1961 Rambler Classic - My Old Man

The Zac Brown Band's new song, "My Old Man", is, not surprisingly given the song title, an ode to his father. The songwriter's appreciation of his father, drenched in a unusually sparse yet melodramatic production, makes Dan Fogelsberg's, "The Leader of the Band" sound like an EDM track. While it is sonically reminiscent of past Zac Brown "classics" like "Goodbye In Her Eyes", "Highway 20 Ride" and "Colder Weather", it lacks either of those songs sweeping emotional depth. "My Old Man" is little more than a sopping wet 3 1/2 minute "I love you dad" that is as disingenuous as a Hallmark card,

Of course, this being a primarily a blog about cars, "My Old Man" makes me think of my old man and the cars he owned. Now, in fairness, my old man wasn't a "car guy" so I have to forgive him for a slate of utterly forgettable automobiles that he had when I was a child. As we've discussed before, many of the cars we own are reflective of who we are or want to be and my father's cars, many of which were mere appliances, are the only tangible insight I have into a man who wouldn't let me close enough to him to get to know him. Thus, I'm left grasping at straws or hubcaps attempting to get to know a man through the cars he owned. My opinion of them be damned, today we examine another of the cars he owned, a 1961 Rambler Classic. An automobile as enigmatic as he was.

Presumably, my old man bought into AMC's advertising that the Rambler was, albeit smaller than most offerings from the "Big Three", a better automobile. I surmise that he  bought his gray on red, painted white steel roof '61 Rambler around the time I was born in 1964. I think his Rambler's shade of gray, even though the finish on it was shot, somewhat more becoming of it than our subject car's Walter Mitty beige. Note the roof of our subject is painted the same color as the side trim. Obviously, this car is attempting to be more than what it is.

I''ll never know why he bought it instead of any number of more stylish automobiles available at the time but, again, my opinion be damned. Besides, discussing how out and out right unsophisticated and clumsy looking I think this car was, that is getting into the murky nitty gritty of subjectivity. I wasn't around then to persuade him not to buy this car so perhaps, just perhaps, he thought he was buying something that was as stylish and up to date as a '61 Chevy, Ford or one of those far out, downsized Chryslers. Sigh. Rambler sales by the early 1960's had risen to third behind Chevrolet and Ford so he was not alone in driving one. Again, my opinion be damned.

Unlike years later when my old man purchased a Buick Electra and then a Cadillac DeVille, cars that he purchased that I was in the decision making process on and, what's more, that he was quite fond of, I don't recall my old man ever having anything nice to say about the Rambler. He complained constantly that the car was not as good as "American Motors" cars used to be. Not sure how he came to that conclusion seeing that he never owned an AMC before but he had a sour disposition towards that car that bespoke of a man who felt he had "been had". In those post war, early TV years, there was allegedly truth in advertising. Just goes to show you that back then, as today,  people believe want they want to believe.

My old man's Rambler broke down so much that his mechanic, a wild, cantankerous man named "Ziggy", was a regular in our home. Yes, he made house calls. Ziggy took such liking to me that he would let me be his assistant when he was working on the Rambler. Can't blame me then for being thrilled when the Rambler would stop running. Which, again, was quite often. Ziggy's ability to diagnose what was wrong with the Rambler and get it running was quite impressive. It was like bringing the dead back to life. Sometimes, though I wish he, wasn't so good at it.

That glorious day came when the Rambler over heated and the block cracked. That was the nail in the coffin for the little bomb and I was over the moon excited. Over the moon excited about not only the Rambler going into the shredder, but giddy with anticipation thinking about what block long rocket ship my old man would replace it with. And, what did he replace it with? Lord, God almighty, a 1968 Ford Ranch Wagon. 

I hate to say that I hated the Rambler much in the same way I hate to say I hated my old man. I think it is fair to say, though, that I didn't like the Rambler and, sadly, I didn't like who my old man was either. He passed away twenty years ago this November and while I've emotionally reconciled that he just couldn't be whom I wanted or needed him to be, old man to old man, I do have to wonder why and how he was the parent that he wasn't. No doubt in a heated exchange he'd say much the same thing about me as a son - but it's not his place to say that. What a child thinks of a parent far more important than what a parent thinks of their own children. My flippant opinion of Zac Brown's artless "My Old Man" stems as much from rote jealously that Zac Brown has a father so wonderful that he'd write a song about him as much as I think the song is as interesting as a 1961 Rambler.