mjsamhanson
New LVC Member
Greetings:
Everyone calls me Sam, for which I'm grateful as my given name is "Marion" --which isn't a great name for a guy. But that's another story.
As a child of the fifties (1954 actually) I remember the introduction of soaring tail fins and sci-fi Autronic eyes perched on dashboards. It was also the era of cheap gas and freeways were just coming into vogue.
In summers we'd often pile into my favorite aunt's powder-blue (with white roof) '56 Sedan de Ville (hardtop) and cruise back to her (and my mother's home) in Wilmington, N.C. from our homes in Utah.
Even as a little kid I loved that car. I loved watching the antenna soar up and down on its own, I loved the huge folding armrest in the back seat, which was my personal throne! I loved the ice-cold factory air as we cruised comfortably through torrid Texas. And most of all, I loved the ray-gun on the dashboard; sure, they told me it was for dimming the headlights at night, but I knew better; I could hardly wait until I could drive and use it to blast the bad guys!
OK, my body grew up, but the little boy in me (as there lives a little boy in every man, if he is honest with himself) still clings to the great American land yachts of yesteryear. I grew up idolizing the "Big Three" (Cadillac, Lincoln, and for those who have forgotten its intermittent existence, the Imperial). I think I wanted one of them even more than I wanted the lifestyle they represented (and career opportunities of those who purchased new ones).
But then life happens. Along the way, I've indulged my passion more in fantasy than in reality; yet there were (and are) a few tangos with reality which put me behind the wheel of (always used) specimens of my great auto-lust. First there came a 1968 Imperial Crown South Hampton sedan. Her Jade Green vinyl roof over brilliant Aztec Gold, with jade brocade upholstery proved irresistible to me. Sadly, after an engine transplant she decided she wanted a tranny too. In our undergraduate years of poverty, I had to let her go; that decision I still lament to this day.
Forlorn at the loss of my first Imp, I swore off full-bore lux-o-barges for a while. A long while. Like after four kids and graduate school. I finally fell for a 1990 silver Imperial with blue Mark Cross leather that you'd swear came from a pair of gloves. Another mobile lemon, but this time I had the money (or at least the credit) to keep her going. Although, I have yet to spring for having her A/C fixed (you name the problem, and the A/C suffers from it).
To stay cool in the summer, a few years ago (before gas prices went through the ceiling) I picked up my first Lincoln, a ’96 Conti (right price, right place, right car, right time). Everything in her and about her worked, and worked well. She wreaked excellence. Because she had seduced me away from my Imperial, and was young (comparatively) I named her “Lolita” (which goes well with Lincoln).
In all honesty, much as I (still) love my Imp, Lolita’s mechanical superiority cannot be denied. Before we acquired Lolita, she had benefited from a new air suspension in the back, and several other dealer-performed items. (A printout of her entire history was presented to us at purchase from the dealer who also sold her new.) She has been a flawless performer to this point (about 30,000 miles later). The only problem I’ve experienced with Lolita so far involves my wife.
We have a nice 1994 Mercury Grand Marquis (known affectionately as “the Cruiser” as she is white and looks like a Highway Patrol vehicle until one comes up close to her) which was/is the family car, and thus my wife’s principal ride. However, as Lolita has not just anti-lock brakes, but traction control, I made the mistake of sending my wife off in her when the first winter storm hit and iced our roads. And my wife, who was mesmerized by the power of 32 valves in a car smaller and more agile than the Cruiser, promptly claimed Lolita as her own. And of course, the six-disc CD changer didn’t do anything to alienate my wife either, nor did the heated seats. So, I’m back in my ‘90 Imp.
So, when she needs gas, I get to drive Lolita to the station and fill her with 91 octane, which she sips at the rate of one gallon every twenty-five miles on the freeway. (Curiously, Lolita and the Cruiser turn in nearly identical mileage ratings, town and country; the Imp does a tad better, especially in town, but she’s a smaller car with a V-6 and no working A/C.)
