I went kicking and screaming into my parent's inexplicable Cadillac foray of the late 1970's. They had already replaced the long in the tooth '68 Ford Ranch Wagon (think Ford Country Squire with no soul) the summer prior with my favorite car ever, a 1970 Buick Electra 225. I loved that car even though it was a four door. Brown too. That'70 Electra, still to this day, remains the favorite car of my family growing up. Sigh. Well, Mother wanted her Cadillac and Dad was all too willing to oblige her.
For several years after we got "The Cadillac", a blue on black '72 Sedan deVille not a more stylish Coupe deVille like I would've much preferred (pictured here is a 1971), we had both cars so I was always able to size up both as they sat front to back crushing the blacktop in front of our house. back on Long Island. I thought the Buick, despite its vinyl clad interior, the more luxurious of the two. I thought the Cadillac sinister, foreboding. Its black leather seats austere, uncomfortable. The Cadillac was a sloppy, shuddering mess of a car too. Perhaps it had been in an accident and was screwed back together poorly. I don't know but something was amiss with that car. I mean, the windshield was loose and bounced around inside the frame! The Buick was much, much more solid of a car. To make matters even worse the vaunted "472" in the Cadillac never had the pop in the bat that the Buick had with its uber legendary "455". That burned my father worse than the loosey, gooseyness of the Cadillac.
Despite my fondness for the Buick and my near loathing of that Cadillac, I find myself searching more for Cadillacs of that vintage than Buicks. What's up with that? Perhaps it's me being somehow sucked into the Cadillac mystique. I can't figure myself out sometimes and it's probably best I spend as little time as possible doing so.
I found this delightful survivor in Wellington, Ohio a couple of years ago on Craigslist and took her for a spin holding out the vague hope that the wife would approve the purchase order. If she even suggested I get it I would have been cutting a check right there on the spot. It was a fairly bizarre drive down memory lane nonetheless as I waited for the high sign.
Much to my surprise, this car drove much better than I recall my father's '72 did. For a car this size and as old as it was it felt remarkably well put together. The windshield didn't shake, the 472 felt snappy and it sounded maaaahvelous as well although I'd hardly call this car powerful or fast. In fact, I've driven plenty of much smaller engined Chevrolets of this vintage that felt much more spritely. The variable assist power steering was terrific and helped make this extremely large car somewhat easy to handle. The brakes were good, the ride was delightful. It was comfortable. But it was big. Oh. So big.
That I think is an understatement. This car is terrifyingly large. Gee whiz. I remember driving Dad's and never telling him or anyone just how scared I was driving it. Back then, bigger was better and if you could handle a big car then you were The Man. I wasn't nervous driving this thing that Sunday afternoon but I do remember that feeling of dread that young me had behind the wheel of my father's blue bomb. My biggest concern this sunny Sunday afternoon in the country was running over something and not noticing it. That and running out of gas.
By the way, that high sign I was so hoping for from the wife never came. The car was far from perfect too so that probably had something to do with it. That and the fact she hated this car. I didn't push the subject.
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