Gimme Danger official trailer -- reference back to Beats post in March: "Proto-Punk and the Stooges"

Exploring the Sundwick Automotive Photo Library: Part III – Imports in the Heart of the Auto Industry, Detroit-Flint, 1953-63

William Sundwick

Beginning in the 1950s, before Detroit discovered “compacts,” there were dealer franchises in the heart of the auto industry, from Detroit to Flint, that sought to fill a growing demand for small, economical cars. They sold various low-priced models from Great Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Sweden, and even Czechoslovakia. In the 1940s there had been attempts by U.S. automakers to market smaller cars, but the only successful model was the Rambler from American Motors, first introduced in 1950 (still Nash at that time).

There, in the “belly of the beast,” a rebellious sense captured some local consumers who were skeptical of the long-term viability of their communities’ dependence on the dominant American auto manufacturers. In Flint, it was GM. These consumers were non-conformists. Yes, they wanted sensible, economical transportation, but they also just wanted to be different from their neighbors!

In my family, the first to express his non-conformity this way was my Uncle Carl. He taught music in the Detroit public schools, and was the conductor of a large high school orchestra. One of my earliest “car memories” was of his peculiar little Renault 4 CV, which he owned about the time we moved north from Dearborn to Flint. The 4 CV was well-known in France at the time, but I certainly had never seen one here, in eastern Michigan.

Its engineering was based on the rear-engine platform which was becoming popular in Europe for many small cars. But, unlike the VW beetle, it used a tiny (550 cc, or “4 CheVaux” by French measures) cast iron in-line four – not the horizontally opposed aluminum engine used in VWs and Porsches. And, also unlike VW, it had four doors! My uncle’s 4 CV was black, but when I studied in France during my junior year abroad in 1967-68, I discovered they were made in other colors, too. 

After moving to Flint, I discovered that, even in that smaller city –in effect, a General Motors “company town” – there were a few people that owned low-priced imported cars. I saw Austins and Morrises,  and those popular-priced sports cars: MG and Triumph. Austin-Healeys had a bit more muscle, didn’t see too many in Flint. Nobody would spend the money for a Jaguar XK-120.  

Imported did seem to mean English in those days – perhaps due to the regional influence of the Detroit BMC (British Motor Corporation) franchise, Falvey Motors.

When the Renault Dauphine replaced the 4 CV in the late ‘50s, they became popular as well (there was even a Renault dealer on the outskirts of Flint).

Volkswagen was in the mix, but hardly dominant among the various European choices.

In my Flint neighborhood, soon after moving there, I discovered an insurance salesman on the next street who drove a beautiful Jaguar Mk. VII sedan (selling for $5-6K, even in the fifties), and a strange family of central European origin who bought a Czech Skoda! (Where? I don’t know … were they Communists? Don’t know that, either).

Then, another uncle in Detroit (Uncle Bob) was bitten by the import fever. He was an independent CPA, apparently feeling no allegiance in his vehicle choice to Detroit automakers (well, he did have a second car, a Ford Country Squire, as I remember) … first he 

bought a spiffy Triumph TR-3 roadster, then a tiny Fiat 600, later a

 

slightly larger Fiat 1100 wagon. He also passed along the old issues of his Road & Track subscription to me, after he finished them.

One thing that sets these 1950s imports apart from the Japanese invasion of later decades is that they were not demonstrably higher quality than contemporary American cars. In fact, buyers were generally willing to settle for lower quality as a fair trade-off for their considerably lower retail price. Most were notoriously unreliable – and, parts may have been costlier than those from domestic manufacturers. 

Here is where Rambler excelled, after establishing itself nationwide in the mid-fifties. It had comparable reliability to other American makes, yet still offered that appealing smaller size and greater fuel economy, for a price slightly lower than market leading Chevrolets, Fords, and Plymouths. In the aggregate, Rambler and these imports motivated new “compact” designs from Detroit’s Big Three by 1960 (Chevrolet Corvair, Ford Falcon, and Plymouth Valiant).

