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PEBBLE BEACH?....MORE LIKE PADDYS BOG!


I have long wished to attend a car show somewhere in the World other than Ireland. Shows here consist, in the main, of rotting vestiges of the once 'great' British empire combined with stalls selling totally useless gaskets and unidentifible 'bits and pieces', which have long lost any desire to live.

After every show I attend here in Ireland I swear on my late dogs life never to set a wheel near another one. If I could lay a bet on how many times I will hear certain words, phrases, or how many times my tyres will be kicked I would be a wealthy man by now.

Firstly you pull into the field here that makes the lunar landscape look inviting, and some self appointed car park attendant in an luridly fluorescent Hi-Viz vest will wildly gesticulate his arms around like his arm pits are on fire, trying to catch your attention. He wants you to reverse your 1934 Packard (with extremely limited vision) into an impossible space between two MG Midgets, while you use small children as bollards. Needless to say the MG owners are not happy as they consult their solicitors about their Right To Light as they cower in the shadow of the Beast.
Before you get to even switch off the engine, the 'Men In Flat Caps' are lining up, lists of 'Common And Annoying Things To Say And Do At Car Rallies' in hand. And so the pre-ordained well-rehearsed pantomime begins. The man in the front of the donkeys' outfit turns to his rear end and bellows, "That's some car!", to which a voice emanating from his ass adds "be gob, it sure is..what is it?" The front half of the act will usually come to the conclusion it's a Rolls Royce, despite the fact 'Packard' is written as large as life in six places on the car. I decide not to engage in conversation for fear of being told I do not know what I'm talking about, and being treated like an idiot.
Stepping out of the relative safety of my tank I scan the horizon for Flat Cap Men. It's a dangerous time; a Tyre Kicker could sneak up from the rear at any moment. The MG men are quiet, maybe because of the permafrost that has set in, or maybe they know its only time before I'm surrounded by various classes of sub-species of Flat Cap Men and Tyre Kickers, and that silence is the best option.
The light starts to fade, not because the Sun has gone in, but because of the menacing crowd heading directly for The Beast. I try to deflect them with distracting comments, "hey..look over there, it's a Mk3 Cortina with Thruflow Ventilation!" or, "is that Rolls Royce supposed to be on fire!".

Sadly all to no avail.

The first wave of The Unwashed Masses approaches The Tank. The assault begins in earnest, the leader of the rabble, hands on hips and a cigarette butt balanced precariously on his grease caked lips bellows out, 'they don't make them like they used to' to which I invariably reply, 'thank God for that!'. Other typical gems might include, 'my uncle had one of them' or 'what year is it?' usually spoken while they test the wings by banging on them or standing on the running boards doing a rather poor impression of a 30's gangster, although judging by his suit it did see gangster service in the '30's!

I don't know the origins of the 'Wing Banging Test' but along with the 'Tire Kicking Test' it must fulfil some deep primitive desire, like an Orangutan beating its chest

A non-technical type sometimes accompanies me. She only needs to know stock answers to stock questions in order to qualify as an Packard expert. The answers are as follows, '5,500cc, 8 cylinder, 14mpg, 1934, 65mph, American. Can you guess the questions?

One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the apparent miraculous change in legal ownership of cars entered in shows. Once parked up they are now in public ownership, for you have now entered a communist mini-state, and any thoughts of private ownership must be dismissed from the capitalists' mind. The peasants swarm all over the car, nothing is safe, even the petrol cap must be secured with a chain to prevent it becoming a family heirloom. I can only assume these poor people have never seen a mechanically propelled vehicle before. It's a delight to see their innocent faces light up when they realize that yes, the steering wheel does turn the front wheels, or, when it dawns on them that a door handle will, with enough force, open any car door, even if its locked. I believe, according to third hand accounts from travellers I have encountered, that great respect is shown to exhibits in lands far away, they even speak of the Plebeians are kept away from exhibits with something as sophisticated as a rope!

On a serious note I must say that the damage caused to paintwork, door handles, steering, gears, and running boards combined with a plain lack of respect for other people's property lead me to attending fewer and fewer shows each year. At one particular event this year I returned to my car after purchasing a plastic cup of hand blended connoisseur tea to find a complete family unit sitting in my car eating the staple diet of the masses, chips (or fries)! I asked if they would mind getting out of the car only to be told they were doing no harm and that I was spoiling their day!
I used to have a sign on my car stating, "Please do not do anything to this car you would not do to your own". Perhaps this was viewed as an invitation? One day I will carry out my threat to follow these mindless nincompoops back to their own cars and as the good book says, 'do unto others'. Over the past few years my warning signs have become a little less polite. Now I am a bit more forward. These days a sign stating, "Do not touch this car, I know where you live!", combined with a snarling girlfriend, will keep most Flat Caps and Tyre kickers at bay.

If you ever see my car at a show again let me save you the trouble of kicking my tyres by telling you now, yes, they are made of rubber, and no, there is air in them!

