To the Editor,
On July 4, Ken Wills used Facebook to organize a long-forgotten teenage traditionus baby boomers called “buzzing the gut” in Morris. In other mid-sized towns across America, it might have been called “dragging the main” or just “cruising.”
Some time shortly after dark, the lucky ones with jobs jumped into their “Vets,” “Goats,” “Road Runners,” “SS’s,” “Ponies,” “Cudas” and “T-Birds.” The rest of us grabbed the keys to Dad’s Impala, Bonneville, Galaxy, Valiant or, I am sorry to say Ramblers. Once we all hit the “Gut,” we mixed it up pretty good and no one really seemed to care. At least that’s what I kept telling myself, since the only seat I ever had in a “muscle car” was called “shotgun.”
First lap in Morris usually started at the “Freeze” (Walgreens), where we chose teams for the long night of car pooling. My team was led by “Tibby” with his ‘57 Chevy, “Barsy” and “Willy.” By 8 p.m., it looked like a used car lot between the Taste Freeze and Echo Lanes with hoods up, doors open and everyone groovin’ to Dick Biondi tunes on WLS. By 9, hundreds of teenagers were crawling all over the cars and each other like a bunch of hungry ants.
After a quick Coke and fries and a foot race for window seat, we headed to the Y (still there) and south on Liberty St. Once downtown, we putzed along, often idling waiting for 2 or 3 light changes, but no one cared as it gave you ample time to chat to the cars going the opposite direction waiting for their light to change. That’s why a fast talker on inside rear window was so important in coordinating communications. Sort of like abbreviated face-to-face “texting” to lay out the evening itinerary. Trading teams members also occurred at the long waits for lights to change. “One for one” trades were favored, but leaving your best friends behind was not “cool” unless things got very “hot.”
After the “Freeze” closed in the 70s, the outside window became more important, hooking up with kids sitting on the trunks of parked cars along Liberty.
After looping the Courthouse, clearing the lights and crossing the tracks, which could easily take 20 minutes, it was time to punch it to the 4-way stop, Ramblers were required to pull over for faster traffic. (Brights were the signal).
We all knew every make and model of every car, especially our friends, by the shape of the tail lights, 100 percent from Detroit, cause good-old USA built the fastest, coolest and best. We invented fins, skirts, dual exhausts and no such thing as too much chrome on our torpedo bumpers.
Once in a while, a souped-up” hot rod from out of town, would “rev it up” a little too loud pulling through the “Freeze,” and a run out west Rt. 6 near the counrty club would be necessary to see who could make it back first to the “Dog n Suds.” (Greenways, near edge of town.)
After 4-5 hours of peeling out, chasing chicks and slamming burgers, we all beat curfew home on “E” even though a few bucks apiece would have filled up the tank at either North States 6 at 47, open late, or Saratoga Inn (McDonalds, north edge of town), open 24/7. Gasing up was Dad’s job, and by the way, none of us ever had to worry about seeing any of our parents all night, unless they wanted to dust off our old bikes, as very few families had more than one set of “wheels” and your family’s wheels were busy “buzzing the gut.”
For all those dumb enough to be born with a smart phone permanently attached, go rent “American Graffiti” discover “Wolf Man Jack” and get a clue what you missed on hot summer nights “once upon a time in Amercia.”