General Motors, prior to the introduction of the Corvair, had tested the waters domestically by selling German Opels through Buick dealers across the U.S. Ford had been trying to do this with English Fords, selectively in certain markets (including Detroit) throughout the fifties. 

Chrysler briefly partnered with Rootes Group in Britain (Hillman, Sunbeam) and Simca in France, but somewhat later, and with little impact where I lived.

By the early sixties, the British imports (except for those great popular sports cars) and smaller Germans (save VW) were fading

from the scene, until something revolutionary entered the American market in the early sixties, again putting Britain briefly in the center of attention. This was the original BMC Mini, designed by Alec Issigonis, and first reaching our shores in 1962.

Renault and Fiat kept a following through the sixties, but Borgward, Goliath, DKW, and that weird Czech import, Skoda, all disappeared. Swedish Saabs and Volvos made their first big U.S. push in the late ‘50s, too. And, Alfa Romeo competed directly with the Brits -- giving their signature low-priced sports car platform an Italian accent (low-priced compared to Jags, Porsches, or Mercedes SLs, at least).

As the sixties wore on, interest in most of the European brands continued to decline, with Volkswagen and sports cars the exceptions. The Japanese, first arriving on the West Coast only in the late ’50s (Datsun and Toyota), and East Coast in the mid-60s, would remake the landscape for the domestic auto industry in the following decades. Detroit ultimately would become a shadow of its former self. 

A Feminist Manifesto (from a Heteronormative Male Who Raised Only Sons)

William Sundwick

Patriarchy

Let’s not trivialize the “elephant in the room.” Patriarchy has been the near universal social structure throughout the Euro-Asian world since the Neolithic revolution of agriculture, perhaps 12,000 years ago. It has been accepted by all the world’s major religions for thousands of years. It underlies the persistence of monarchy and transmission of wealth in all of history’s greatest empires.

True to the patrilineal society in which we live, both my adult sons took my surname, not their mother’s.

So, where do feminists come from, anyway? In primitive Neolithic societies child-bearing and nursing the young were activities which necessarily distracted from the attention that had to be paid to tending crops and domesticating animals – and, life spans were not long enough to allow for much post-child-rearing endeavors, especially when generous fertility was required, due to infant mortality.

Yet, archaeologists and anthropologists agree that pre-agricultural hunter-gatherer societies were NOT necessarily patriarchal, but often were far more egalitarian, as are many indigenous peoples today. Women might make superior hunters than men, or superior gatherers, and the investment in land and infrastructure simply was not there, needing protection from adversaries. Hunter-gatherer villages were small, and monogamy less likely – every child knew its mother, if not its father. Matrilineal cultures could, and did, evolve in these conditions.

Property, evil

With agriculture, and land, came the notion of property. Property was overhead – it added an additional layer on the Neolithic world. Property determined wealth, wealth easily translated into power, and those who possessed it would fight to keep it. They considered women and children property as well. Families emerged, forged alliances with other families, forming tribes, then tribes invented myths to perpetuate themselves (religion). Later, tribes grew into nation-states and empires. Men were the “haves,” women the “have-nots.” Women were chattel, and slavery was the dominant organizing principle for labor. Only in modern times have women been allowed to own property, and has slavery been abolished.

Rendered powerless by religious and legal systems, many women became acculturated in a different method of influencing the world – through manipulation of men. Rather than contesting men for power, they discovered ways to share it.

As cultures became more complex, the demand for specialization of labor led to the development of educational and other social support systems. At the same time, there were great improvements in life expectancy, especially for women vis-à-vis their men. Suddenly, women often became the better-equipped to manage many of the ancillary activities of daily life. Not only the role of teacher, but the nurse, seamstress, and other home-based activities became accessible to women.

Reaction

But, as men detected a change in the power balance, they sought to redress it. Women resented this. Moving through the 20^th century, women’s health concerns were much ameliorated by science and medicine. It was no longer necessary to be neutralized by child-rearing. Late In the century, it even became possible, with proper educational credentials, to start a career, interrupt it to start a family, then resume it later, when children were older. These options were only available to a privileged slice of educated women in “advanced” western countries, however. And, even there, the vestiges of patriarchy were still found in pay scales, allegedly due to those “interruptions” in their careers.

