They call it “Exuberant Modernism”

Copy Nothing?

My Dad didn’t give a damn about cars – “They go forward, backward, turn around and stop.” That was the end of every Begging and Pleading conversation we’d have about getting something hot when trade-in time came around. His position was understandable and irrefutable. Dad was a sales engineer. The job involved driving to companies with some sort of problem and help solve it. His ‘territory’ was everything north of New Jersey (except Canada), essentially New York and all of New England. Dad was on the road a lot. Most months he left on Monday and returned on Friday. When it came to cars, dependability was the first and last word. Never ‘brand loyal’, Hudson, Buick, Plymouth, Mercury, Dodge, Lincoln, Chevy, Ford – all found a perfunctory place in the garage.

But Dad did have a secret automotive passion, a car he’d gaze at with the same longing a man might stare at Miss October:  the Jaguar 3.8s

I asked him “So…what’s the attraction? Doesn’t it just go forward, backward, around in circles, and stop?” Ignoring my snarky smart-ass, he’d just shrug, say something about ‘smooth lines, the perfect size, leather interior...” Once we were stopped at a light right in front of the Jag dealership and there it was, the Love of his Life on the showroom floor! I was all over him: “C’mon, Dad! Let’s go in! Check it out! Get a test drive!” With feigned reluctance, he demurred with the usual excuses: time, money, time again. Relentlessly, I wore him down and we pulled in.

The sales weasel was way better than the Ford or Chevy guy. Impeccably dressed, coiffed, and deferential to Dad and even me! I think I was 13. The sales dude gave Dad the Full Treatment tour - engine compartment, trunk, back seat, and – the coupe de gras – “Why not take a seat behind the wheel and see how she fits?” Dad may or may not have made it to heaven, but he got a glimpse, feel, and taste of it that afternoon. He was in love. He looked good in it, too. Dad was 6’1, good shape, dressed well. Behind the wheel, you could see him cruising down some suburban street, Cary Grant dapper, and luxuriously comfortable in the grey leather seat, holding the burled walnut steering wheel, just taking in the world. Life Was Good.

But it never happened. Even though he could easily afford it, he couldn’t run the risk. Jaguar never had the greatest “dependability” reputation. The saying was, “If you wanted a Jag, you had to buy 3. One for parts, one for the shop, and one to drive.” Stuck in Bellows Falls, Vermont with a gummy kaniffilar frabitzonk would have been occupational suicide. Pragmatism bludgeoned Romance and no one mourned the loss more than Dad. He did get that Test Ride though, so there was that.

You may be wondering: What’s the point?

If you share a warm, close, personal feeling for cars, especially icons like Dad’s 3.8 or (my preference) the XK-E, imagine anxiously clicking on a commercial for the newest Jaguar presentation and seeing this!

If you’ve made it this far, you understand why this commercial evoked fond old memories of Dad and his Dream Machine.

I can only imagine his reaction.

Jaguar execs call their new brand “Exuberant Modernism”

And their new ad slogan: “Copy Nothing”.

Dad would agree – copy nothing and start right there.

Then go have a Bud Lite.

BW

Thanks for reading this far.

Stay tuned! Up next - a chat with guest columnist, Brad Smith