The phone rang at 8 o’clock. It was the fire marshal–they were threatening to tow the Brougham from its designated parking spot. Evidently the place where “Jimmy,” the hotel’s night watchman, had positioned me the night before was something trivial like a fire lane. I briefly considered telling the fire marshall that the car should be towed, posthaste, to a spot far, far away.
Instead, I headed down to move the car. I spent the morning passing out t-shirts and talking to enthusiasts about the trip. The Cadillac & LaSalle Club put on a gorgeous show, all indoors, and more than 120 cars showed up to partipate.
As I told other owners what I was doing, some remarked how brave I was to be motoring across the country. Mind you, “brave” among old car people equals “absolutely bonkers.” Others lamented the miles being put on a rare old car. Yet most said they wished they had time to do the same thing and speculated that I’d have the best-running Brougham in the world by the time I was finished. Again, the siren song of a raised hood proved too much for the men at the show. Dozens of people gathered ‘round to tinker. In fact, whenever any hood in the lot went up, a flock of enthusiasts was soon to pool.
I thought for sure I could find somebody to help me set my timing or points. No luck. But Craig from McVey’s Cadillac Parts kindly helped me install a brake light switch and adjust the vacuum advance on the throttle linkage. He also fixed my intermittant glove box light switch and made me a bet that it would illuminate for more than a week. We’ll see, Craig. A few other helpful souls showed me some tri-power tricks to ensure the carbs are running right. The best? Put your hands over the carb intakes, one by one, to see if the outer two carbs are leaking.
The tri-power setup, you see, lets my car run off the center carburetor 90 percent of the time. Then, when I need some extra gas, the front and rear 2-barrel carbs open up. When those babies start sucking gas, it’s a good idea to be followed by a Jones Oil gasoline truck. The tri-power’s chief flaw seems to be that the two extra carburetors will occasionally stick in the open position, causing the Brougham to run rich. And mine was certainly running rich–black soot stained the garage floor behind the car. It’s not as if I haven’t been running a lot of highway miles to clean that carbon out. So, to rule out carburetor malfunction, you simply put your hand over the intake of the outer carbs, blocking air to the mixture.
Now before this trip, I would have no more put my hand over a running carburetor than pet a copperhead. Breaking down and learning about my Cadillac, however, has given me courage and built my confidence. So I slapped my hand over the tri-power carburetors and lo, nothing changed with the engine speed. All was good in that department. And after a few more hours of meeting fellow enthusiasts and catching up with old friends, I headed in to get ready for the evening’s party.
The awards banquet was a huge affair–400 people strong–with gorgeous awards made from 1930s-era flying goddess hood ornaments. An Elvis impersonator sang. You knew Elvis would be in Vegas at a Cadillac convention, right? Donned in 1970s-Elvis clothing, white jumpsuit, lei, and many rhinestones, he sang 1950s-Elvis songs. The guy actually looked a good bit like Mr. Presley, or perhaps a younger Wayne Newton, and did his best to work the crowd into a frenzy.
The Cadillac Club was not to be worked into a froth, however, by the impostor Elvis. Everyone politely applauded and some sang along, but nobody threw their undergarments on the stage (thank God) or begged for sweat-soaked Elvis hankies. Nor did anyone scream and pass out, much to my disappointment.
Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe we hadn’t had enough to drink. Maybe Elvis shouldn’t have to dance around a podium. I couldn’t help thinking, however, that the crowd probably reacted to Mr. Presley like Cadillac owners did back in the 1950’s.
Motorpool sponsored the “Hard Luck Award.” The idea behind the award is to recognize the automobile that had the most trouble on the way to the meet. Our winner indeed had trouble. He lost a power vent window, a voltage regulator, and a transmission linkage on the way here. As the club read out all the ailments of his car, it sounded so much like my experience that I thought, maybe Motorpool should sponsor the “good luck” award next year.
At last, the evening wound down at 11:30, and I walked back through the jangling, chiming, buzzing, and honking of the slot-filled lobby to bed.