Well, that’s probably far more info than anyone wanted to know. But after a career in the world of management, I’m leaving it to pursue my other love(s) in a second career: teaching. I’m a Language Arts nut (among other things, I have degrees in French and English, so if you spot any non-stylistic solecisms, my apologies), and I love writing, as much as I love old (and newer) Caddys, Lincolns, and yes, Imperials. And if you’re wondering, my Aunt is 83, and tools around in a ’92 Seville (with 42,000 original miles on it), which I wax and detail for her once or twice a year. My experiences with her Caddy round out my present relation with the “Big Three” of my youth. As I trundle along in middle age, I’m lucky to have access to all three!
In this my first post, from my own experience, I can say:
(1) The Lincoln is a tad slower than the Caddy (even one without the Northstar) of the line
(2) The Lincoln is more comfortable and has vastly better controls; moreover, its projected instruments are incredible, they make the Caddy’s look like they came from a five-and dime store
(3) The Seville and Conti both have large tires which generate more road noise on our concrete freeways than either my Imp or Merc (the Merc is actually the quietest of the four, generally, let alone on concrete)
(4) The smallest of my fleet, the Imp, has the most leg room for passengers—especially in its limousine-like rear compartment.
(5) The Conti is the best looking, clean or dirty; the Imp second, her formal stance gives her a more significant presence than she really has, and in third place for esthetics I find the Caddy attractive more for her dazzling paint and chrome, her lines are a bit blasé and do nothing to mask her girth (though as noted, that girth melts under her mechanicals and she seems a much lighter car on the road).
(6) Each car, in her own distinctive way, presents a delight to someone such as I. Whether as passenger, driver, or bystander, each car offers something for me to enjoy, something which links me back to the carefree days of my childhood perched on the center-armrest throne of my aunt’s 56 DeVille. I love websites such as yours which celebrate the best works of premium American automotive artistry. THANK YOU.
--Sam
Everyone calls me Sam, for which I'm grateful as my given name is "Marion" --which isn't a great name for a guy. But that's another story.
As a child of the fifties (1954 actually) I remember the introduction of soaring tail fins and sci-fi Autronic eyes perched on dashboards. It was also the era of cheap gas and freeways were just coming into vogue.
In summers we'd often pile into my favorite aunt's powder-blue (with white roof) '56 Sedan de Ville (hardtop) and cruise back to her (and my mother's home) in Wilmington, N.C. from our homes in Utah.
Even as a little kid I loved that car. I loved watching the antenna soar up and down on its own, I loved the huge folding armrest in the back seat, which was my personal throne! I loved the ice-cold factory air as we cruised comfortably through torrid Texas. And most of all, I loved the ray-gun on the dashboard; sure, they told me it was for dimming the headlights at night, but I knew better; I could hardly wait until I could drive and use it to blast the bad guys!
OK, my body grew up, but the little boy in me (as there lives a little boy in every man, if he is honest with himself) still clings to the great American land yachts of yesteryear. I grew up idolizing the "Big Three" (Cadillac, Lincoln, and for those who have forgotten its intermittent existence, the Imperial). I think I wanted one of them even more than I wanted the lifestyle they represented (and career opportunities of those who purchased new ones).
But then life happens. Along the way, I've indulged my passion more in fantasy than in reality; yet there were (and are) a few tangos with reality which put me behind the wheel of (always used) specimens of my great auto-lust. First there came a 1968 Imperial Crown South Hampton sedan. Her Jade Green vinyl roof over brilliant Aztec Gold, with jade brocade upholstery proved irresistible to me. Sadly, after an engine transplant she decided she wanted a tranny too. In our undergraduate years of poverty, I had to let her go; that decision I still lament to this day.
