed it so much that I returned to Route 66 in 1997 to visit a friend, Leeland Alexander, who I met when we participated in Leadership USA. Leeland and his wife, Diana, were great hosts.
Leeland and I decided to take a mini-tour of route, and we drove a lot of the old route in Oklahoma. America’s Highway was not what it used to be, but we did get a sense of how vital the road was back in the day and how it opened up much of the country to travelers.
Thinking about Route 66 and those old cars also got me recalling corner bars, those wonderful little places in our neighborhoods where you could always get an ice cold beer, stimulating sports conversation with friends and, perhaps, a hard-boiled egg.
In Plymouth, my hometown, there were plenty of corner bars — each with its own allure derived from a unique ambiance, but a common theme — reasonably priced drinks, familiar faces and fun.
My dad’s favorite watering hole was Bob’s Cafe at the corner of West Main and Davenport streets. The owner, Bobby Novak, was a friend of my dad’s and everybody knew your name there.
The beer was always cold, drawn from taps that were meticulously cared for, and the place just had a welcoming atmosphere. Bob’s dad used to go “up the farm” and return with delicious delights like scrapple. You would be better served frying some scrapple up and having it with your morning eggs.
That’s the kind of stuff that went on at places like Bob’s. Mr. Novak (Bob’s dad) would sometimes bring in some fresh buttermilk after a trip to the farm. Served ice cold and garnished with a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
Anybody who knows Plymouth, also knows of the legendary “Miracle Mile” — Main Street — where back in the day it seemed to consist of bar, furniture store, bar, funeral home, bar, furniture store, bar, etc.
The challenge, taken by many, was to walk the length of Main Street having one beer in every bar. To date, I am pretty certain that nobody ever completed the journey. Despite this well-known fact of failure, it never served as a deterrent to those thinking they would be the first to accomplish the task.
It seems that back then there were those quaint little bars everywhere. Little neon signs, often shaped like an arrow, with the name of the bar brightly lit stood out in the darkness of a small town.
Classic cars, corner bars and vibrant Main Streets — those really were the good old days.