My first car was my great grandma’s ’83 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Yes, I was spoiled. While my contemporaries inherited much newer, more practical, reliable cars— think Corollas, Civics, and the like—I got the Caddy. It was passed on after my Great Grandma Beulah’s death and I was honored to take the keys.
The year was 1996. I was entering my senior year in high school and I had just gotten my license. No one had a car like that. All white on the outside, white walls, white leather interior, with burgundy trim, wood paneling inside, 3 (yes 3!) ashtrays and lighters (one for each passenger in the back seat), digital controls for the thermostat/radio, and seating for six. Looks were just one thing. This car was like a scud missile. Being heavier than most modern trucks, it just floated on the road, quiet as hell, and although its 8-cylinder engine could barely get the tonnage moving, once you got going, momentum and inertia took care of the rest. It was easy to hit 90 on the freeway and barely notice.