In July 1969, I was selling stuffed animals, helium balloons and other souvenirs at the San Francisco Zoo. That’s the month “In the Year 2525” zoomed to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, where it remained for six weeks. One of the most famous one-hit wonders in recording history, the psychedelic rock song by Denny Zager and Rick Evans predicts that the journey of mankind over the forthcoming centuries will be negatively and darkly affected by technological advances and end with man’s extinction. While I’m sure I listened to it in my little trash-and-trinket shop on Sloat Boulevard, I was […]
In July 1969, I was selling stuffed animals, helium balloons and other souvenirs at the San Francisco Zoo. That’s the month “In the Year 2525” zoomed to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, where it remained for six weeks.
One of the most famous one-hit wonders in recording history, the psychedelic rock song by Denny Zager and Rick Evans predicts that the journey of mankind over the forthcoming centuries will be negatively and darkly affected by technological advances and end with man’s extinction.
While I’m sure I listened to it in my little trash-and-trinket shop on Sloat Boulevard, I was more likely concerned with how to make giant portions of pink cotton candy for tourists without getting the sticky substance all over my arms. Thoughts about the future of mankind were not foremost on my mind.
A sticky situation
Having just graduated from Abraham Lincoln High School, I had been accepted by Reed College in far-off Portland, OR. However, the acceptance letter was accompanied by a note saying that I would not be offered any financial aid. In those days, tuition plus room and board was a lofty $3,000. That was the same price my grandmother had paid for her new white-over-blue Ford Mustang a few years earlier.
While she never specifically said it was a choice between college and the car, the fact that the Mustang was in the driveway, and I was selling spun sugar was a not-so-subtle hint.
I had become hooked on Reed when I read the world “inculcate” in the opening paragraph of the course catalog. So I resolved to take the year off and work to earn the funds necessary to attend.
At the end of a year, I had saved $1,300. I figured that was enough to get me there for a semester. By coincidence, that was also the same amount that was being asked for a 1963 Alfa Romeo Giulia Spider advertised in The San Francisco Chronicle.
Compared to my first car, a 1959 Bugeye Sprite, or the second, a 1958 MGA, this was a “real” sports car with wind-up windows, a twin-cam alloy engine and a 5-speed gearbox.
After some sleuthing, I discovered I could take out enough student loans to get me to Reed and still be able to buy the Alfa. That might not have seemed like a logical decision to others, but it was to me.
A growing enthusiasm
California Mille founder and enthusiast Martin Swig once told me, “You don’t pick the cars, the cars pick you.” For reasons unknown, Alfas had picked me.
Over the ensuing six decades, my career path took me from Reed to The Juilliard School in New York City, then back to Portland to found and serve as Artistic Director of Ballet Oregon and Director of Dance for the Portland Opera. A stint as Sales Manager at Ron Tonkin Ferrari led, finally, to the publisher’s chair at Sports Car Market 37 years ago.
During that time, I have always owned at least one Alfa Romeo — and sometimes as many as a dozen.
I recall one of my favorite Alfa moments occurring when I was driving in the Modena Cento Ore.
Entered were a mix of street and race cars. Incredibly enough, for most of one morning I was directly behind an Alfa T33/2 sports racer. The police just waved and tipped their hats as it sped by. This was Italy, after all. The sound of the unmuffled, four-cam V8 sent chills down my spine, and the memory still does. To most people, that Alfa was just another noisy red car. But for an Alfa person, the sound was like being bathed in an elixir from the gods.
Past, present and future
In 1969, I couldn’t have foreseen this world of 2025, just as I can’t today envision a 500-year leap to 2525.
We are fortunate to have lived through the great era of analog cars, from the mid-1950s to the mid-1970s. The automobile and the personal mobility and freedom it represents continues to stand as one of mankind’s great inventions, even in our current era of widespread electrification, amidst the auto industry’s quixotic pursuit of self-driving vehicles.
While the advance of technology can certainly seem scary and foreboding, I think that even in 50, 100 or 500 years, there will be those who are drawn to “sports cars” — or whatever that represents in the times to come. I am optimistic about the future of these vehicles, and the passion of those to whom they speak.
I believe there will always be enthusiasts who are picked by certain special cars, whether it be for style, performance or even the sounds they make. Just as having an Alfa was as important to me as going to college, the siren sound of certain machines is impossible to resist. ♦
