Reporter's Notebook: Through The Eyes of a Child

The work of Victory & Reseda has always centered around the automobile. Perhaps almost obsessively. 

Yet, I remind myself that life is not just about the automobile. Sometimes, other interests and pursuits wane over time. Perhaps it’s how life works.

The one thing that continues to connect me to this work is, of course, the automobile. As much as that word is repeated so far in this article, it has become the bane of my existence. Rather, the vocation I have chosen. 

What is it about the automobile that brought me to this point in my professional life that I enjoy working with them?

We have to go back to my childhood…

If I told these stories before, forgive me. They are worth telling…

You know you’re going to be an absolute off-kilter person when one of your earliest memories was your father’s new 1965 Plymouth Belvidere Satellite. It was white with a black vinyl rood and a black vinyl interior. Don’t ask me what was underneath the hood or why dad gave it up after two years. 

He brought it home when I was one-year old. How can a one-year-old know anything about a car like that? 

I’m sure there were studies made about how an infant’s and toddler’s brain work to intake memories such as that. Was I some super-aware child that can intake memories and keep them for six decades?

I never thought of myself as “gifted” or a “genius.” Quite the opposite. I never quite applied myself in the areas that I should’ve done better in. My reading was a bit advanced for my grade, yet I never felt I was “good enough” for “Advanced Placement” and “Honors” classes that I eventually was enrolled in. 

That memory of the 1965 Satellite was something that continues to flash in my head. Along with the drab olive green 1960 Chevrolet Corvair my mom has after they got of her black-and-white 1955 Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight Starfire convertible, followed by a white 1967 Chevrolet Impala Sport Coupe they bought brand new, powered by a 327-cubic-inch V8.

Let’s talk about car design in the 1960s. Who ever thought that putting masses of metal trim and vinyl interior was a good idea for people living in very warm climates? There was a trick to enjoying the ride in the back seat of that 1967 Impala – don’t touch the metal grille-like trim that is placed on the upper half of the middle rear seatback. That will give you a first-degree burn on a 90-degree (Fahrenheit) summer day in the San Fernando Valley.

The first car I complete fell in love with was the 1970 Dodge Challenger and Plymouth Barracuda. The Coke-bottle styling was all the rage and Chrysler nailed it for their E-Body ponycars. They looked beautiful. They still do. 

After the 1970 model year was over, my dad bought a Barracuda. The blue-and-white number came off lease and it became the replacement for the Corvair. 

Would you believe that our family kept a Corvair for ten years? Let that sink in for a moment.

The Barracuda won my heart. It also broke ours. That usually occurs when the intersection of Victory Boulevard and Wilbur Avenue would flood because the drains couldn’t handle the stormwaters that should’ve flowed into the nearby Los Angeles River. They have sinbce fixed wuth a more robust drainage system. 

Because of this weather phenomenon, the 1970 Barracuda was susceptible to stalling in certain depths of water. It was an embarrassing moment, when you have my brother and I in the backseat with mom and dad up front. Leave it to dad to deal with it. 

This did not happen just once. I can recall a few times this occurred during our time with the1970 Barracuda. 

We now head to 1972. By this time, we got rid of the 1967 Impala and the 1960 Corvair. The 1970 Barracuda was to stick around. Therefore, dad bought a 1972 Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight Luxury Sedan from one of his co-worker. It was a tan color with a matching vinyl roof and cloth interior. The 1972 Ninety-EIght was not as loaded as it could be, but it served as the family car just nicely with the features it already had. 

Then, came a plot twist. My father left us. Mom ended up getting rid of the Barracuda and kept the Ninety-Eight. Not before dad left his mark on it.

The story goes that my dad was on the San Diego Freeway – the 405, if you will – and he ran into the back of a big-finned late 1950s Cadillac. The Oldsmobile ended up with a crack and separation on the front nose. We never got to fix it. Besides, I still question the validity of that story to this day. 

Long story short, it would end up being mine until I killed it at the end of 1983. A sad fate, but I was not in the position to afford any repairs for this rapidly deteriorating Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight. 

What keeps me in this game is these memories, recollections, and stories like these that helped frame a young person’s journey into automotive journalism/content creation. These serve as the foundation for everything I’ve accomplished since 2001. That, I can take to the bank. 

All photos by Randy Stern