Bill OBoyle: Whitewalls were way cool, man
May 29—WILKES-BARRE — Remember washing your car out by the curb in front of your house?
Maybe you had a hose that you dragged through your basement and out through the coal chute window.
Or, you just filled a bucket with soapy water and then dipped your big sponge a hundred times as you made your way around your 1966 GTO, or your 1964 Valiant, or your Ford Torino, or Plymouth Road Runner, or Chevy Impala, or Dodge Dart, or Plymouth Duster, or whatever classic car you had at the time.
After the car was all soaped up, you then either took that hose or you kept filling up that bucket with clean water to splash away the soap.
And then, glowing in the shade of that old maple tree with the sunlight filtering through, you stood and admired that car before you went in to take a bath before heading out on a Saturday night.
Wait. What? Not finished!
"Mom, dad, do we have any Brillo pads?" you would ask, and your mom would get that box out from under the kitchen sink and hand you one Brillo pad — you know the steel wool square with the pink soapy stuff showing through.
It was time to clean the whitewalls on the tires.
Whitewalls? Yes, the 1-inch or so wide white stripe that went around the tires and were just do darn cool, man. As long as they were bright white. Nothing was more un-cool than dirty whitewalls, man.
So I hopped into the whitewall-less Way Back Machine and headed back to the 1960s again to check out those awesome white-walled cars. Every car was distinctive back then. And you knew exactly what each car was at first sight. It was a far cry from the SUV-dominated world we live in today, where there are no whitewalls, just 70% white SUVs.
What I discovered on my most recent voyage back in time was that those glorious whitewall tires started disappearing in the early '60s and were all but gone by the end of that decade.
What a shame, man.
Standing out in front of C. Matus' News on Main Street in Plymouth was what we cool kids did back then. It was where we gathered before we decided where we were going on any particular Friday or Saturday night.
We would go inside and shoot some pool, or play the pinball machines until it was time to head out to Sandy Beach or Hanson's or Sans Souci. Or maybe a Wilkes or King's dance.
But first, we would stand out on Main Street, holding up the parking meters as those awesome cars went by: GTOs, Camaros, Mustangs, Corvettes, Road Runners, Dodge Darts, Chevelles, Barricudas, Thunderbirds, Beetles, Ramblers, Studebakers, Corvairs, Pintos, Furys, Marlins, Gremlins, Mavericks, Cougars, Impalas, Fairlanes, Cutlasses, Continentals, Galaxys, El Dorados, Cordobas, LeSabres, Biscaynes, Belairs, Volkswagon Beetles, and many more. Hard tops, rag tops, all were way cool, man.
They were so distinctive. And the color combinations were amazing. Not to mention the power under the hood.
These cars were fascinating and fun — and not an SUV anywhere. Station-wagons, maybe.
I have been lucky enough to travel most of the old Route 66, a hallowed highway that all of the aforementioned cars traveled.
Riding on Route 66 really was a kick — and white-walled tires were aplenty, I'm sure.
In the heyday of the 1960s, corner bars were also in neighborhoods everywhere — those wonderful little places in our neighborhoods where you could always get an ice cold beer, stimulating sports conversation with friends and, perhaps, a hard-boiled egg, a scrapple sandwich, or a glass of buttermilk.
In Plymouth, my hometown, there were plenty of corner bars — I know this is greatly understated. But each had its own allure derived from a unique ambiance and a common theme — reasonably priced drinks, good food, familiar faces and fun.
One of those family-owned, small bars, Raub's, has reopened in Plymouth and the sign out front states "Since 1924."
When owner Stacey Spencer invited me down for a story, it really was like traveling back in time. The bar area looked exactly like I had remembered it, even though the town has changed. Raub's is an institution in Plymouth.
People who grew up in small towns in Luzerne County have similar memories of what it was like to live in a small town, filled with hometown pride that was a way of life. School spirit was evident at every football or basketball game and neighbors were always neighborly.
Back then, there were those quaint little bars everywhere, marked with little neon signs, often shaped like an arrow, with the name of the bar brightly lit, that stood out in the darkness.
Yeah, corner bars, bustling Main Streets, friendly people, and those classic cars — with those whitewall tires.
Gotta get me some Brillo pads just in case.
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Reach Bill O'Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.
