Vetting Another Corvette's Allure

And then there's this:

A paint-pitted, faded Corvette for $225,000?

On Monday, I wrote about Chevy's brand-new 2014 Corvette Stingray being introduced at Detroit's auto show.  Although most people won't be able to justify the purchase of such a car for their personal use, since Corvettes take a sports car's usual inefficiencies as a passenger vehicle to the extreme, the Corvette is still a bellwether of how American drivers expect their dream rides to look and perform.

Oftentimes, America's premiere sports car doesn't make waves in the international automotive media the way next year's Vette did this week, but the nameplate's legend and aura consistently boasts remarkable resiliency.  Since it holds a revered place in the hearts and minds of automotive enthusiasts, even during Detroit's decline, when Chevrolet shipped hunks of misfitting fiberglass out to the carbuying public and labeled them "Corvettes," longsuffering fans would patiently admire their model's glory years and console themselves that somehow, someday, the Corvette would be back.

The car is that iconic.

That's why it's not really much of a surprise to learn that a yellowed, paint-pitted 1954 model from Maine is going on the auction block in Florida tomorrow with a plausible selling price estimated to be between $175,000 and $225,000.

Two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars!  For a completely unrestored, as-is 1954 car that hasn't been driven since it was entombed by its original owner into a grocery store in Brunswick, Maine, in 1959.

That's Corvette love for ya, folks!

It also helps to explain how this car's story is part of its value.  As they say in the antiques trade, it has a great "provenance," or history.

Purchased new by Maine grocery story magnate Richard Sampson, the car was driven mildly for about five years.  I say "mildly," because there are only 2,331 miles on the untouched odometer.  With winter weather being exceptionally grueling in the Pine Tree State, many owners of exotic or "cream puff" cars put them in storage for the snow and ice season, and while I don't know it for a fact, it's likely that Sampson only got this car out of mothballs for the few days during Maine's glorious summers when driving is indeed pure pleasure.

And this Corvette, being a convertible, likely made it an ideal cruising car for both the back roads of Maine, as well as its narrow lanes that wind along its shoreline.  A while ago, I commented that I used to find it remarkable that so many Maine residents own convertibles, considering the state's brutal weather, but I can't help but acknowledge that a perfect day in Maine really is a perfect day, and a convertible is a great way to enjoy those few yet perfect days.

Anyway, at one point in 1959, Sampson decided to preserve his wonderful little two-seater for posterity, and had it bricked into its own tomb in a store under construction in Brunswick.  Eventually, the brick coffin was taken down, and the car was enshrined in Sampson's daughter's home in Florida.

Can you imagine having your father's vintage white Corvette convertible sitting in your living room?  Its years of being bricked away in Brunswick were amazingly kind to the car, with the only serious visible damage being to the paint job - it pitted, which, considering GM's abysmal record of bad paint jobs over the decades, isn't surprising - and the wide white sidewalls yellowed with age like untended fine linen.  The convertible top has stains from being left out in Maine's many rainy days, but the interior is practically flawless, as are its flashes of chrome.

Experts estimate it's the only unretouched, completely original 1954 Corvette in existence.  And fortunately, 1954 was a glorious year for the Corvette.  No warped fiberglass on this beauty, but plenty of elegant flourishes and sexy lines, along with chic wire "veils" over each oval headlight, mimicking the veils women of that era wore on their hats.

If its fetching looks don't grab you, or the price it may well fetch this weekend at auction, how about this stunning bit of trivia:  even if it sells for $225,000, this "entombed Corvette" won't be the most expensive Corvette ever.  That distinction goes to a far less glamorous 1969 Corvette L88, which sold for $446,250 in 2007.

Almost half a million dollars!  And that's for one of Chevy's newer 'Vettes.  Granted, the grand champion Corvette was built for racing, while the 1954 model was mostly for prestige touring.  But still, it tells you something about the Corvette market out there, and the interest these cars command.

As does our prized 1954 model.

One guy bricked up his pampered convertible for 27 years, his daughter displayed it inside her house, and even with pitted paint and yellow sidewalls, it could command upwards of a quarter-million-dollars at auction tomorrow.

