1996 Buick Riviera

From the time that I was very young, cars and trucks have been a part of my life. My first foray into the world of tinkering with vehicles began at the tender age of five when my father gave me five dollars to pull out the rotted, moss-covered oak boards that made up the bed floor of his 1952 Chevrolet pickup truck as we began its restoration. From this moment on, I was hooked. Any opportunity I could find to get my hands dirty with any vehicle my family owned, old or new, was a source of great joy to me. Luckily for me, my father was a cool dude who had all sorts of interesting machines, both big and small. While other kids my age were earning an allowance by raking leaves or doing dishes, I was doing it by greasing cables or oiling the chains on the tracks of an ex-Army Corps of Engineers 1955 Byers 20-ton crawler crane my father purchased to take down a small building (how else was I supposed to afford my first mountain bike?). While other kids sat inside after school and watched cartoons every day, I was busy wire-brushing hanging rust off of the 1935 Ford dump truck my father and I restored when I was in middle school. And, while other kids went to camp that summer when I was twelve, I helped my father pull a 1937 Packard Super Eight touring sedan from a barn in Lynnfield, Massachusetts that is now seven years in the making for us.

Of course, our antiques weren't the only neat vehicles we had; the daily vehicles that my parents owned during my childhood were also far more interesting than those of the average family. On weekends my father would take me fishing in his copper over cream over copper 1987 GMC Sierra Classic pickup. While other kids were showing up for elementary school in mid-80's Ford LTD Country Squire station wagons, I was privileged enough to be dropped off in my mother's baby blue on baby blue 1979 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, and later her triple yellow(!) 1985 Cadillac Eldorado, complete with wide whitewalls and real wire wheels! It's this being brought up around such a wide array of interesting vehicles that makes me simply unable to drive a "car of the masses," if you will. I realize I may be coming off as a bit of a snob here, but it's not my intention at all so hear me out. I know this may sound ridiculous to some of you, but I have spent many a summer evening idling down the crowded strip at Hampton Beach or crawling up the Southeast Expressway in Boston during rush hour with a Taurus or Corolla-owning friend of mine and seen the same car that I was riding in on at least three if not all four sides of me. Now I can't speak for any of you readers out there, but I, personally, would go absolutely fucking bonkers if I were just a two to four-character paint code away from being exactly like everybody else. Enter my 1996 Buick Riviera.

With cars like this, why would anybody want to drive something so bland as a Civic or a Camry? When the final evolution of the Buick Riviera hit the market in September of 1994, it was billed as the first production car to go straight from concept to production, and it's easy to see why. The lines of the car are like nothing else on the road, and the car is to this day still years ahead of its time. In keeping with the proud and storied history of the nameplate, the last-generation Riviera is a radical, love it or hate it design that I and many others find to be bold and beautiful yet sophisticated, much like the outrageous "boat tail" Rivieras of 1971-1973. Certainly a high note to go out on for the car that General Motors chief stylist Bill Mitchell conceived in 1963 when he wished to cross the performance of a Ferrari GT with the style and comfort of a Rolls-Royce.

I was taken back by these cars right after they hit the streets in 1995. My father has worked at an auto body shop for over a decade now, and this is where I first laid eyes on one of these gorgeous machines. An old lady had gotten into a fender bender with her then brand new '95 and had brought it to my father's shop to be fixed. One day after he picked me up from school, we drove over to the shop to grab a few tools he'd left behind earlier in the day. When I walked inside the shop behind him I immediately froze when I saw it. Just a day out of paint and freshly washed and detailed was this absolutely stunning champagne-colored Buick Riviera with a tan leather interior sitting in the center of the shop, shiny and perfect in every way. To this day I am still impressed by the styling of these cars, but the impact it had on a ten year-old me in a time when cars as a whole were very bland and unexciting was infinitely larger. I nearly wore a rut in the floor with all the times I walked around it, examining its outrageous lines from every angle possible. Immediately I asked my father what it was and he told me, and it was then that I decided that one day I would have one of these big beautiful luxury-sport coupes; little did I realize that it would come a lot sooner than I thought.

The summer of 2004 was quite an eventful one for me in terms of my car situation. After wrecking my 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme for the second time in as many months, I found myself looking for a new car. A local service center had a 1989 Oldsmobile Toronado for sale in their front parking lot which I bought with the insurance money from the Cutlass in order to get myself back on my feet, as I was not going to spend my summer bumming rides to the beach or wherever else I wished to go. Luckily for me, the summer was EXACTLY how long it ended up lasting me! Coming home on the highway from the bank where I keep my savings account one afternoon, I decided to see what she could do and roasted the transmission in it something awful on the highway, but not before reaching a top speed of 112 miles per hour! I ended up making it home in first gear, and spent the next two weeks almost constantly adding my own special cocktail of Lucas Transmission Fix and Hurst Hot Shift before telling my father what had happened. Under his advisement, and also due to the fact that the Toronado was already used and abused to begin with, I sat down to look for a new car. It just so happened that this all occurred on Thursday; the day when our local newspaper publishes all of the new classified ads they receive. It was there in the Cars for Sale section that I saw the ad:

1996 BUICK RIVIERA

Pearl white. $2500/bo

978-674-XXXX

It was too good to be true! A last-generation Buick Riviera was for sale in the next town over from me, in my price range, and wearing a very rare coat of Bright White Diamond Metallic in the first year the color was offered. When I called to inquire about the car, a young woman answered and we set up a time for me to come over and have a look. When I arrived at the house the following morning with my father and saw it sitting in the driveway, I was admittedly a bit skeptical towards it. The car was FILTHY, inside and out. It was covered in dirt, and the inside was filled with trash from McDonald's and smelled like cigarettes something awful. In the back of my mind I knew I'd be able to shine it up like a new penny, though. The woman that owned it informed me that the car hadn't moved from its spot since May (It was early September) due to an unexpected change of plans.

This Riviera was her car; it was her baby and she kept meticulous care of it until that fateful day in May when her husband suddenly passed away; he was only 42. From this point on, she decided for obvious reasons to start driving her late husband's late-model Mercedes SUV and the Riviera was put on ice. Having two young children, to be making payments on two vehicles and having them both registered and insured was no longer realistic for her, and this is when the decision was made that her baby would have to be let go. When I heard this, I knew that I had to own this car, not only because it would fulfill a dream of mine that I've had since I was ten years old, but also because I knew she might have at least a little piece of mind knowing that selling it to me would mean that the car would be saved from a fate of ridiculous stereo systems, pulsating neon tubes, performance exhausts, and 20-inch rims. So Maria, if you're out there, I'd like to let you know that your baby is still in good safe hands and I would never even dream of letting it go; I owe it to the both of us.