Legacy of the Fiero

A 1985 Pontiac Fiero heard it all during the annual West End Cruise Night in Long Branch, NJ yesterday.  While proudly parked alongside classics and other eye-catching cars as bands played music from the 1950s and 1960s, the black plastic-body, five-speed mid-engine coupe overheard the following comments from passersby:

"I had an '88 six-cylinder with the Lotus suspension. Best car I ever had. Absolutely loved it. My ex-wife took it and left it running in Spanish Harlem and jumped on a subway. The NYPD called me 29 days later and told me they found it, in pretty bad shape. Yours is one of my top four cars in this show."

"Frank had a Fiero."

"They came in four cylinders and six cylinders. They came and went. The six cylinders were fast."

"Look -- a Fiero. I didn't think there was any of them left around."

"How many years have you had it?  Twenty-nine?  Wow, most people here have only had their cars three years or so.  Is that the original paint?  Looks good!  Is it automatic?  Oh wow, it's a stick shift!

"Look, a Fiero. It's so cute."

"Five speed!"

"Remember those?"

"I had this exact car, an '85 Fiero."

"I worked on these cars.  It was my first job."

"Someone had one of these. A neighbor."

"I was told they run hot."

"Look, Mary, here's your car. I had an Indy."

"You can take off all the panels and completely customize it."

"It has the vents in the back because it gets hot."

"I've had an '87 for eight years. I've been changing it a lot, but now I wish I kept it all original. Take it to more shows."

"What is this car?"

"Oh, a Fiero! 1985."

"2m4! I had an 86 with a six-cylinder. I am a Fiero conneseur."

"I worked at a Pontiac dealer when they came out. They had a lot of recalls. Yours looks really good."

"That is so cool."

"Remember when you had a Fiero, Steve? You tried to trade it in at Reedman's."

"When we were teenagers. Yeah, that's when they came out."

"That was her first car."

"Look, a Pontiac Fiero."

"I had one of these. It was the worst car ever made. It had a lot of problems and was recalled a lot."

"Is this yours? I love sports cars. I always loved this car."

"A Pontiac Fiero. Wow!"

"A death trap. My sister had one. Had an accident, plastic shattered all over the place."

"It's amazing. These cars don't exist any more. A Fiero."

"Look at that, a Fiero."

Feel free to add your comments about the legacy of the Pontiac Fiero.

“Everyone knows it’s…”

Hearing "Windy" on the radio reminds me of the rhyme about a former mayor of New York that some of us would sing as schoolboys:

"Who's walking down the streets of the city
Smilin' at everybody he sees
Who's reachin' out to capture a moment
Everyone knows it's Lindsay"

John Lindsay was New York's John Kennedy, bringing a sense of optimism and charisma to a city that was in desperate need of it by the mid-1960s.  He weathered the worst of changing times in urban America, experiencing both victory and defeat during two stormy terms, but ultimately leaving City Hall with his head high.

Hearing the Association's 1967 hit on the radio also reminds me of the interesting book edited by Sam Roberts, "America's Mayor: John V. Lindsay and the Reinvention of New York."  If the city's history fascinates you, I highly recommend you read this book.  It’s comprised of a series of write-ups by people who were there, and includes lots of great photos.  The book is available from Columbia University Press and Amazon.

If you just have an ear worm for the song, check out the video on YouTube.

The Beetle

"Well, Mr. Bruns, I can offer you a Chrysler minivan or a Volkswagen Beetle," the rental car agent said.

"Hmm, can I see the Beetle?" was my reply.  I just wanted to see if it was punch buggy yellow or orange. It was an industrial silver.

"Okay, I'll take the Beetle."

In a few moments, I was behind the wheel of a Beetle for the first time in, well, 40 years.  But, this was not a vintage '60s or '70s Beetle. It was a New Beetle, a 2013 model to be precise.

I first drove a Beetle as a delivery boy while a senior in high school. The pharmacy I worked at had two of them, one light blue and the other orange. They were fun to motor around town in, but I guess any car is when you first get your driver's license.

One of the pharmacists, a young guy with long dark hair and a beard, had a red convertible Beetle.  Boy, did he look cool when he pulled in or out of the parking lot with his roof down.

A college friend of mine also had a light blue Beetle. While I poured loads of money into a different used car and repairs every year, he drove his Beetle with few expenses for repairs or gas the whole time we were undergraduates. The only issue the little Bug had was a permanent stain on the passenger door after someone threw up on it.

Over 20 million Beetles have been manufactured by Volkswagen since 1938 in factories across the world, including in Europe, Mexico, Brazil, Asia and Africa. Yet, it seems each Bug has its own personality -- and owners that are fond of them for years afterwards.

I remember when the New Beetle was first introduced in 1997, 17 years after the original Beetle was no longer available in the US. My six-year-old son was so excited to see a red one in a neighbor's driveway, he went over and got a ride in it. Shortly afterwards, he and I made a blue Beetle for a Cub Scouts Pinewood Derby race. (Alas, we were reminded that the Beetle was never a speed demon.)

My Beetle rental car and I did well together for the 50 hours I had its keys this week.  Unlike the '70s models I first drove, this one had power windows -- and cruise control.   Whoooo, take it easy there, little Bug.