Forlorn at the loss of my first Imp, I swore off full-bore lux-o-barges for a while. A long while. Like after four kids and graduate school. I finally fell for a 1990 silver Imperial with blue Mark Cross leather that you'd swear came from a pair of gloves. Another mobile lemon, but this time I had the money (or at least the credit) to keep her going. Although, I have yet to spring for having her A/C fixed (you name the problem, and the A/C suffers from it).
To stay cool in the summer, a few years ago (before gas prices went through the ceiling) I picked up my first Lincoln, a ’96 Conti (right price, right place, right car, right time). Everything in her and about her worked, and worked well. She wreaked excellence. Because she had seduced me away from my Imperial, and was young (comparatively) I named her “Lolita” (which goes well with Lincoln).
In all honesty, much as I (still) love my Imp, Lolita’s mechanical superiority cannot be denied. Before we acquired Lolita, she had benefited from a new air suspension in the back, and several other dealer-performed items. (A printout of her entire history was presented to us at purchase from the dealer who also sold her new.) She has been a flawless performer to this point (about 30,000 miles later). The only problem I’ve experienced with Lolita so far involves my wife.
We have a nice 1994 Mercury Grand Marquis (known affectionately as “the Cruiser” as she is white and looks like a Highway Patrol vehicle until one comes up close to her) which was/is the family car, and thus my wife’s principal ride. However, as Lolita has not just anti-lock brakes, but traction control, I made the mistake of sending my wife off in her when the first winter storm hit and iced our roads. And my wife, who was mesmerized by the power of 32 valves in a car smaller and more agile than the Cruiser, promptly claimed Lolita as her own. And of course, the six-disc CD changer didn’t do anything to alienate my wife either, nor did the heated seats. So, I’m back in my ‘90 Imp.
So, when she needs gas, I get to drive Lolita to the station and fill her with 91 octane, which she sips at the rate of one gallon every twenty-five miles on the freeway. (Curiously, Lolita and the Cruiser turn in nearly identical mileage ratings, town and country; the Imp does a tad better, especially in town, but she’s a smaller car with a V-6 and no working A/C.)
Well, that’s probably far more info than anyone wanted to know. But after a career in the world of management, I’m leaving it to pursue my other love(s) in a second career: teaching. I’m a Language Arts nut (among other things, I have degrees in French and English, so if you spot any non-stylistic solecisms, my apologies), and I love writing, as much as I love old (and newer) Caddys, Lincolns, and yes, Imperials. And if you’re wondering, my Aunt is 83, and tools around in a ’92 Seville (with 42,000 original miles on it), which I wax and detail for her once or twice a year. My experiences with her Caddy round out my present relation with the “Big Three” of my youth. As I trundle along in middle age, I’m lucky to have access to all three!
In this my first post, from my own experience, I can say:
(1) The Lincoln is a tad slower than the Caddy (even one without the Northstar) of the line
(2) The Lincoln is more comfortable and has vastly better controls; moreover, its projected instruments are incredible, they make the Caddy’s look like they came from a five-and dime store
(3) The Seville and Conti both have large tires which generate more road noise on our concrete freeways than either my Imp or Merc (the Merc is actually the quietest of the four, generally, let alone on concrete)
(4) The smallest of my fleet, the Imp, has the most leg room for passengers—especially in its limousine-like rear compartment.
(5) The Conti is the best looking, clean or dirty; the Imp second, her formal stance gives her a more significant presence than she really has, and in third place for esthetics I find the Caddy attractive more for her dazzling paint and chrome, her lines are a bit blasé and do nothing to mask her girth (though as noted, that girth melts under her mechanicals and she seems a much lighter car on the road).
(6) Each car, in her own distinctive way, presents a delight to someone such as I. Whether as passenger, driver, or bystander, each car offers something for me to enjoy, something which links me back to the carefree days of my childhood perched on the center-armrest throne of my aunt’s 56 DeVille. I love websites such as yours which celebrate the best works of premium American automotive artistry. THANK YOU.
--Sam
