Word: wagoneer
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...change in style could hardly have been more telling. Almost every day at about 8:30 a.m. last week, a burgundy Ford station wagon and a white Dodge escorted by two police motorcycles pulled away from Mexico City's southern suburb of Coyoacán. The modest motorcade traveled unobtrusively, inching along in the morning rush hour's endless traffic snarl and dutifully stopping at every traffic light. Finally, about 30 minutes later, it would arrive at the massive and ornate National Palace. A short, handsome figure with graying hair at his temples would emerge...
...longer, but at $52.95 it could hardly be a match for this year's $39.95 portable AM-FM that also carries the audio portion of TV channels. Still, the misty veil of nostalgia only enhances the appeal of a Lionel electric train set ($12.79), all-steel coaster wagon ($1.98), 26-piece doll-house ($1.98) or 15-in. mohair Teddy bear...
...long ago. Yet they hang on, as evidenced by Vanishing Breed (New York Graphic Society; 144 pages; $29.95). More than 100 evocative photographs catch ranch hands and horses in landscapes where the Old West and the new one jostle for position: an AM-FM portable rests on a chuck wagon; pickup trucks wait outside wilderness taverns; mud-and blood-spattered rodeo riders hanker after Stetsoned girls who put Vaseline on their teeth to enhance their smiles. William Albert Allard's pictures catch it all, with a unique mixture of regard and regret...
...years, those cars would have been new. Now only an occasional '82 Buick Regal or Chrysler Le Baron gleams hopefully among older Coupe de Villes, Torinos and Caprice Classics. A Thunderbird stands in ruinous decay next to the embarrassing glint of a new Toyota. An ancient Ford station wagon, held together by spit and masking tape, boasts a bumper sticker that says: THUMBS UP FOR MICHIGAN...
...Louis and Milwaukee, interchangeably dreary, cold and beery cities in the Central time zone, not without style, just without cynicism. At games in St. Louis, August A. Busch Jr., the octogenarian brewer who owns the Cardinals, was delivered to his box seat each day aboard a beer wagon pulled by eight clomping Clydesdales. Able to be thrilled by a buckboard, the people of St. Louis were also not too sophisticated to sing Hello, Redbirds, Well Hello, Redbirds along with Carol Channing or clap in rhythm every time the organist struck up the Budweiser jingle, incessantly...