From The Staff
Enjoy the Fun & Pass It Along
By David Marin & The CruZin' Staff
There’s nothing more “American” than old iron. Doesn’t matter if you’re into hot rods, muscle cars, antiques or classics, and you can throw in NASCAR and NHRA, too. Reminisce a moment; how did you get hooked? Who, what, how, did you become a gearhead? Could it be genetic? Or, are you a “graduate” of the glue and plastic school of Revell, Monogram and the like?

Mine was a two-pronged affliction. I did the model thing, not very well, but I did it. More importantly I had a role model in the person of my Dad (Manny). Manny wasn’t a gearhead in the hot rod, cool car sense… he was brought up plantation poor and never thought about owning a car. Something about food on the table taking priority. He was however, a self-taught electronics whiz with an extraordinary common sense when it came to things mechanical. His buddies had cars and he didn’t, but, when his buddies’ cars needed fixing, Manny was the man. He always had a ride and he always rode shotgun.

He was a young man working at Pearl Harbor the morning of December 7, 1941, installing and tuning radar systems aboard Navy ships in the harbor. By the time the nation and the world got to the other side of that horror, he went out and bought a car. He also married my mother and a couple of years later I came along.

Which brings us to the beginning of my gearhead memories. As far back as I can remember, and before that, Dad would bring home one car or another. There was always a project in the driveway. Most of them were quick, make-a-buck turnarounds. Ford, Chevrolets, Nash, Cadillac, it didn’t matter, running, not running, it didn’t matter, body work and paint or valve job and tune-up, it didn’t matter. Weekends were absorbed in this manner and what I remember most is that he had a big smile on his face while he was working. Buy-fix-sell, seems like every month a car would leave and be replaced by another.

Probably around age six or seven he started giving me jobs. Vacuum the interior, wire brush and solvent on greasy parts, sandpaper on paint. I remember a ‘53 Cadillac that we painted baby blue in the driveway. Looked beautiful to me. Seems like he bought that Caddy for 350 bucks and sold it a month later for $800. That was in the early Sixties… no wonder he had that big smile.

Eventually I got my drivers license and Dad brought home a car, well, sort of a car. A 1952 Hillman Minx four door sedan, flathead four cylinder engine with a four-on-the-tree transmission. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the clutch was burnt and the engine ran like, well, you get the picture. I did, with the help of a more knowledgeable friend, replace the clutch and get the car running, and there was even a bit of smiling involved. I think Dad was amazed that we got that poor old Hillman to make it around the block and up a small hill.

In any event, the preceding is a big part of how I wound up a gearhead, addicted to old iron, going to car shows and publishing CruZin’ Magazine. Now, as I look at the Next Generation ad on the page opposite this one, I worry about the future of our hobby/sport. We send out complimentary magazines to vocational schools and auto shops, and that’s something. We’ve done teen features and we’d like to do more. My kids are afflicted, and that’s a good thing. Ultimately I hope we’ll all do a little more to promote and preserve our hobby. Enjoy the fun and pass it on. Thanks Dad!

P.S. Don’t miss “the Wolfman” & Candy Clark at the Portland Roadster Show, March 6-8, 2009!