The 70s: In the end it was something more I guess

My dad was a Buick man, at least he was when I was old enough to really know him.

The decade consisted of a new LeSabre every two years, bought from a local dealer who was a friend who never ever gave my old man a deal, or at least none that I am aware of. My dad was loyal to a fault.

I fairly sure he wasn't all that interested in new car technology. But he sure liked that new car smell and the status of having a new shiny car on a regular basis.

One of my dad's sweet rides during the 70s

Perhaps this was his way of dealing with losing my mom at the beginning in early 1970. Perhaps that new car was a balm for not only a midlife crisis, but a sort of whole life crisis from the bad hand he was dealt.

I remember several times when he drive home from the local Pontiac-Buick dealer with a new model, looking somewhat self satisfied with his purchase. But it always seemed a bit forced, a sort of a “here’s my shot at a bit of happiness.” It felt similar to when he stumbled into a disastrous rebound second marriage, which was thankfully short lived.

But the cars remained a constant. A couple of them were red, and there was at least one sort of a two tone green model. There were never leather seats, just cloth, and he would cruise slowly (no person on the planet drove more deliberately than C. Rolland Lockard) up Route 220 listening to The Statler Brothers on the 8-track, with about 35 cars behind him and all unable to pass on the winding two-lane blacktop.

My cars during that time including the infamous ‘63 Tempest, a Torino that I wrecked, another two-tone Pontiac, a brown Pinto and a ‘78 Sunbird.

Hey, I just realized that I had three different Pontiacs.

I guess that made me a Pontiac man.

The Lockards were never big on fine automobiles.