PRINT September 1992


the New York Auto Show

Those were the sweetest cars I was ever to know because they were my first. I remember them like people—like long ago lovers—their idiosyncrasies, what they liked and what they didn’t. With my hands deep in crankcases, I was initiated into their warm, greasy mysteries.

—Harry Crews, “The Car,” 1975

C is for Car, D is for Dick

I never stood around talking about cars. I can conjure up an image of myself at 18, gesticulating with my crotch, but I never waxed on about my first car and the first girl I got to lie down in it. I’m pretty sure that if I’d had a set of balls I might have adjusted them, and I’m positive that if a girl had found her way into my car in high school, I’d have mentioned it from time to time. But my ’73 Olds Cutlass Salon left me few anecdotes. Powered by a 455-inch marine engine hooked to a Hurst Olds-Turbo 400 transmission, this beefy vehicle offered the way, but,

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