The Destruction Of Perfection

It would be easy to blame this mess on George Barris. He just couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t leave functionality well enough alone. In the name of promotion, money, and ego, he created on top of a creation that needed to be left alone. In a few lights of the torch and slaps of a hammer, he destroyed perfection… Or, the boys in his shop did…

Blaming George is the easy way out. It’s like going to the bar and becoming intimate with the bottom of a glass because your old lady drove you to do so. George didn’t destroy the Chrisman coupe – the hot rod and custom world of the 1960’s did. And while they were at it, they sent the custom car into a dark spot for thirty years.

The date the world was taken over is pretty much unknown and unguessable . I wasn’t around then – not even a twinkle in my old man’s eye yet. But I’ve heard arguments that tend to circle around the year of 1958. That’s the year the ideas of finned anomalies, quad headlights, and other over-the-top appointments sprung into the minds of those that mattered in Detroit. It wasn’t long before California (and Kansas for that matter) flexed it’s muscles and started a game of oneupsmanship.

“I’ll be goddamned if I don’t need a two-way radio in my hot rod. No one has one – right? Well, I’m gonna need one then.”

“This chassis just doesn’t have any flash to it. Screw the functionality… Let’s heavy flake the shit that’s too big to fit into the chrome tank!”

“Awe hell. It still looks familiar. How bout some wheel pontoons?”

“More color.”

“It’ll look faster if we add an airspeed indicator.”

“It still isn’t screaming money…  I think we need to cut it more, weld it more, use more stuff off of more cars, and paint it with seventy five coats of something or other. Get to it. Here’s the check.”

Eventually the custom world cut, welded, chromed, and painted it’s way out of relevancy. Someone had to lose eventually – right? I like to think that one day some old boy was staring at his bubble topped ’60 Pontiac and thought, “What the hell was I thinking?” And then that was it. The world (like it tends to do) got in line and followed. Before long, customs were just gone and only the guys that understood and appreciated purpose and functionality remained. Artistic vision used to fabricate a car is genius. Art on a car is just that… Art on a car.

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That’s how I saw it back in 2001 when I wrote this article anyway. I had a hunch history was going to repeat itself and was eager to prove that I saw it coming. To this point and ignoring a few exceptions, I’ve been dead wrong. Hot rods are still alive. Customs are still kicking.

This was dinner. Enjoy your desert.

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