It only snarled at me once, after I parked it overnight behind a huge Ford pickup truck.  "Don't you ever leave me behind one of those again!" I think I heard it say.

Oh, and one morning it wouldn't open its trunk, despite my repeated attempts to unlock it.  I can't imagine what the Beetle thought I was going to do back there, especially since it no longer has an engine in the rear.

After fueling it up, I returned it to the rental car lot, took a picture and said goodbye, and hoped it would delight another customer with a trip down memory lane.

In praise of the intelligence of young artists

Following is a conversation that took place between a a young rental car agent and middle-age man at the Albany-Rensselaer train station today.

Agent:  Where are you going today, sir?

Man: Oneonta.

Agent: Oh, wow.  I'm very familiar with it.  That's where I went to school.

Man:  Really?  Where did you go, Hartwick College or the SUNY school?

Agent:  I went to the SUNY school, fortunately.

Man:  That's interesting.  My son and daughter went to a SUNY school.

Agent:  Really?  Which one?

Man:  They went to Purchase.

Agent:  Oh, wow.  Are they artists?  What did they study?

Man:  My son studied music.  His wife studied dance.

Agent:  That's cool.  You've gotta be smart to go to that school.  What are they doing now?

Man:  He's a CPA.  She's going to medical school.

Agent:  Oh, wow!  Like I said, artists are real smart people.   

Father and son

They boarded a crowded double decker New Jersey Transit train at New York's Penn Station. With few open seats in the main cabin left, the two sat down in the open area by the doors, under the arm pits of weary commuters nearing the end of a long day.

The boy could barely sit still. He looked around at the people on the train, few who resembled his dad. Sometimes he looked out the window, pointing something out to his father or asking him a question.  Sometimes the man had an answer, other times not, but he always paid attention to what his son had to say.

The train thinned out as it headed south, enabling the boy to spread out a bit across two seats. The man sat still next to him, moving little except to pick up a pack of cigarettes that dropped from his pants packet. Eventually tiring a bit after an hour, the boy leaned against his father's shoulder, and eyed a small mark by a tattoo that read, "Nick."

"Dad, what's that?" the boy asked, pointing to the mark on his father's arm. In a low voice audible only to his son, he answered. The boy looked up for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the  mark on his father's arm. The man smiled at his son, then looked across the aisle and smiled at another man who observed the touching scene.

The man and boy got off the train at the Little Silver station, heading to their final destination, but certainly not the end of their journey through life as father and son.

Attila the Hun

One of my favorite parts of being aboard a cruise ship is seeing the different countries on the name badges of the crew.  Jamaica and the Philippines seem to be the most popular home countries of crew members aboard Caribbean Sea cruises, but dozens of other countries (including the United States) can be spotted.

One evening this week, as we approached a juice and soda dispenser, my wife and I stopped a young Hispanic-looking crew member to ask a question.  To my surprise, his name badge read "Attila Peto / Romania."  Attila answered our query and, for the next 15 minutes, chatted to us about his life and work on the ship.

He told us that he and a twin brother were born 25 years ago in a section of Romania that was formerly part of Hungary.  His explained that his parents named him after the fifth century leader of the Hunnic Empire, Attila.  He said he learned to speak English working for an American hotel chain in his home country, and learned Spanish from a Mexican girlfriend on the crew.

We saw Attila again the next morning during breakfast, manning the coffee station.  He made us lattes, which my wife and I agreed were our best coffees of the cruise.  He was too busy to talk much more with us, but we thanked him for the java and wished him well.

My wife and I are back in our New Jersey home now.  Attila and the hundreds of other crew members from Europe, Asia, Africa, North and South America and parts in between are already working their next cruise, far from their homes and trying to make the world even smaller. 

Dylan Charles

It's a wonderful name. Dylan is the moniker of my favorite music personality, Bob Dylan. Charles is the title my Cuban immigrant parents gave their second US-born son. 

Dylan Charles is also the name my brother and his wife bestowed on their second son, who entered the world on February 4, 1987.  He passed away exactly five years ago tomorrow, at age 22.

Time has not yet healed the pain of Dylan's parents.  It probably never will, although I can never fully comprehend how deep the hurt and sense of loss must be from losing a child handicapped by muscular dystrophy.  No one, however, would dare refer to Dylan as crippled during his short time on this earth.

He had more love from his parents than any child could wish.  My brother and his wife were determined to make sure Dylan got every bit of quality that could be squeezed from life without spoiling  him. He lived in a comfortable home, made lots of friends, enjoyed toys and technology, and got a good education.  Along the way, Dylan developed an unselfish perspective of the world he wasn't reluctant to share with anyone who would listen.

Dylan had lots of feist in him.  He experienced what it was like to hit a baseball, he more than held his own in computer games, and maneuvered a wheelchair with agility and some creativity. The love and, when needed, the muscles of his parents and brother helped keep him moving forward through life with steely determination.  

Everyone realized, however, it was just a matter of time before MD would do in his body.  It eventually did on May 31, 2009.  But, no amount of time will cause him to be forgotten by those who knew him and felt fortunate to be part of his life.