Yesterday I warned that we Americans don't know as much about our history as we should.  Judging by the keen interest people still have in our vintage cars, and the prices they're willing to pay for them, maybe I was wrong about that.

The antique car market, and Corvette aficionados in particular, prove that we Americans can learn our history when we want to!
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Update:  Our "entombed Corvette" was Lot #S187; updated selling info has yet to be posted as of Monday evening.

Corvette Mania Tests Driverless Allure

They're being hailed as America's next great lifestyle revolution.

Driverless cars.

Automakers are increasingly exploring the market for such an innovative transportation option, and creating new technologies in anticipation of its promise.  But who's really on-board with the whole concept?

Sure, the number of lives experts say can be saved by taking humans out of the driving equation is high.  And it's not like driverless cars will take over our roadways anytime soon; plenty of the technology, laws, and standards necessary to implement the driverless concept still need to be invented, not just refined.  That means we have time to prepare, both logistically, and in terms of our driving mindset.

However, isn't it just a bit ironic that, just when America's environmentalists and techno-geeks have been able to froth up their pitch for driverless cars, the North American International Auto Show opened today in Detroit?

And instead of a driverless car, the new automobile commanding most of the attention today was Chevrolet's brand-new 2014 Corvette?  This isn't just any Corvette either, mind you, but the 2014 Stingray, a rare breed of Corvette that boasts extraordinary power and - for this fiberglass fantasy - remarkable fuel efficiency and structural rigidity.  It's Chevy's no-holes-barred attempt to muscle back into the elite halo of muscle car bragging rights, which helps explain its uncanny resemblance to its brand's lesser sibling, the mass-market Camaro.

Now, while the automotive world and sports car enthusiasts debate the merits - or lack of them - in the Corvette's evolution, isn't it odd that with so many people supposedly wild about removing the driver from the controls of our vehicles, we're even talking about the Corvette anymore?

After all, if the public is pushing for self-driven cars, why should we care whether this new Corvette carries on America's premiere sports car legacy or not?

Most of the journalists who are writing stories about driverless cars live either in California or the Northeast, where congested roadways and hours-long commutes are frustratingly common.  Most of these writers are also men whose idea of a commute is probably more singular, in terms of getting to the office and back home, rather than tangential, like a woman's list of errands she runs before and after work.  Since the average American rush hour commute is 25 minutes one-way, however, the grief experienced by these male journalists in our big cities likely isn't as bad for everybody else as they assume it to be.  Granted, nobody likes being stuck in traffic, but are most Americans anxious to give up conventional driving for self-driving cars?

If we are, why the fuss over Chevy's newest hot rod, or Detroit's flagship auto show in general?  It's not that today is an otherwise slow news day; we get heavy reporting of Detroit's annual winter car carnival every year.  And if news organizations didn't think the public was interested in the new offerings from the world's automakers, isn't there plenty of other non-news to report instead of what next year's Jeeps are going to look like?

Rather, isn't this fuss over the new Corvette simply to be expected from a car buying public that loves cars?  Sure, most of us understand most of us only need - or can afford - a utilitarian vehicle, but we still like to drool over hot automobiles, don't we?  Sure, a driverless car sounds wonderful for people who endure a mind-numbing and nerve-wracking bumper-to-bumper crawl to and from work every day.  But how many people purchase the Corvette Stingray for ordinary commutes?  Corvettes are about a state of mind, much like Bentleys, which ooze idyllic luxury, or massive 4x4 pickup trucks, which reek of testosterone.  They're illogical vehicles, but we still ogle them.

And that can't be good news for fans of the driverless car.

As much common sense as such driverless technology may hold, American society does not value common sense as much as it does power, speed, luxury, image, and individuality - all things that driverless cars will minimize, if not obliterate.

Who needs a powerful car when a street grid adapted for driverless cars tells your onboard computer how much you can accelerate?  And who needs speed when your computer will regulate how fast you can go?

Who needs luxury when so many of a car's gadgets will become standardized so computers from different vehicles can communicate more seamlessly?  After all, our idea of luxury isn't based on how many gadgets a car has, but how many gadgets your car has that other cars don't.

