Wavecrest Woodie Meet

An Essay:  Wavecrest Woodie Meet

They sat about together or stood in nearby clusters, discussing a prized possession or a remembrance of how it used to be.  The grayed haired men, most sporting glasses leaned in as their hearing wasn’t what it once was as they described an event or a function of their hobbies or fascinations.  Their eyes twinkled with by-gone youth as they savored the moment.  It’s the camaraderie that was clear, as each one had a different take on the same subject. 

The sparse crowds walking through the exhibit seemed mostly middle-aged or older; the occasional youngster held his grandfather’s hand as the wisdom of time tried to explain to the child exactly what he was looking at.  Fascinated by the lines, the style, the color, the grace, and the beauty are all in the eye of the beholder.  If only the child had time and insight to savor what was in front of him.

Some walked by quickly; others slowed a bit, stopped, and reminisced about a memory of the bygone era.  It was all in front of them, built to last, solid, marvels at what man can engineer.  But other than the exhibitors, proud of their possessions, all pushed along past the past then back into the present as they moved on to deal with what they have today.

And the old men stayed, guarding their prized antiques, polishing, shinning, and making sure everything was just right so others could enjoy their goods.  The group of exhibitors had shrunk; there were extra spaces where before someone would be set up, maybe because of lingering COVID concerns or perhaps some of the old guys had passed on or lost interest.  

The men talked about past members of the club, where so-in-so had moved, what had happened to his family, questioning why he didn’t show up to display his prized possession.  Maybe he sold it, maybe the family doesn’t want it, or maybe no one showed an interest in his collection or hobby.   After all, it was his hobby.

So, the Wavecrest Woodie Meet car show in Encinitas, CA this past weekend was more than a club meet or a social event where they gathered with spouses and friends.  It was a time to reflect, to pause, to mark off another year of existence.  Nothing much had changed with their old antique cars: maybe another coat of wax, a tuned engine, or new tires, as the old ones were brittle with age – much like the owners.

But there they were, proudly answering questions of the passer-byers: “What year is this Woodie?”  (A small placard in each windshield supplied the make, year, and model, but some seemed not to notice.)  Or the owner talked details of his restoration with another owner.  One guy has some old parts that he didn’t need anymore; another wanted to sell his car.  Times are getting tough.

But the most apparent was the lack of young owners and not many young spectators.  A couple of skateboarders took advantage of the paved parking lot as they whizzed through; several surfers cut through the display headed to the beach: “Oh, cool.”  “Man that’s rad.”  “Dude… I want one, “was overheard as the young guys passed on by.

The new generation isn’t much interested in car ownership; they are way too expensive to own, a tank of gas costs more than they earn, and many put off getting their driver’s license, opting for ride-sharing to get about.  The Z’s and X’rs use computers and joysticks, not wrenches and screwdrivers.  Most have never changed the oil, let alone changed a tire.  So, the art and knowledge of maintaining an antique car isn’t in their wheelhouse.

Now, the old-timers sat about, with pride in ownership of a gleaming artifact, a symbol of a vital part of their past.  The Woodie struck a chord in their memory; it was more than a cool vehicle to carry a surfboard on top with Beach Boy tunes played on a tinny radio.  It reminded them of the life’s transition:  they couldn’t wait to get a driver’s license – that magical point between youth and manhood, to enjoy the freedom and independence of cruising, and to show off their pride in a machine which turned a head or two. 

But the owners think about the future:  what will they do with their cherished heirloom.  Is there anyone in the family willing to carry on and value the tradition, or is it destined to be like all old artifacts that fade away, only to be remembered occasionally over time.  Maybe the gracious way is to enjoy it in the moment and let the heirs worry about the eventual disposal, after all most don’t value the family heirlooms:  One man’s treasure is another’s junk. 

Through it all, it’s still hard to image a Wavecrest EV (electric vehicle) Meet in the future, showing off an old Tesla, Chevy Bolt, or whatever was the latest fad in EVs during the 2022s.   As it’s currently going, there won’t be any gas available to drive an old Woodie to a Wavecrest Meet!  

 

 

Memorial Weekend

 This is my contribution to Memorial Day this year (2022) as death and carnage piles up across this troubled USA nation.  We used to remember the war dead and their sacrifices, the hurt of those left behind, the eventual healing of the land... till the next war!

But now, it is senseless death and mayhem perpetrated by evil only at war with themselves.  And the death by shootings from the hands of two 18 years, one in Buffalo, NY and Uvalde, TX sear into our conscious as to the evil that surrounds us.

It occurred to me as I watched this spectacle unfold that those who gave their lives in sacrifice for our country didn't do it so non-combatants would lose theirs in such a senseless manner.  

So we now remember these 21 and others, along with those from other wars. 

Good Friday

 

Have you ever considered the mob mentality that went from “Hosanna, Hosanna to the Son of David, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord – the King of Israel.  Hosanna in the highest heaven,” to the crowd crying, “give us Barabbas?”  

Palm Sunday was the triumphal entry of Jesus Christ into Jerusalem with Christ himself the Parade Master… on a donkey!  Cloaks and palm fronds littered the roadway in homage for his celebratory entry by those who had witnessed his miraculous actions and deeds. 

But by Friday, the crowd, whipped into a frenzy by their chief religious’ leaders, were asking for the release of an insurrectionist and murderer – Barabbas – over the “King of the Jews.”    

So how could this happen?  It plays out to this very day:  groupthink and illogic in large groups or crowds may have little correlation to one’s own personal belief.  Some in the crowd knew the truth – don’t forget Peter who pretended he didn’t know Jesus – but to fit in they go along to get along.  Today, “Social Influencers” hold great sway over those who want to imitate them, even though the vast majority will never look, have, feel, or own what the “influencers” are “selling.”

The Jewish Chief Priest, elders and the other high religious officials were hell-bent on killing Jesus for a variety of reasons because he threatened the status quo.  It didn’t help matters that Jesus entered the temple and turned over the money tables!  And he even said he was the “Christ, the Son of God!”

Because the Jews could not kill Jesus, they sic’d the Romans on him because they had the power of the state to execute insurrectionists!  The religious crew accused Jesus of misleading “our nation and forbidding us to give tribute to Caesar…” (I guess they forgot the time Jesus said, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.")

Wow, what a mutineer he was!  (Like the Jews wanted to pay burdensome taxes to Rome!)  And that would be punishable by death; after all, Barabbas apparently had fomented some type of rebellion against Rome.  And he was about to be crucified.

Because the Chief Priest, elders and other leaders were of high social and religious status, it wasn’t too hard for them to intimidate those of a lessor social economic and educational status to bear false witness against Jesus, even though individually the poor, the blind, the hungry, and the lame all knew the truth of who Jesus was; after all, many of them were recipients of his great love and compassion.

Although Pilate found no fault in Jesus, he was goaded into offering up either Barabbas or Jesus to the riotous mob.  The crowd was working purely on emotions prompted by their religious leaders, the decision makers:  If the Chief Priest says it, it must be true!  So, the choir joined in with the guy with the bull horn yelling the loudest: Give us our buddy, our rebel against Rome, Barabbas!  He’s one of us!

So, in the end, Pilate, after asking for the third time what evil Jesus had done, gave in to the urgent and demanding crowd, as they screamed, “crucify, crucify him!”  Pilate tried to make a rational decision based on facts (including a warning from his wife not to have anything to do with “that righteous man…”) but he was eventually affected by groupthink and the demands of the mob influencers.  And with that Jesus was crucified. 

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!”