"Do you know what it feels like to own and drive a Cadillac?"
"No, I don't," I said to a salesman in a used car lot.
Bakersfield, California was a world within itself during the early sixties. I could have bought a good used car, a Ford, Plymouth or a Chevy, from any lot in Bakersfield for $200.
The salesman looked dreamy eyed because he had said he was in love with the Fleetwood Cadillac. That was way out of my price range. A 1941 Plymouth coupe was on the other side of the Cadillac. My eye was on the coupe.
He thought I needed the Caddy, so not to be rude, I listened to what he had to say.
He said, "Son, my opinion, a Caddy is one of the best used cars for the money on the road today. Then comes the Buick Roadmaster, of course. But a Packard, well, naturally it's the best car, but it draws too much attention. Only the rich drive them."
"The Cadillac is nice but I wouldn't know how to fix something if it broke down. I better stick with what I know. I want to see the coupe."
"Fix something?" he snapped. "This Cadillac doesn't need fixing. Well, I think I understand, young man, but before I show you the Plymouth, get behind the wheel of a Caddy."
He treated me like royalty when he opened the door to the Cadillac. I knew he was in love with the Caddy as he pointed out the latest features like automatic headlight dimming and tilt steering wheel.
I slipped behind the wheel and thought, "How could he part with this car after mentioning all the nice things?"
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Man! The hood is half a block long," I said.
"Yes, but get a load of the back seat. You could raise a family back there, son."
"Wow! I could live in here."
"You said you are from Virginia. Well, imagine crossing the United States in style, just to show up back home in a Fleetwood Cadillac. My God, son, wouldn't that be something. And remember, I can't be responsible if the women want to jump in this car at the corners and stoplights."
"I don't know," I said.
"It looks just like you."
"What do you mean?"
"Yeah, that's it," he said. "You look like Cadillac Man."
"Cadillac man?"
"Yeah. In the flesh...Cadillac Man from Virginia.
"How much will you take for her?"
"Five Hundred Dollars. I like cash, of course."
"I'll give you $200...right now."
"Let me talk to Bob, my boss."
"Oh, I thought you were Friendly Bob?"
"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."
The salesman went inside only to return minutes later with slumped shoulders and a sad look.
"I'm sorry young man but the least Bob will take is $300."
"Tell Bob it's $200, or I'll go down the street and buy a car." I showed him my cash for a second time. He wouldn't have spoken to me when I first got there without showing money, especially a young man who had walked off the street in worn-out-shoes.
"That won't be necessary," he said, "I'll take your money. You drive a hard bargain, son."
Not long after the money left my hands I drove away in my shiny Cadillac. Not a single lady tried to jump in the car while leaving Bakersfield. In fact, they didn't take a second look at the shiny black paint my Cadillac displayed. Maybe I needed a big Texas ten gallon hat.
On the open road, a hundred miles from Bakersfield, I began to relax behind the wheel. I thought, "Power windows...look how I can regulate the wind. It's good to have air conditioning though, in case I get tired of messing with the windows. Power steering and power brakes are a bit much, but I'll have to get used to them, because a Cadillac lasts a long time. This baby rides like a dream...feels like I'm riding on a cloud.”
But all was not good. Was that a clicking I heard from the engine? It can't be. This is a Cadillac, and I was a big shot behind the wheel.
I pushed the chrome horn rim on the huge steering wheel and confess to this day it was an impressive sound. Wow! The radio was great. I could while away the hours crossing country. No hard times for C. M. Yeah, C. M. for Cadillac Man. But I heard a clicking coming from the motor
Radio loud, windows down, rolling fast, but nothing drowned out the motor. I turned the radio up but the clicking got louder until it became an unexpected hammering. The hammer struck about a dozen licks and the motor ceased never to spin again. I was two hundred miles from Bakersfield.
In less than an hour three people had stopped to offer me help. Everybody wanted to help Cadillac Man. That was good. One gentleman relayed a distress message, and because I owned a Cadillac, a wrecker appeared in no time. The wrecker driver was also an engine mechanic.
I yelled after learning I needed a new engine. The mechanic, doubling as a wrecker driver, said, "It will cost about $500 to replace the motor.
"I didn't pay that much for the car."
"When you own one of these babies you should leave out `how much' from your vocabulary." He started to show interest in the sparking clean Cadillac.
"I don't have that much money," I said. "So how much will you give me for what's left? And Mr., I'll be honest with you, if it's less than fifty dollars, I'll set fire to it right here."
The mechanic saw I meant business and bought the Cadillac. He looked at the title and laughed. "The ink hasn't dried on the title the salesman sold you. I think I know him. Real nice guy. You would think butter wouldn't melt in his mouth."
Six hours of ownership of a Caddy was over. I felt a tinge of anger towards the salesman. But I had already learned life has a way of getting even with people like that in the long run. I simply shrugged anger off and moved on. I could buy a junker with the fifty dollars.
Over the years I have laughed about Cadillac Man, and that alone was worth my losses that day. Even though I had no way of knowing the outcome of a fine looking Cadillac I had faith in the future. So it cost me a hundred and fifty dollars to drive a Caddy two hundred miles.
Looking back, if I had sat behind the wheel of the Cadillac for only one hour, it would have been worth the money. Here’s why: The long hood, the huge steering wheel, the blast of its horn and a dream ride on the open road still wows me. No one can take away those memories. Hell, I was Cadillac man.
Do you know what it feels like to own and drive a Cadillac?