Who needs image when the standardization this technology will inevitably require levels the automotive playing field?  And by this time, you've no individuality left, since it's not your car anymore, but in reality, the street's.  According to some proposed driverless scenarios, which include massive car-swapping paradigms, the car you ride home may not even be the same one you ride back to the office in the morning.

Take the concept of driverless cars to their logical conclusion, and you don't have the Great American Automobile anymore, but a glorified mass transit system in the form of individualized pods.

To the extent that, yes, such a system would save tens of thousands of lives per year, thanks to incredible accident-avoidance technology, it could be argued that driverless cars would be worth the investment.  Even if the auto industry never makes it to a totally driverless future, some of the safety inventions it comes up with in the meantime could themselves be worth the ride.  Just don't be sucked into thinking all that technology would cost you less than what you drive now!

But as Americans - and indeed, drivers around the world - react to Chevy's new Corvette this week, do any of the environmentalists and computer nerds pushing for driverless technology think their battle for driverless cars - and by extension, driverless driveways, streets, and freeways - will be won on the basis of safety and efficiency?

Who actually needs a two-seater fiberglass box on wheels that can rocket from zero to 60 mph in under four seconds?  Who needs 450 horsepower or a multi-tone exhaust system?  Nobody needs the new Corvette, but a lot of people would love to own one.  The dream of roaring down a deserted road with your love interest sitting beside you, eating up the pavement as your mighty machine responds instinctively to your every turn of the wheel or shift of its gears... it's the stuff that car commercials are made of, and it's what car buyers want to imagine for themselves.

Even as we putz along in morning traffic, the reality of our daily grind slapping us in the face every time we have to tap the brakes, crawling through one accident scene after another, wondering why life has to be so hard... there's a little bit of Corvette owner in many of us that hopes for a faster, sexier, automotive future.

Right now, however, it's unlikely driverless cars will be faster or sexier.  Safe and convenient, maybe, but oh, so dull.  Yes, they may take away much of the pain we experience in normal driving scenarios, but are Americans willing to give up the Corvette dream for a commute that's all about equalizing the experience for everybody on the road?

Just look at what most people are talking about in Detroit's auto show.  And that's probably your answer.
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Chasing Relevancy to Irrelevance?

Hey, all y'all fellow evangelicals:

You know how our Christian culture is supposed to be "relevant" and all that?

Well, how's that "relevance" schtick workin' out for ya?

Remember back in the 1980's and 1990's, when the contemporary Christian music movement washed through North American evangelicalism?  The focus was on changes in music style, but we also got big PowerPoint screens and fancy slides, kitschy skits and props, worship teams instead of choirs, dark warehouses instead of bright sanctuaries, parking lot attendants, and outlandishly lavish theme parks instead of children's ministries.

We had to be relevant to reach our culture.  We had to mimic our culture in every way possible without compromising the basics of our faith.  We had to attract, win, relate to, copy, woo, change, refocus, shift our paradigms, be like a business, deploy savvy marketing, know our consumer, and break the Bible down into clever sound bites.

It was a lot of work, it made a lot of long-time churchgoers mad, and it dumbed-down a lot of theology.  But we were told it was all worth it.

Well, was it?

You tell me.  Today, it was announced that for all practical purposes, the Obama inauguration committee had pulled the plug on evangelical pastor Louie Giglio and their invite to have him give the benediction at this month's grand event.

Apparently, somebody dug up an old audiotape in which Giglio was preaching about homosexuality as a sin.  Increasingly, public sentiment is turning against anything that they think compromises an inclusive, non-absolutist, "everyone right in their own eyes" paradigm.  Giglio may be hip and happenin', but all that style means little these days if he's also trying to claim traditional moral standards.  Some evangelicals are publicly pouting that the president's team is doing an about-face to save face with one of its aggressive constituencies, but why the surprise that worldly values are conflicting with God's?  Have we stumbled into the last stop on this relevancy train?

Hey, both liberals and conservatives pounce on people they don't like, and root around in their forgotten closets until they find some skeleton they can trot out as representative of all that's wrong with that person.  But even if you didn't like the tone of Giglio's sermon, was he wrong in his basic message?