Clinging to power in their patriarchal world motivates many men in the world to this day. The recent episode of the “Google manifesto,” which caused a software engineer to be fired, indicates the continued sensitivity many men feel about their abilities to compete with women in the workplace.

Some societies still have legal constraints on women’s activities (Saudi Arabia), others endorse religious restrictions on women (both from Islam and the Roman Catholic Church). To most of us in the western world, the rationale for these legal or religious restrictions appears anachronistic, to say the least – there is still a vocal minority of men who feel they are oppressed by feminism.

Gender fluidity

Emerging in the 21^st century are even more challenges to the patriarchal social structure. Now, it is becoming difficult to even determine gender in an individual. Freedom to switch genders is being asserted more forcefully throughout the West. If women can simply say “now, I’m a man,” they are forcing a confrontation with the rules of patriarchy. The male reaction, along with their female collaborators, would be to deny that freedom. Reproductive freedom is a similar argument – it forces a confrontation with many patriarchy-enforced values, mainly via religion.

Queer Theory has developed an ideology of fluid gender roles, where individuals can move comfortably back and forth between genders, or adopt characteristics of both genders simultaneously. Indeed, this is not new -- cross-dressing and unconventional career choices have long been on the plate for all of us, as has choice of the gender of intimate partners. The only change is that now we have academic and psychological endorsements from social elites. The expression “heteronormative” was invented as part of queer theory to focus on the aspect of normalization in the patriarchy.

What about families? Is feminism a threat to the family unit? It seems to me, at least, that for all the reasons mentioned above: the complexity of the demand for labor, the advances in science and technology, and the favored position women have developed over the last couple centuries in the West – we can now say that any “interruption” in the care of children caused by mothers being absent some of the time is transitory at best, and might even be beneficial to child development. What is threatened is not the family itself, but the hierarchy of authority that has sought to dominate the family, and all social institutions, since the very earliest days of the Neolithic revolution!

Greater autonomy of women (including property rights) has also been a stabilizing influence on the family because it places constraints on men’s philandering. The ability to divorce a husband is a feminist contribution of the last hundred years.

In many cases, my own included, men are now forced to accept – even in the deepest recesses of their socialized brains – that women are, and ought to be, autonomous actors in their own lives.

The future

In the future, many now see a growing “useless class” of unemployed, due to advances in artificial intelligence, and many (but not all) of them will be men. It is them, and not the growing class of educated and skilled women that are the primary threat to the persistence of the patriarchal social model. Their only salvation may lie in replacing capitalism with a non-property-based system.

We can expect to see a corresponding dissolution of those authoritarian entities which have perpetuated the patriarchy – the state and the church.  And, as we try to envision this future, we should remember that history lies in the records, not the myths. What do we know about alternative social models? Those that existed in the remote past, and those that exist among some indigenous groups today? Learning about them will be more useful than stubborn allegiance to the myths of the past, even those that have seen a very long run of thousands of years.

Human society has proven very adaptable over its long history. There is no reason to think that the patriarchal gods of the last five millennia cannot be replaced by a new “earth mother” model, in many ways similar to the earliest hunter-gatherers.

As reported Monday: pretty tough to actually shut down a webstie -- Daily Stormer moves to .ru domain!

Footnote to last March post: "Mysteries of the Internet" ... it's actually pretty hard to shut down a website, even one as egregious as The Daily Stormer

Anarchists in DC area -- good profile from WaPo: they're young, well educated, and angry! And, they use "Propaganda of the Deed" as a tactic! Watch out!

When “Travel” Means a One Hour Drive to Baltimore and a Hotel …

But, You Only Turn 70 Once!

William Sundwick

There was a secret plan. I was informed of its existence on Thursday, by my wife, the chief conspirator. While I had been trying to minimize the impact of my impending 70^th birthday that Saturday, my family had not forgotten the date. When Wife asked, thoughtfully, whether I wanted the details, I said no. At that point, surprise was preferable.