All I ask for in return for writing this novelette is 2 First Class airplane tickets, first class accommodation and the loan of a Packard to visit to a real show with real cars and real enthusiasts!

If you got as far as this...I am very impressed!

Pat.

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Pat

I really enjoyed reading your disertation. It sounds close to what I might write upon occasion. However be careful what you ask for you might get it. I have seen much the same thing here. At one show some 16 year old twit was trying to remove the radiator cap from my wifes car until she spotted him and then proceeded to do what the parents of the little cretan should have done years ago. If I had the resources I would grant your request, but as they stand you'll have to stay in Ireland for a while. Sometime the grass is NOT greener on the other side.

ALK

Pat,

Unfortunately, private property is becoming less respected and less private every day. This is an international trend that spreads across both land and oceans.

I carry a small wooden shovel handle in the trunk of my car. It is a universal tool for both mechanical and physical use. It is much like what you would call a shaleighle. I can say "stay away from the car please" and be ignored. But with my special tool in hand the phrase takes on a whole new meaning.

Magically, big beer swilling red necks with huge belt buckles stop leaning over my fenders scratching the paint. People stop opening and slamming the doors. People don't lean on my car talking to their buddies.

Unless a car has a "FOR SALE" sign in it in the car coral, people have no right to poke & prod a car on display without permission.

Pat, That was oh so funny! I was laughing aloud to myself as I read it. Here in the wilds of the boreal forest not a whole lot is different as far as the car show clientele except perhaps you don't see so many "flat hats".

When I used to do car shows with one of my other cars, I ended up buying four pole stands with weighted bases, and a length of good thick colorful rope. Then you can rope off your car and create a little belt-buckle to "no-fly" zone around your car.

If someone crosses your barrier, then it time to go at them with the shovel, tire/tyre iron, or crowd control weapon of your choice.

Pat, If you're not doing it already, you should seriously consider a stint as comedy writer. Your narrative is head and shoulders funnier than some I've read and that people were actually paid to write--even the serious bits-- and every word so true.

you could come here, but its no better. every part that gets touched, every controll, switch, and knob played with, every belt buckle and pair of greasy hands... its all the same.

If i had a nickle for every time ive been asked "who made the Packard?", id be a very rich man.

I find, at least, that the members of the older generation are the most tolerable, while those in their 30s-50s are the most insuferable.


Plus, im only "a kid" in the car world. Very few people actually believe that I own my car. I get a lot of disbelieving "uh huhs". That i find most annoying of all. Some have said to my face that im not old enough to know what a packard is, and that i cant possibly own it.

What a great story ! I laughed all the way thru.
I can honestly say I have never had this trouble with folks poking and touching my car.
Although ,Like you I'm usually the only person with a Packard in attendance.I do get the same questions that the rest of us Packard owners get.Nobody has ever touched my car without asking.Our local show here in northern California (Auburn)has about 300+ cars once a month in the historic district during the summer.I must say it can get a little crazy trying to park,but once parked I can go get a cold beer and not worry about the car.About twice during each show some old timer will ask if he can open the door or have a photo taken with it."Of course" is always the answer.

Hi there,

I actually wrote this article for an Irish 'vintage car' publication (i.e. anything other than the aforementioned 'vintage car') and they would not publish it. I always bought the magazine and they were looking for stories about car shows.

They said it would alienate their readership, the poor little sensitive mites!

Pat.

Pat,

I wonder if you could do me a favor, and not post things like this until after 5:00 pm Mountain Standard Time (MST).

You see the problem is I took the liberty of opening PI at work this afternoon. I ran across your post and began to read. Typically, there is not much time for this kind of activity, but today I just couldn't resist.

As I began to read, I suddenly found myself laughing almost uncontrollably. This escalated to nearly falling out of my chair. Others from the surrounding offices began to pour in to see what all the hubbub was about.

I had to quickly close PI and open some asinine office email joke involving kittens and a stupid caption.

But seriously, it is exactly the same here in the states. I have other non-Packard collectable vehicles. The one that brings out the worst in spectators is my 1960 Edsel convertible. They made just 76 of these. You cannot believe the things I have heard people say concerning this completely misunderstood misinformation-mobile. Q - "You know what the rarest Edsel is?" A - "this model parked right here..." Moronic rebut from questioner - "No, the ranchero pickup Edsel" or my other favorite "The retractable hard top Edsel." Hey, what do I know, I am only the owner of the car.

My other favorite is, "I know where one of these are for sale for like $5000.00" to which I answer "I will give you a $10000.00 finders fee regardless of condition right now, lets go" to which the car show loud mouth reply's "oh, um, I don't think he would sell it" to which I reply "Hmm, you just said you know where it is, named a price, but that all just changed in 30 seconds?".

Pat, I feel your pain. Oddly, I don't get as much of this in the Packard. My Packard kind of looks old and fragile. I think people are more reluctant to molest the car. I guess in the end, we will just have to grin and bear it. We have some excellent Packard club events where the people are very respectful of the car, and the owner. If not Pebble Beach, maybe you can make it to one of our Packard International club membership meets.