Obama and his inauguration committee believe he is.  So he's out.  To his credit, Giglio is willing to let his principles stand on their own merit.  Which are God's merits, anyway.  And they don't need to be "relevant" to be right, do they?

Meanwhile, wasn't all that relevancy stuff two decades ago supposed to help us avoid messes like this?  In addition to Obama's latest snub of orthodox Christian theology, consider our nation's overall reaction to the mass shootings in Newtown and Aurora, in which guns are popularly targeted for blame, instead of personal responsibility.  Consider New York State's governor Andrew Cuomo, and his call for stripping any last vestige of legal and administrative wording or conditions implying anything immoral about abortion from the state's "health" laws.  Consider how censorship on the Internet is being applied disproportionately to religious content with relative impunity in the United States.

Maybe being "relevant" has worked for evangelicals who championed relevancy as a reason to change why we do church.  Maybe if we weren't so relevant today, our country would be in even worse shape than it is.

Alternatively, however, might we have become so relevant, we now have as much integrity as everybody else?  That wouldn't be a good thing, would it?  Have we stooped so low to meet our culture, we've lost our credibility?  We've got rock music in church now, but does any unchurched person really care?

What have we done for our country lately, besides meeting it where it is - on the slippery slope to irrelevance?  We complain about the poor, and we complain about Social Security for widows.  We bemoan one-parent families, yet divorce* at almost the same rate as the unchurched, and let our political talking heads vilify women who get abortions.  We scoff at environmentalism and insist we have the right to waste and destroy God's creation.  We hoard instead of share.  And we dismiss every single person who calls us on the carpet for these sins as a leftist liberal, as if the truth is relative, which we claim it is not.

In our push for relevance, doesn't it look like we're on the verge of becoming irrelevant?  If you work really hard to look like the culture around you, what's there to distinguish you when you blend in?  By trying to match our culture, did we take our eyes off of our true mission:  honoring God?

Not that hymns, choirs, stained glass windows, and flannel graphs instead of videos in Sunday School would have won our country for Christ.  To the extent that we rely on gimmicks instead of the Holy Spirit, we short-change our country whether its by traditional or contemporary styles.  Unsaved people don't truly care whether your pastor wears a suit and tie while preaching.  They want to see what you truly believe - especially when you're not listening to somebody's sermon, or "talk," or whatever it's called these days.

We're taught to think that the opposite of "relevance" is "irrelevance."  Paradoxically, however, trying to be relevant can make one irrelevant.  At least, judging by how society seems to be shunting us off into the margins of our cultural discourse.

Turns out, we're really supposed to be pleasing God after all, aren't we?  Not the people around us.

We can be disappointed by Obama's jilting of Giglio.  But we shouldn't be surprised.  Especially if it means our honor of God is what the world is spurning.
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*Don't fall for Focus on the Family's funny math on this subject.

Give Me Jesus

Spirituals.

As in, the genre of music from America's legacy of slavery.

The choir director at my church knows I'm not a fan of spirituals.  He, like many classically-trained musicians, contends that as a type of folk music, spirituals represent a vivid aesthetic of faith in the midst of oppression, and he says that makes them more than worthy of being sung in church, no matter how white the congregation.

I don't deny that spirituals command a unique place in America's worship and classical repertoires, but I'm always a bit uneasy, being a white guy, singing words that black people sang while being abused by, well, white folk.  My friend rebuts my concern with the fact that many spirituals contained code-words for real political freedom, not just religious slogans white slaveowners would have expected their human property to learn in their segregated southern churches.  That means spirituals, as anthems of liberty anybody should appreciate, are more than just songs for black people.

When I attended the multi-racial Calvary Baptist Church in New York City, the choir and congregation sang spirituals frequently, but doing so made much more sense in that context.  Less than 50% of the church was white, and blacks in our congregation were from not only the South, but also Africa and the Caribbean.  We all knew the story of America's tortured record with civil rights, but the political correctness implicit in spirituals was far less obvious in racially diverse Manhattan, as opposed to Dallas' lily-white enclave of Highland Park, where my church is located.

