Went to Ecology Auto Wrecking for some odds and ends today. I didn't have much luck but God help me I love the junkyard. Part graveyard, part butcher shop, there's just something mesmerizing about walking through the decaying metal and lubricative effluence of demised transport.
While one is usually there with the purpose of hunting down a specific and sometimes very crucial item, I’ve come to realize that a good deal isn’t what heats my fluids about it.
I’ve had a lifelong love-lust with cars, and while there’s a part of me that’s fascinated by the unique mechanical perspective afforded by bodies in various states of dissection, that’s not entirely it either.
It’s fascinating because each of these sad creatures was once an intricate part of some family’s life…yet now sits like a family pet on its final trip to the vet. Now I know a lot of my friends out there are animal lovers and may be getting ready to whop me upside the head so please let me clarify that I don’t equate the value of a living breathing animal to two tons of assorted steel and plastic. Nonetheless, our cars are an integral part of our lives and love them or hate them, provide most of us with the means to earn and gather food and sustenance.
I’m not a mystic by any stretch, but that kind of connection imparts some vestige of the soul. There’s usually nothing particularly remarkable about the ghosts one pictures, but each car carries story of humanity. Someone’s first feeble kiss after the homecoming game in a borrowed ‘82 Chevy Citation, a newborn’s ride home from the hospital in a brand new ‘87 Dodge Caravan, summer trips to Yosemite with Grandma and Grandpa in their ‘74 Ford Country Squire station wagon. The stories are endless and cliched.
I still can’t go to the Santa Monica Pier without thinking of Uncle Mike driving us there in his Chevy Vega, always blasting La Boheme (now there’s a contradictory image if ever I saw/heard one!) because it was the only tape he had.
I’ve often wondered where our family’s cars have gone after our stewardship, but hope the associated memories remain corrosion free until my turn at the foundry.
Sadly there aren't many good pics of the family '78 Impala, but here's one. I've also added a couple doozies of the beasts on our street (sister not withstanding).
While one is usually there with the purpose of hunting down a specific and sometimes very crucial item, I’ve come to realize that a good deal isn’t what heats my fluids about it.
I’ve had a lifelong love-lust with cars, and while there’s a part of me that’s fascinated by the unique mechanical perspective afforded by bodies in various states of dissection, that’s not entirely it either.
It’s fascinating because each of these sad creatures was once an intricate part of some family’s life…yet now sits like a family pet on its final trip to the vet. Now I know a lot of my friends out there are animal lovers and may be getting ready to whop me upside the head so please let me clarify that I don’t equate the value of a living breathing animal to two tons of assorted steel and plastic. Nonetheless, our cars are an integral part of our lives and love them or hate them, provide most of us with the means to earn and gather food and sustenance.
I’m not a mystic by any stretch, but that kind of connection imparts some vestige of the soul. There’s usually nothing particularly remarkable about the ghosts one pictures, but each car carries story of humanity. Someone’s first feeble kiss after the homecoming game in a borrowed ‘82 Chevy Citation, a newborn’s ride home from the hospital in a brand new ‘87 Dodge Caravan, summer trips to Yosemite with Grandma and Grandpa in their ‘74 Ford Country Squire station wagon. The stories are endless and cliched.
I still can’t go to the Santa Monica Pier without thinking of Uncle Mike driving us there in his Chevy Vega, always blasting La Boheme (now there’s a contradictory image if ever I saw/heard one!) because it was the only tape he had.
I’ve often wondered where our family’s cars have gone after our stewardship, but hope the associated memories remain corrosion free until my turn at the foundry.
Sadly there aren't many good pics of the family '78 Impala, but here's one. I've also added a couple doozies of the beasts on our street (sister not withstanding).
2 comments:
I love the photos in this post David. The first one is just so great. It really tells a story. I'm going on memory about what you wrote because I read it back when you first posted it, but it made me think about Daniel's Isuzu when we turned it in. We took it to the "pick your part" junk yard right here on Beach. It was really sad. I think it was sadder for me than it was for Daniel. But there were so many memories attached to that car and it was very sad to see it there. Our cars do so much for us. They are like old friends, regardless of any headache they put us through.
I was so bummed because I didn't bring my camera that day (the horror!) and for the longest time I sat in the car with the kids waiting for Daniel to finish the transaction in the office. The Isuzu was parked in front of these two huge doors that said something like "no cars beyond this point", which really meant we couldn't drive in beyond that point, but those big doors certainly opened for our little Isuzu. Maybe its last drive. Like the gates to car heaven... or maybe car hell. I don't know. Anyway. Yep, that's what your post reminded me of. :)
I LOVE these old photos you shared! Awesome.
It's me again... Are you giving up? Where are you my friend?
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