There's no better time machine than an old car. This 1982 Cadillac Sedan deVille popped up at the transmission shop next to my office this week and just like that, it was the Summer of 1984 all over again.
That summer my parents were flush with cash from stock options they didn't know they had until they were notified they had to liquidate them or risk losing them. Skinflints they usually were and my father facing retirement in less than five years, imagine my surprise when my mother, who didn't drive or work, told my father to use the money to buy another Cadillac.
Her first Cadillac, bought in the summer of 1978, was a sinister dark blue on black, 1972 Sedan deVille, that was, and I kid you not, a three-miles-per-gallon, shuddering, underpowered, charmless, unreliable, constantly breaking-down shit show. Again, my mother didn't drive but she had "her Cadillac" and she was not happy my father replaced it in the winer of 1982 with a little, V-6 powered, Buick Century. Cash in hand, the time had come. Momma wanted Daddy to be driving another Caddy.
She found a 1982 Sedan deVille for sale at the big Cadillac dealership in Freeport and with my father at work and my being on break from college, she commandeered me to take her to the dealership to kick its tires.
At the dealership, she swooned over the gleaming maroon on maroon four-wheeled barge of pretension and insisted we go for a test drive. She sat in the back like a princess; I was her chauffeur. Our salesman rode shotgun.
I thought the styling update for 1980 on the "class-of-1977" downsized Cadillac's handsome enough, but by 1984, Cadillac's "HT4100" V-8 engine had a dubious reputation for head gasket, camshaft, oil pump and distributor issues. On top of that, making just 125-bhp and 190 ft-lbs, tasked with moving a two-ton plus automobile, "HT" powered Cadillac's were notoriously slow. I couldn't wait to drive it.
Out on traffic-clogged Merrick Road, the big Caddy lived up to its bad reputation. I hit the gas, and it felt as if the parking brake was on; it wasn't. Granted, slow and sluggish cars were nothing new back then, but that thing made my 1975 Chrysler Cordoba feel like a rocket sled.
The steering was steering in the loosest sense of the word. You turned the oversized wheel, and the car went in that general direction. Eventually. The "play" in it was comical. Brakes were good if a bit touchy, the air conditioning blew frosty cold like mom liked it, the stereo with a cassette deck sounded pretty good for a factory unit. It didn't rattle as much as the 1972 Cadillac did as well. The velour-ish seats gave the car an extra level of cushiness. I looked in the rearview mirror at my mother who was sprawled out on the back seat, and smiling ear to ear. "Looks like we've found our car!", she said. I was mortified.
Now, typically, my mother wasn't the kind of person who took kindly to things she didn't want to hear, but I felt it my duty to speak my mind otherwise I knew I couldn't live with myself. "Ma," I said, "this car is horrible." Our salesman went bug-eyed, especially after my mother had all but bought the car. I couldn't blame him. I mean, what could some 20-year-old punk-ass kid know about a Cadillac? Well, don't judge an owner's manual by its cover, son. He had no idea what he was dealing with.
Back at the dealership I stood my ground. My mother could tell I was not happy and to my surprise, she acquiesced. For a split-second I thought I could get her off the notion of buying a Cadillac but there was no dissuading her. It was then she spotted two black, 1979 Cadillac's in the back of the lot, a black on silver Coupe deVille, the other a black on red Sedan deVille. I told her I had heard good if not great things about pre-1980 Cadillac's and as we walked towards them, I said if it was up to me, I'd look at the Coupe. "Well,", she said, "it's not up to you. Let's look at the four-door."
I test drove that '79 and thought it far from great but better than the '82; it at least at some modicum of "pickup". The color contrast of the black exterior on the retina searing red leather seemed opulent. Thing was, it was more than $1,500 more than the '82 and it had more mileage on it. I pressed our salesman on why that was and he shrugged his shoulders. "People like the older cars with the three-sixty-eight engine", he said. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I corrected him saying as gently as I could, "the three-sixty-eight came out in 1980, this car has the four-twenty-five". He said nothing turning his attention to my mother.
Mom left a deposit on that '79 telling our salesman my father would want to see it before we finalized the deal. I made one last ditch effort to talk her into a far less expensive Chevrolet Caprice, Olds 98 or Buick Electra but nothing doing. "They're not Cadillac's. Cadillac's are special", she insisted. And that was that.
Cadillac's were in fact special when my parents, who were children of The Great Depression, were young. By the summer of 1984 though, that yacht had long sank. Sad thing was, for Cadillac, things would get even worse as the '80's dragged on and melted into the '90's and beyond. Incidentally, my father drove that '79 Cadillac into the ground selling it for scrap in the summer of 1991 for fifty-bucks.
My mother passed away in 1993, her hearse was a converted Buick Electra Estate Wagon.