Spring 1972. We all waited with great anticipation for Dad to come home. On this day, it would not be by cab or subway. When pop turned the corner, he didn't just come home. He arrived. And gracefully moored his shiny new El Dorado in the parking spot before us. Personally, I favored Mustangs. But I was taken aback by the Cadillac's subtle wing curvature, roofline and sheer size. Dad called it one of the most graceful American cars to ever come out of Detroit. I couldn't argue. To understand Dad, understand that back then, even more than now, cars were more than just a utility. They were personal statements about the owners. And the status they assumed in life. For my father, I am almost certain this purchase was a much-needed gesture to his parents, people who never had much faith that his choice of profession -- show business -- would ever pay off. When you stop and think about it, that sort of connection, that unit of meaning, is a pretty darn powerful thing for a bran...
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