On ‘American Graffiti,’ cool cars, Wolfman Jack and the tricks of time
I was 13 years old when “American Graffiti” hit movie theaters in the summer of 1973.
A nerdy, awkward kid more in the mold of the movie’s Terry "The Toad" Fields than its more confident drag racing king John Milner, I was about to start eighth grade at a brand new school in Downey, California. I’d just relocated from Ontario, home of the motor speedway where motorcyclist Evil Knievel had jumped 19 cars two years previously.
I liked Evil Knievel. I liked cars, and assumed I’d eventually have one of my own. But beyond riding in cars with my parents and going to drive-in movies in cars to see things like “Planet of the Apes,” I had no real appreciation of automobiles yet, since I would not get my license for at least few more years.
Still, I do remember the posters for “American Graffiti” displayed on the outside of the local movie theater. They featured cartoony depictions of numerous cars along with colorful caricatures of the movie’s main characters. These included the aforementioned Terry the Toad (Charles Martin Smith) and John Milner (Paul LeMat), along with buttoned-up Curt Henderson (Richard Dreyfuss), the angsty-but-romantic would-be writer trapped between his dreams of leaving small-town life and his fear of the unknown. There are others: the super-popular Steve (Ron Howard), the precocious 12-year-old Carol (Mackenzie Phillips), and of course the elaborately beehived Debbie (Candy Clark).
To me, all of them looked so grownup – they looked so, you know, old.
When you are 13, almost everyone over 18 looks old. Proof, I guess, that time loves to play tricks on us, whether we are looking forwards or backwards.
I also remember the television commercials for “American Graffiti,” with Wolfman Jack’s iconic voice repeatedly asking, “Where were you in ’62?” as a stream of cars, at least 50 individual shots, flashed by to a soundtrack of “Rock Around the Clock.” There was a yellow 1932 Ford 5-window with a license plate saying “THX 1138,” which happens to be director George Lucas’ first feature film. Then came a classy 1956 Ford Thunderbird, a white 1958 Chevrolet Impala coupe, a chopped black 1951 Mercury coupe. There is a sleek black 1955 Chevrolet 150 driven by an as-yet-unknown Harrison Ford and, most memorably, a Ford Galaxie police car being vivisected by hoodlums in front of a movie theater, the marquee on which promises “Dementia 13,” the first film directed by "American Graffiti“ producer Francis Ford Coppola.
So anyway, there were a lot of cool cars.
In addition to the voice of the Wolfman, there is an overly exuberant announcer shouting, “Grab that special one and jump into your candy-colored custom or your screamin’ machine, cruise downtown and catch ‘American Graffiti!’ It’s one of those great old movies about romance, racin’ and rock ‘n roll!”
Now, I confess that at the time, I had little serious interest in “American Graffiti.” Caught, at age 13, in that weird developmental limbo-space between childhood and teenhood, “American Graffiti” promised a bit too much confusing grown-up stuff to capture my full attention. The movies I was most looking forward to at the time were Disney’s animated “Robin Hood,” the science-fiction thrillers “Westworld” and “Day of the Dolphin,” and the movie version of “Jesus Christ Superstar,” the latter because I loved the Original Cast album, to which I’d been introduced by Miss Tucker, my seventh grade Music Appreciation teacher, who looked a lot like Karen Carpenter, who I admit I had something of mild celebrity crush on.
By extension, I also had a bit of a crush on Miss Tucker, who had her own celebrity crush on Cat Stevens, a chest-baring poster of whom decorated the west wall of her classroom.
For what it’s worth, though I have no idea if Miss Tucker ever met Cat Stevens, I myself would one day meet Karen Carpenter, who also lived in Downey, and had even once attended the same high school I eventually graduated from.
It was 1977 and I was 17, and she was driving a sleek yellow Porsche. I worked at Robo Car Wash at the time, the same place where her brother Richard usually took the family’s many cars to be washed and waxed. It was the only time I ever saw Karen bring a car in, but I recognized her immediately. She rolled down the window, said, “Hello,” handed me a dollar bill and added, “Wax please. Have a nice day,” then rolled up the window.
And I washed her car.
Okay, okay. I know that isn’t the world’s most exciting meet-your-celebrity-crush story. But it’s true and it’s mine and I’m keeping it.
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