DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour  

During my aviation days I had a dear friend at Pan American who used to read the Official Airline Guide like the rest of us read The Wall Street Journal, Rolling Stone or even Mad. To give a brief explanation, the OAG listed every flight in North America (there was also an international edition) by destination, airline and flight number, times of departure and arrival, aircraft type and number of stops if it were not a nonstop.

He would look up various city pairs and if it indicated a flight would make a stop or two he would try to guess where these would take place. For instance, if he saw that Braniff (I told you this was in those thrilling days of yesteryear) had a flight from Chicago to Dallas that showed it was a one-stop trip he would consider where that might be and would look it up to see if it were a hit or a miss.

In the case I just mentioned he’d probably start with Kansas City and sure enough, the same flight number from Kansas City-Dallas would indicate he was correct. I know what you’re thinking:, “Al, just what in hell does this have to do with automobiles?” I’ll tell you, Mr. Fidgety, I play a similar game with an automotive publication. Let me explain.

There’s a terrific monthly publication called Hemmings Motor News. This thick tome is basically comprised of hundreds of pages of classified ads of vehicles for sale, many of them being high-performance classics from the muscle car era.

Except for those listed as earmarked for an auction, prices and contact info, most with a photo, are shown by vehicle line and year. Here’s where the fun starts. Every month I peruse the magazine and pretend I’m going to purchase one vehicle for my “collection.” Most of my selections are high-performance V8s with four-speed manual transmissions that were so popular in the late-‘50s, ‘60s and early ‘70s. (That’s in the 1900s for you young whelps who think I must be on something because the dates I mentioned are still almost 50 years into the future.)

As an example, I may “buy” a 61 Chevy Impala Super Sport with a 409 cubic inch, 409-horsepower V-8, a four-speed transmission and a 4.11:1 positraction rear axle. (If you have no idea what I’m describing then you have no reason to be reading an auto page. Go find an Ann Landers column or a fashion page; it’s more to your needs.) Those are the type cars I grew up with when I was a wild-haired Hoosier (and had HAIR, even).

The rest of the magazine is comprised of hundreds of pages offering parts for everything you can imagine and peripheral stuff like hot rods, motorcycles, some trucks, etc. The first 80 pages or so are devoted to editorial and some very interesting pieces on old cars, upcoming auctions, investment tips on buying collectible cars, and so forth.

For auto enthusiasts it’s like a four-wheeled Playboy but it can be read publicly without any shame or embarrassment. I feel sorry for today’s youth (“yutes” if you’re Joe Pesci). Their idea of a “classic car” might be something like a Dodge Omni GLH or a 1974 Plymouth Volare. The only Road Runner they’re familiar with goes “meep meep.”

Hemmings has two other publications that are like pornographic literature for car lovers, Hemmings Muscle Machines and Hemmings Classic Car (the Hustler and Penthouse of our genre). To guys like me these publications are like the Fountain of Youth. We’re harkened back to a much better time in life, when we had the aforementioned hair, youth and above all, muscle that’s now primarily fat.

I know what else you’re thinking; “Al, just how does all this rate as a weekly diatribe? Usually you scare yourself because you think and write about things that are so sick they would make a shark puke.”

Here’s the evidence that this piece is indeed a rant: When we were kids and had “questionable” publications we’d read, like nudist colony magazines that made us all believe everyone who attended a nudist camp had to have their genitalia air-brushed, we’d “cleverly” hide them inside of our classroom workbooks. Any teacher with eyesight beyond Jose Feliciano’s could tell the four-page handout we were using as a wrapper wasn’t as thick as the one we were supposedly studying.

Now, however, to hide the shame of what we’ve all become, we hide our Hemmings Motor News inside the pages of a Playboy. Again, any person with eyesight beyond Stevie Wonder’s knows what us senior members of society are up to.

What’s next…hiding Depends inside French cuffs?