Action '72

One Sunday last fall, my son, Joe, my friend, Tim, and I went to the San Francisco International Car Show. The Sunday trip was actually just an excuse to see how many microbreweries we could hit up without getting arrested. I planned on six, but as it turned out we only had the stamina for four.

While sitting around a table at the Gordon Biersch brewery across from AT&T Park, home of my beloved San Francisco Giants, I started reminiscing about the lavish new car shows Ford Motor Company used to put on for its dealers and salesmen in the city when I was a young and dumb green pea.

What I remember most about these shows was that they were always the same, nearly an identical event each year. It went like this. Everyone would meet early in the morning at the Alhambra Theater on Geary Boulevard. Before the show began we were entertained by a quartet of guys wearing straw hats in long-sleeve white shirts with a garter on one sleeve. The group featured a stand-up bass, guitar and banjo and sang songs that were older than a Model A.

At 9:30 the show would begin. Each year Ford produced a movie to showcase the new models. It was a full scale, wide-screen, Technicolor production. Each year had its own theme. The one I remember best was “Action ‘72” (I still have a souvenir money clip with the words engraved on it.) Film star Leslie Nielson narrated the extravaganza.

“Action ‘72” started off by showing a variety of thrilling sports spectacles: the Kentucky Derby, a Grand Prix auto race, and a hard-hitting NFL game. Very interesting actually until the thrill of the sports gave way to the introduction of the new line of Fords “Hey, get a load of that new Maverick! What a beauty!”

The movie lasted about an hour and a half—about forty-five minutes too long for my tastes—pouring over the exciting details of the new models. When it was over, we were escorted to the front of the theater where chartered buses waited to take us to our ultimate destination, the Fairmont Hotel over on Mason Street. There, Ford Motor Company had taken over a couple of floors to wine and dine the salesmen who would spend the next year trying to take customers into buying one of the new beauties.

Ford would have the exact car you saw in the movie on display in one of the ballrooms. If it was a green Pinto in the movie, they’d have a green Pinto for you to gawk over. The models were presented on rotating displays with sexy models standing beside them fending off the suggestive comments of Car Men who fancied themselves as lady’s men.

After checking out the new cars you were shown into the chandeliered grand ballroom decked out with a hundred tables draped in fine linen. There a chicken lunch was served. The thing I remember most about the lunch is that at the end there would be a trumpet call and the hall would fill with a small army of waiters holding trays up high each containing a dozen flaming deserts. Very classy, very impressive, very
1972.

When it was over you were supposed to return to your dealerships full of selling fire for the new models. Ford timed it so that the first batch of the new cars and trucks would be delivered that day. A nice final touch, I thought. But on the night of Action ’72 we did not go home after the lunch with the flaming deserts. Instead we hit the town for some partying.

Now when you’re twenty-one as I was at the time, going out the town with a bunch of older Car Men could be a magical experience. We headed straight to San Francisco’s North Beach, a beautifully crowded Italian neighborhood filled with the sights and sounds only heard in world-class cities. Broadway, which cuts through its heart, was lined with topless bars with blinking neon signs hawking their wares. Each bar had its own persistent barker determined to lure in unsuspecting sailors and wandering Car Men. The side streets were lined with wonderful restaurants, each emitting romantic candlelight and enticing aromas. From the middle of the afternoon until one or two in the morning we owned it. It was like a Car Man’s New Year’s Eve.

I won’t bore you with stories of our carousing—most of which my young, liquored-up mind does not remember, but one memory stands out in my mind. Midway through the evening we went to Ghirardelli square. The former chocolate factory had been transformed into numerous restaurants and shops. My brother Danny’s favorite was a place called The Plantation Steak House. I thought it was the most wonderful restaurant in the world.

We were seated at a large a table, my brother in charge, of course. When the waiter arrived, Danny pulled out his money clip and handed the guy a couple of twenties. (Remember, this was 1972 money!) He asked the amazed waiter to make sure he took care of us. The result: we were treated like kings the entire evening. I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. Even to this day I look back on that night and wonder how my brother, who’d been raised by the same parents I had, knew so much about the world.

These nights of revelry didn’t last long. I remember only two or three of them before our busy lives dictated that we headed back to the dealership after the flaming desert instead of cutting up the town, but the memories of those evenings have remained dear to me. To be out on the town in beautiful San Francisco without any worries, having a good time and a bunch of laughs, in the company of Car Men is something I will never forget.


Talk to you later,


David