“The styles have evolved, but the soul is still the same.”
— Overheard at the car parts store.
– – – – – –
“I love this season of year,” I announced to the coffee club last week.
“Whoa, hold on,” one of them muttered, gripping his mug. “It’s not Christmas yet. There’s plenty of shopping days left.”
“No,” I laughed. “I’m talking about the car show. Saturday morning of Poultry Festival weekend. Besides, I don’t start Christmas shopping until the week before.”
“I read where kids don’t care about cars like we did,” someone chimed in. “Some don’t seem want a driver’s license.”
“Not all of them,” I protested. “The machines look different today, and the technology has shifted. But wheels are still a passport to the outside world for many teenagers. The thrill of sitting behind the wheel the very first time feels the same today as it did in 1963—the year State Trooper Gene Campbell passed me on my driver’s license test at the Titus County Courthouse. And the year I bought my first car.”
I took another sip of coffee. “True, we spent our weekends under the hood of a home-built hot rod or a muscle car then. But look around today, that passion still exists. Same late-night garage hours and pride of ownership. The tools in the garage have changed, but the pride of driving something unique remains.”
The conversation took me back to a time when most young guys were graduating from building plastic model cars to hiding hot rod magazines inside their history textbooks and drawing flames on paper schoolbook covers. Book covers are gone as are books, but model car kits are still flying off the shelves at hobby shops.
It was an era when every Detroit built car had a distinct personality. You didn’t just know a Chevrolet from a Ford or a Dodge at a quarter mile away; even a novice could tell a Bel-Air from an Impala, a Mainline from a Fairlane, or a Coronet from a Meadowbrook.
Getting a license was a sacred rite of passage, and individuality was paramount. Dinah Shore filled the airwaves singing, “See the USA in your Chevrolet.” Ford ads touted sleek styling by promising, “Ford has a better idea.” Not to be outdone, Dodge captured the youthful spirit of the era by proclaiming, “One look and you’ve got Dodge Fever.”
And the autumn unveiling of the new model lines was pure September magic.
That magic never faded for me. I still feel it every time I walk into my garage, where my trio of mid-fifties Fords reside: a ’55 Ford Crown Victoria, a ’57 Ford Thunderbird, and a ’57 Ford sedan. That last one purchased brand new off the showroom floor by my grandparents in Northeast Texas. The very car in which I learned to drive, and in which I dated my first girlfriend. (And my second one too, now that I think about it, but that’s a column for another week).
It is fair to say my life would have turned out much differently if American steel and internal combustion engines hadn’t given me an incentive to survive high school afternoon classes. We lived for the final bell, just to watch the pilgrimage of rolling stock leave the parking lot, carrying classmates to after-school jobs or to the local burger joints.
We lived for the anticipation of cruising the Mount Pleasant city streets at night and blazing the asphalt at East Texas drag strips on the weekends. Slow driving past the Martin Theater on a Friday night to see who was at the movies, purely by the cars parked out front.
“So,” I said, tossing a couple of bucks on the table before exiting the coffee club. “Do yourself a favor and check out the 50th Anniversary Poultry Festival October 1-3 in Center, Texas, including the big car show Saturday 8:00 am to 1:00 pm at the HOPE Community Medicine parking lot. It’s going to be packed with incredible machines and memories for all generations.”
Because whether you’re sixteen or eighty-six, lots of horsepower and a drop-dead gorgeous paint job will always look a lot like Christmas.
—Leon Aldridge
(PHOTO — Dave Hitt Motors on North Jefferson in Mount Pleasant, Texas, in 1964. “Cleanest Cars in Town,” the sign said. Located on the main drag between the Dairy Queen and the Root Beer Stand on the north side of town and the Dairy Mart, I think it was, but better known as “Bobby Joe’s” on the south side, made it a favorite spot for kids dreaming of their first ride when I was in high school.
– – – – – – –
Leon Aldridge is a veteran editor, publisher, and communication professional, currently enjoying semi-retirement while awaiting the next big challenge. His columns appear in: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.
© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Feel free to use excerpts with full and clear credit given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling.’
A Story Worth Telling 