After more intense questioning, however, I relented -- surrendering by Friday evening. It would be an extended two-day adventure in Baltimore, “Charm City” … not unknown to us, but still a foreign land. My cosmopolitan elder son also had an approval role in the conspiracy initiated by my wife. He was more Baltimore savvy than either of us.

As my wife unveiled her meticulously planned itinerary, I was impressed. This was shaping up to be an extraordinary celebration – and the usual family dinner at a local restaurant wasn’t even part of it! When I did stuff like this 40+ years ago, I would call it tres cool. 

I immediately began checking menus and maps for the places on the itinerary. First stop, lunch Saturday, would be an arty little butcher shop in the Remington neighborhood. Then, a distillery tour just a few blocks away. The Hotel Indigo was back downtown, in the Mt. Vernon historic district. We decided we’d take a cab to dinner at The Rusty Scupper, on the Inner Harbor. But, we’d need maps again for Sunday’s sojourn to Woodberry Kitchen in Druid Hill, and the Union Craft Brewery (Union Ave.). The menus, maps, tour planning were my preoccupation for the remainder of Friday evening. It was fun!

Saturday morning arrives. Let the packing begin! For toiletries, I unearthed a travel case with toothbrush, travel-size toothpaste, and shampoo left from last trip (probably Southern California two years ago?). Wife added mouthwash. The night before, I had carefully laid out my dress-for-dinner shoes, socks, slacks and woven shirt (Wife insists only she can fold clothes properly for suitcases). Better throw in an extra polo shirt, just in case something happens, white socks, boxers – don’t forget pajamas! How exciting!

The actual drive to Baltimore was easy, light traffic on I-95 N. We had no problem making it to Parts & Labor Butchery for our 12:30 reservation. The Volt’s battery charge disappeared after the first 37 miles, but we still showed a nearly 250-mile range from the auxiliary “range-extending” gasoline engine.

Parts & Labor is a butcher shop that used to be a garage, and shares its location with a little theater

group called “Single Carrot Theater.” It seems to fit the quirky milieu of its Remington neighborhood. I chose the Italian sub with N’duja (a thinly sliced pork shoulder), Lebanon bologna, ham, coppa, capicola – on a hoagie roll. I also enjoyed a “Maryland beer flight” with three 5-oz. glasses of local craft beers, from Baltimore and the Brookeville Beer Farm.  The cold cuts were extraordinary, and beer was good – but, Virginia has some amazing craft breweries, too.

After lunch, we drove all of seven blocks to the Baltimore Whiskey Company on Sisson Street. This is a small start-up distillery (established 2013) run by a trio of enterprising millennials. They rent an old warehouse (Baltimore has many of these), bought a still for $20K, acquired lots of oak vats and

barrels, and have, thus far, produced an outstanding barreled gin and several variations on apple brandy. Their current project, to be unveiled next year after suitable aging, is a genuine Baltimore rye. It was the first time I’d taken a tour of a distillery. Quite different from a craft brewery … but, it starts with beer, before distilling to whiskey. The “Shot Tower” barreled gin is exceptionally smooth, a great substitute in cocktails for either rye or bourbon. It’s gold, not clear!

A slight misreading of our map, and we found ourselves taking a “scenic” route back downtown, travelling down Monroe Street through block after block of what can only be called “forgotten” Baltimore – I was reminded of those riots along North Avenue in 2014. Boarded up storefronts, weeds in the sidewalks, small groups of people congregating on street corners talking. Nobody seemed to be going anywhere in particular. 

We checked in at the Hotel Indigo, in the Mt. Vernon historic district, directly across from the Enoch Pratt Free Library, and one block from the Walters Art Museum. The hotel used to be the central Baltimore ‘Y’ – as can still be seen on its marquee. Unlike the route we followed getting here, this was “high culture” Baltimore.

