The 1960s were the best years for radio. KOMA, in Oklahoma City, was king. There were few rock-n-roll stations at the time and with 50,000 Watts, KOMA’s signal could be picked up on car radios across the plains. On a good night, when conditions were right, the radio waves would bounce over the mountains and land in Rigby, Idaho. XERB in Los Angeles was another station boasting 50,000 watts. Coming from the west, it was less consistent, but now and then we could listen to a live broadcast from Wolfman Jack, “Boss Soul Power” -- heady stuff for Idaho teenagers.
American Graffiti is a coming-of-age comedy-drama directed by George Lucas. The film is the first movie to be produced by George Lucas' company Lucasfilm. It was set in Modesto, California in the 1960s. When I saw the movie in 1973, it felt like déjà vu -- except we had our own stories.
DC was a tall, good-looking high school classmate. Unlike the rest of us who put some moon hubcaps on our mother’s car and strutted around, DC actually owned his car. He had a bright yellow 1957 Chevy with “mag’ wheels. He put oversized “slicks” on the back wheels to give it the appearance of being “raked” — lower in the front. A glass muffler gave the underpowered six a throaty, threatening sound. The car was a cream puff that looked and sounded great, but couldn’t deliver the goods. A two-speed automatic transmission didn’t help. One evening, DC took his friends from Menan to Idaho Falls to cruise around town. He turned left off Boulevard toward Broadway. As they passed over the railroad tracks, the light turned red and they stopped at the intersection with Yellowstone Highway. A kid in a gray 1963 Corvette Stingray pulled up next to them. That car was the real deal with a blower sticking out of the hood and a cam that made it sound like it was constantly trying to stall until he revved it up and the blower kicked in, making the whole car scream like a banshee. DC and Corvette guy sat for a moment at the light — eyeing each other. Tapping their accelerators while in neutral brought a brief duet of sweet and competing exhaust sounds — the tune was a clear invitation for a drag race down Broadway on a perfect summer evening.
Knowing his beautiful car would be an embarrassment in a real drag race, DC revved up the Chevy for sound effects a couple of times before letting the RPMs drop so he could slowly slip his car into D1 and wait for the light to change. The plan was to idle across Yellowstone Highway and let the Corvette guy do all the drag racing. The plan worked well. When the light turned green, his screaming banshee smoked its tires all the way to the Rio Theater. Due to the burnout, he didn’t notice DC slowly rumbling across the intersection. More importantly, in the excitement of the moment, he also didn’t notice one of Idaho Falls’ finest in his rearview mirror while he was preparing to launch. As justice was swiftly being served on west Broadway, DC carefully drove by on his way back to Menan, listening to KOMA with his friends, on a perfect summer evening.
Unfortunately, DC is one of several promising classmates who disappeared right after high school. I had the impression he was planning to go to college, but heard that he took some acid that summer and had to do something else with his life — no one seems to know.
Ever vigilant,
RT
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