My other objection to spirituals in general is that many of them contain sloppy - even heretical - theology.  After all, white slave owners didn't force their human property to attend church so they could learn how Christ came to die for their sins.  Like it has been for centuries, church was a socialization tool more than anything else, so it's unlikely that sound theology was conveyed to slaves, even as their owners were sitting in grander religious palaces under sermons that danced around the very ethics propping up the southern labor standard.

I realize this is wildly inappropriate for me to say from a political correctness standpoint, but bad theology has a bad habit of breeding and spreading, not only through weak song lyrics we whites excuse because slaves composed them, but also through the system of black churches we have in the United States today.  Whites suffer from bad theology too, of course, as can be seen from the post-Civil-War liberalism which sprouted from white abolitionist mainline churches in the North.  Similarly, however, bad theology from the South's poorly-taught slaves likely bred the likes of President Obama's former pastor, Jeremiah Wright, and an incredibly reliable voting bloc that feigns spiritual amnesia when it comes to social issues like abortion.  For the Republican Party to be the party that, for all practical purposes, set slaves free politically, having the Democratic Party assume it now needs to protect the interests of blacks didn't happen in a vacuum.  Never having a solid theological foundation must have played an integral role in modern America's quandary of blacks who oppose abortion and gay marriage overwhelmingly voting for a president who champions both.

Nevertheless, having said all of this, there are still some spirituals that even I can't deny speak to the essence of faith, and cut to the heart of the matter in a way other religious songs don't.

Take, for example, a song that came to mind this afternoon as I continued to mull not only the tragic passing of Harriet Deison, but the homegoing yesterday of a longtime family friend, the hospitalization of yet another family friend today, and other sobering events from recent days.

It's entitled "Give Me Jesus," and that's exactly what I pray not only for myself on this dark, rainy day in Texas, but for you as well.  Jesus truly is ultimately, perfectly, and absolutely, all we need.  And God has given Him to us!

In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You may have all the rest [or, "you can have all this world"],
Give me Jesus.

Dark midnight was my cry,
Dark midnight was my cry,
Dark midnight was my cry,
Give me Jesus.

Just about the break of day,
Just about the break of day,
Just about the break of day,
Give me Jesus.

Oh, when I come to die,
Oh, when I come to die,
Oh, when I come to die,
Give me Jesus.

And when I want to sing,
And when I want to sing,
And when I want to sing,
Give me Jesus.

And if you would like to see a video of this spiritual, here it is sung by Fernando Ortega, who as a Hispanic, conveniently erases whatever racial hang-ups there may be about this song:



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Picking on Pickup Trucks

It's raining today.

Which means, for many construction workers, the workday may have been called short.

Driving back from Dallas after lunch this afternoon, in a drizzle which kept everything wet between sporadic downpours, I noticed on the freeway a lot of pickup trucks with equipment haphazardly stacked in their beds.  This being Texas, where construction is a way of life, you always see pickup trucks hauling equipment, but in the rain, it seemed like there were more of them on the road than on job sites.

Indeed, most of the stretch of freeway I drive between Dallas and Arlington is one long series of construction sites, and they were all deserted this afternoon.

In addition to being a construction hotspot, Texas is also pickup truck country.  More pickups are sold here than in any other state.  All of the brands have "Texas" editions, with special badging, wheels, and options packages designed to appeal to Lone Star truck buyers.  Toyota even builds their full-size pickups here in San Antonio, although Ford, Chevrolet, and Dodge still duke it out for the preponderance of market share.

It's hard getting pickup truck drivers into import brands.  After all, when you're talkin' redneck, these motor vehicle owners really do have red necks, from working all day in what's normally a brutal Texas sun.  Country music, patriotism, football, American beers, and the occasional Confederate flag.  Toyota and Nissan just don't fit, and Honda, which builds the Ridgeline, just gets laughed out of the picture.

Pickup truck owners in Texas may buy a Honda passenger car for their wife, but they lose serious man points if they pay money for what Honda calls a truck.

Then again, plenty of women own pickup trucks here, too.  And not just trucks that are all girlied-up with chrome bling.  You'd be surprised at the burly guys who claim all of that froo-froo shininess for their own pickups.