Finding our way into the parking garage directly across Franklin Street from the hotel, and scratching our heads about how to use the strange yellow plastic “coin” that downtown Baltimore parking facilities use instead of tickets, we comfortably settled into our king room. Very modern, very minimalist, décor -- no fewer than FIVE (5) USB ports built into the outlets and lamps! We could charge all phones and the iPad simultaneously, or choose to move from one chair to the next, cable in hand (why?). There were also two wall-mounted 40” TV screens -- very 21^st century! 

I like hotels – usually enjoying them most when collapsing after a long day of travel, either by road or air, but those internal feel-good vibes were the same at Hotel Indigo, just an hour away from home.

We had some time to kill before calling a cab to transport us to The Rusty Scupper for an 8:00 dinner reservation. So, we decided to walk around Mt. Vernon – almost all the way to The Brewers Art,

where we both fondly remember our son’s 2014 wedding rehearsal dinner (wedding venue: Baltimore Museum of Industry).  The neighborhood reminds me of Brooklyn, or some gentrified DC neighborhoods. Some people resent this sort of gentrification, thinking it robs a city of its “genuineness,” but it works for me!

We didn’t want to take the car out of the garage, and be charged an additional $5 for moving it. And, calling a cab would allow us both to DRINK! We thoroughly enjoyed our dinners at The Rusty Scupper, perfect jumbo lump crab cakes, and crab stuffed shrimp for me. Also, I imbibed a “classic” Manhattan, not common for me (possibly thinking of my late mother? She always liked Manhattans).

The denouement of my fabulous celebratory weekend in Baltimore came Sunday, when we checked out of the hotel, spent a brief time at Walters Art Museum, retrieved the car, paid the garage based on encoded data in that peculiar yellow coin -- and still wound up paying twice, because we had forgotten that we wanted to kill time before leaving! 

  

Then, we headed north to Woodberry Kitchen for a 1:15 brunch reservation. Woodberry Kitchen is in Druid Hill, up I-83 some distance from downtown. It is an “American” restaurant, known for its local farm-to-table menu (i.e., for “locavores”). The brunch menu, however, was a little unfamiliar. My wife ordered eggs and “pork belly,” thinking ham – pork belly is not ham -- incredible gobs of fat, almost inedible for her. I chose safer sea scallops with grits/scrapple (Cape May scallops). And, a fruity “day cocktail” made with Virginia rye whiskey and cherry liqueur. 

Absorbing the alcohol sufficiently to drive the short distance from the parking lot to the Union Craft Brewery on Union Avenue, we were foiled by the first actual error in the original secret plan -- they don’t do brewery tours on Sunday! But, we still purchased a collection of their products, as gifts for both sons, and a growler of their delightful “Genius Anyway” ale for me.

All great celebrations must come to an end. The trip home late Sunday afternoon was an emotional letdown, heavy traffic even before reaching the beltway, impossible backup once reaching 495 South. But, we had enjoyed a fantastic overnight in Charm City. 

Our neighbor metropolis is often overlooked by NoVa types like us -- it deserves better treatment. Baltimore is an “organic” city, inhabited by more natives than DC.  Washington has grown only because of the affluent young professionals, with much education and talent, who have been drawn here over the years, many of them choosing to stay and raise families.  But, they were all immigrants to the DC area, unlike the native-born population of Baltimore. Yet, the Mt. Vernon district is an example of gentrification as attractive, in its own (less ostentatious) way, as DC or Arlington.

It was a birthday celebration to remember. You only turn 70 once, and it is right that you should celebrate in an exceptional way! I am humbly grateful to my wonderful wife for organizing such an enjoyable excursion. 

Rolling Stone piece ... wow! Is somebody actually reading my blog?

When It All Comes to an End

… Grandfatherly Affection for a Very Young Grandchild

William Sundwick

I’ve read much about the pros and cons of a late start raising a family. Often, these pieces are aimed at young women, with the best of intentions. There are good feminist reasons for delaying child birth, although not too long, for equally valid medical reasons. And, much research indicates that older parents are often better parents. But, what about dads? Are they also better dads if they are more mature, better established in their chosen profession? There is so much incentive to get more years of education, more secure financial position, better resume – all before becoming “tied down” to a family!

