Ever since the crazy explosion of growth in my home town which began a few decades ago, there seems to be an average of 8.4 automobiles per person on Atlanta's roads both day and night. Love it or hate it, Atlanta has always been a, "car town." MARTA can do what it wants - this is not likely to change anytime soon.
In his earliest recollections of Atlanta, this writer remembers the old trolleys that used to run all over town. They were connected to large, overhead electric cables which were the source of their power. Whenever a trolley would pass through an intersection, sparks would fly from the cable crossings. These trolleys gave way to buses, and then to a limited network of subways.
But still, if you live in Atlanta, you drive. Period.
There were no foreign, "rice-burner," death-trap, sounds-like-a-sewing-machine, cars in this writer's young, hometown days. Large, American cars were everywhere. Ford, Chevy, Mercury, Oldsmobile, GMC, Buick, Pontiac and various others. These great old machines were made out of 100% genuine American steel, metal, chrome, and cast iron. They were big, heavy, wide, noisy, and gas guzzling.
In other words, they were perfect!
There were no so-called "muscle cars" in this writer's day. Practically EVERY car was a muscle car. Engines like the 327, 350, 396, 440, 442, and the 454 gave the power to models like the GTO ("goat"), Challenger, Charger, Road Runner, Six-Pack, Hemi, Trans-Am, Thunderbird, Camaro, and Mustang.
The most exciting ride this writer ever took was a short hop from Shallowford Road down I-85 to the Varsity at North Avenue. The five high school football players riding in the car were amazed at the Chevelle SS-396's performance. With a powerful roar, that great, old, car lustily topped 120 miles per hour, chugging down over one full quarter of a tank of gas during the less-than-ten-mile journey. It was a ride this writer will never forget.
Gasoline rarely if ever got above .25 cents a gallon, so mpg's didn't really matter. Service stations competed with each other by periodically engaging in "gas wars." During these clientele tugs-of-war, the price of regular gas (there was no such thing as "unleaded" - the only alternative to regular was a souped-up octane variety called "Ethyl") could fall as low as .17 cents per gallon. No rag-headed Arab anywhere had his throat on the energy pulse of America.
In addition, there was no EPA. So, a smoking exhaust system, while a nuisance, was not a valid infraction that would cause one to be pulled over by the police. There were no nambi-pambi urbanites that lobbied for speed breakers in the middle of neighborhoods, nor noise-level restrictions on anything with four wheels. Therefore, the unmistakable sound of cherry-bomb mufflers rang almost nightly through the air, and drag racing found a home in many an Atlanta neighborhood.
Atlanta car dealers were few, and the names were quite recognizable: John Smith Chevrolet, Tim Timmers Chevrolet, Nalley Chevrolet, Hub Ford, and Boomershine Pontiac. Looking back, Chevrolet was probably the dominant brand in Atlanta, perhaps because of the presence of the GM assembly plant at Lakewood.
The tag lines of the radio and television commercials from these old Southern car dealers etched their messages into the public's collective brain:
"I got mine at Boomershine..."
"Don't dally, see Nalley..."
Too, before the Atlanta Motor Speedway came to be, and long before my cousin, Max Simpson, began Dixie Speedway outside of Woodstock, there was the Peach Bowl.
At one end of the old stock yards between Marietta Street and Howell Mill Road, there was an asphalt short track called the "Peach Bowl" that hosted all sorts of automobile racing on weekends. There was the figure eight race, the demolition derby, and at least two short-track features every weekend. From sitting in the stands at the Peach Bowl during an afternoon and evening of racing, patrons took home a thin layer of rubber tire shavings covering every inch of clothing and exposed skin.
Still, these races were exciting! The drivers were fearless. And, the crowds hungry for speed, the roar of engines, wrecks of all description, and basically just old-fashioned, gasoline-powered fun.
The Peach Bowl surely provided all of the above.
Another aspect of Atlanta's love affair with the car was the network of interstate highways that ran through town.
Today, those interstates are multiple lane (up to eight, nine or ten lanes in some cases), divided by a concrete wall, and packed to the gills almost any hour of the day or night. Atlanta's 21st century commute is reportedly the longest in the country at an average of 1.5 hours each way.
In the Atlanta of my youth, I-75 going through town was only two lanes on each side with a single guard rail in the middle, and seldom if ever did it get backed up - and never with anything remotely resembling the gridlock of today. I-75 ended just north of town, I-20 ended at Douglasville, and I-285 (now affectionately referred to as, "the world's largest parking lot,") didn't even exist until the early 1970's.
Great cars rolling off nearby assembly lines, uncrowded roads, few restrictions, and cheap gas - these and so many other factors destined Atlanta to become a "car town."
Driving in Atlanta was once a great part of the experience of growing up here.
One could only wish it was still that way.
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