I've never owned a pickup truck, although I've come close.  A few years ago, I was evaluating a Ford F-150 Supercrew, because I loved all of the room it gave the driver, as opposed to the compressed space most passenger cars give guys as big as me.  But I was only a block away from the dealership on my test drive before I had to pull off the road and turn around - it was just too big a vehicle!  I felt like I was plowing a piece of earthmoving equipment, and was petrified I was going to hit something.

My male cousin in Finland, an owner of economy cars, couldn't understand why I'd want to buy a pickup truck anyway.  "Then you'd never get married," he assumed, speaking from a sensible European mindset.  "Who wants a guy who drives a huge ugly truck?"

Are you laughing?  I was!  My cousin obviously didn't understand how American women - and Texas women in particular - go for guys who drive pickups they either don't need or guzzle more gas than is necessary to get from Point A to Point B.  Contrary to my cousin's assumption, there's no compromising one's sexual allure with the purchase of a pickup truck here.  In fact, my Honda sedan probably is more punitive to whatever allure I hold than a truck would be.

Unless it was a Ridgeline, of course.  By comparison, I probably earn macho points by owning a Honda sedan over the Japanese brand's truck.

In New York City, the status car is probably some imported luxury sedan.  In Chicago, it's probably a loaded Cadillac.  In Los Angeles, it's probably a Bentley convertible with leather seats the same custom color as its paint job.  Here in Texas, with the possible exception of snooty Dallas, the status vehicle isn't a car, but a truck.  And it doesn't even have to be brand-new, or top-of-the-line.

Or even clean.

1970 Chevrolet pickup truck

Until his messy divorce, a neighbor up the street had an orange 1970 Chevrolet pickup.  It belched blue smoke, and this neighbor - like many of traditional truck ownership's dying breed - didn't always keep it clean, but it was still a cool ride.

Although a tiny truck by today's standards, it was the kind of vehicle I'd grown up assuming a pickup is supposed to be.  Two-wheel drive, long bed, single-cab, two doors, and all-around no-nonsense.  No-nonsense not just in its lack of frills, but in the way it acknowledged its purpose:  working.

This truck wasn't built to show off, or to make somebody look masculine, or to give somebody an air of off-road adrenaline-pumping action.  It was built to get somebody - probably a guy, but not necessarily - to a destination that had less to do with status and image and more to do with everyday work or everyday recreation, like fishing or camping.

My Uncle Arthur and Aunt Hattie drove a dark green Chevy of the same vintage in Maine - they only ever owned one pickup at a time.  No need for more than that.  Except that when Uncle became unable to drive, Aunt Hattie went into town and traded in their pickup for a more ladylike coupe!

You've likely seen pickups advertised on television that are shiny, glistening with chrome, and hauling ridiculous amounts and types of cargo while staying in pristine condition.  Meanwhile, how many office parks and shopping malls around you are full of those same $45,000 fully-loaded pickups without a scratch, dent, or clump of mud anywhere on them?

Like I said, I go past construction sites all the time when I take my regular freeway rides back and forth to Dallas, and most of the construction workers at these sites park their beat-up old sedans and coupes behind concrete barriers, and contractors drive their plain-Jane white trucks in the dirt, but I don't see many souped-up trucks like what are advertised on television as work site workhorses.

Misleading advertising isn't common just to pickup trucks, of course.  Yet increasingly, pickup truck manufacturers are selling more of an image and a perception of a certain lifestyle, instead of just a utilitarian vehicle.  The fact that you can spot non-commercial pickup trucks on the urbane avenues of New York City these days proves that.

All this, while most of the jobs for which we're told pickup trucks are designed pay a fraction of the sticker prices those trucks display at dealerships these days.

Fortunately, at least for Texans, old trucks have an uncanny ability to hold their value.  Especially the ones that didn't have all the bells and whistles to begin with.  The bells and whistles that tend to malfunction in their American-made vehicles.  Turns out, a good, honest workhorse is still a good value, whether it's the Old West, or today's Lone Star State.

If you do happen to get stuck on the job site during rainy weather like today's, however, that fancy doo-dad called four-wheel-drive probably does come in mighty handy.
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