As a result, dads get old before they become grandfathers. 

And grandfathers, especially if they have raised their kids to also start late, can be very old! What may be gained by providing that steadier hand for their children, is offset when it comes to generational continuity as grandfather. I’m not saying that I should live to be a great grandfather, but it would be nice to see your grandchildren (at least one of them) grow into a man, graduate from college, meet a spouse --whatever.

Sigh. I have a 20-month old grandson. There may be more coming, maybe not. But, I know I’m not getting any younger -- despite the rejuvenating effect of babysitting a toddler. Actuarially, I’m not likely to make it very far into his adulthood. I’m 70 now.

 He will soon learn my name -- I hear attempts to say something approaching “appa,” but usually he gives up and just shouts “daa-daa” (even when his own dad is not present).

But, will he ever know me? Since we live in the same area, theoretically there is every chance that we can become very familiar. I am, so far, in pretty good health. No obvious infirmities, but that may change by the time he reaches a more impatient stage in his own development (adolescence).  Grandma seems more playful, less reserved, than Grandpa – perhaps Grandpa is intentionally withholding that playful side, for fear of it being unrequited?

What common experiences will we share? Right now, his world consists mostly of exploring his new-found autonomy and agency -- everything is new. He’s fascinated by all of it, but certain behaviors have longer-lasting appeal, it seems. He loves placing things in containers, and tries endless combinations of different things being placed in the same container. He also assiduously mimics kitchen behavior -- “cut, cut” with a plastic knife or fork is downright compulsive. It is always followed by “eat” or “food” o “hot” -- among his earliest words. Both parents are die-hard hipster foodies! His mother maintains a vegetable garden … and often works there with him. And, his other grandfather gave him a kitchen play set which has been sitting in the dining room since before he could stand at its mock sink and oven. Now he prepares full meals there – placing pots on burners (“hot”), offering plates of fake soft pillow fruits and vegetables to his guests (“eat”, “food”). 

Eventually, I must accept that grandpa will mostly be known by his legacy, not by shared experiences. When it all comes to an end, that legacy will hopefully be transmitted by his dad. His dad knows me, for sure. And, whatever family history is conveyed to my grandchildren, I trust my two sons will relay the appropriate mix of myth vs. reality.

How can I protect him from the future, after I’m gone? I’m convinced that things will get increasingly difficult during his lifetime. By the time he’s my age, much of the planet may well be uninhabitable. Even if apocalyptic climate change is somehow averted, there is still the ever-present danger of social collapse. Migration to another country may be necessary, to escape the inexorable drift toward civil war in the U.S. Then, what about other dangers -- disease, accidents, economic dislocation? I don’t want him to endure any of these afflictions. Can my legacy provide him security? Probably not, alas.

As I contemplate human history, however, I ask myself: isn’t this the universal condition of civilization? One generation passes its legacy to the next, nobody lives forever. That legacy is always a skillful blend of storytelling, part myth, part documented events. Teaching a younger generation “life’s lessons” has always been a dicey proposition, at best -- it makes more sense just to tell a good story!

My grandson doesn’t know any of this yet. He’s too busy finding things that fit inside other things, and mimicking kitchen behavior of his parents. But, he is learning at a phenomenal rate. So long as he is protected from disaster, we’ll tell ourselves, “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” And, his parents both believe they do know it -- all! -- a bonus for him. Their confidence is truly amazing. They are among the lucky few who may be right about that, too!

As for myself, Grandpa, I remain optimistic that my wisdom will be accepted, if offered in small doses. Perhaps it will even be sought at times. Grandparents are, indeed, helpful -- babysitting in a pinch, allowing them escape from the crushing burden of 24/7 toddler parenting duty; or, those errands run for overworked, ambitious parents. And, then, there’s that Virginia 529 college savings plan … 

Fingers crossed, my grandson and I are poised to explore many new things together -- for a while, at least. And, when it all comes to an end – there is that legacy!