JBB – This summer has been busy, especially for our relatively newly minted teenager. Seems we’re always driving him around to some activity, some of which take place at a couple of the local high schools. Though school is not in session, the parking lots have plenty of cars, some of which appear to belong to the teenaged volunteers.

In these parking lots, when I walk by an interesting car – as defined by existing outside of the normal hand-me-down CUV bore-mobile or the parents’ expensive new something or other – I take a quick peek inside, specifically at the area between the front seats. Recently I was surprised by two such vehicles.

The first was an early B6 Volkswagen Passat 2.0T (think 2006-2007) with the rare Sport package and the even-more-rare 6-speed manual. The Blue Graphite paint was okay, while the Classic Gray leather upholstery was intact though a bit dingy. It didn’t look particularly rusty – quite a feat here in the North Woods – and the 18-inch Samarkand wheels looked dirty but not wounded.

These were beautiful cars to drive back when they were new, especially with the stick (the automatic-only 3.6-liter VR6 versions were also fantastic). They weren’t as problem-free as, say, anything from a Japanese brand, and so many of them have since been recycled into railroad spikes. But some kid seems to have chosen this three-pedal example, and judging by the overall condition they seem to really like it.

A couple weeks later, at a different high school, I spotted an early Volvo 850 with a 5-speed manual and a jaunty OE-accessory trunk spoiler. Wearing a black-on-black color scheme and stock wheels, it looked pretty well-kept. The parents of an old girlfriend of mine had an 850 5-speed when the model was current (1992-1997), and I always thought it was a neat, sporty alternative to ze ubiquitous German rides of the time.

While I would love to cruise the local parking lots during the school year to check out other cars, I’ve been told that’s frowned upon. But it got your humble authors thinking: These kids today, maybe some of them actually get it!

That got us thinking back to the cars from our own high schools. Mine was a fairly average campus of around 1,400 students in suburban Trumbull, Connecticut. It didn’t look much different from a John Hughes Brat Pack film, but with fewer beautiful people. Classes were located all over the place over two floors. Gym class was the stereotypical nightmare. Some of the faculty smoked in their school closets offices. Some of the faculty may have later gotten busted for hitting on female students. Also, at the end of detention, nobody walked out as friends.

RBH – I went to one of those small Connecticut boys’ schools where you could exchange a commitment to play football for a better mark in 11^th-grade chemistry*. My graduating class was something like 24 people. For the record, there was a sister girls’ school just across the sports fields where we tended to congregate whenever possible. Different story for a different blog.

*Purely hypothetically of course, right Mr. P.?

Despite what you may surmise from the above, the majority of the kids in my school didn’t drive brand-new, top-of-the-line cars, although there were a few. Most of us drove our parents’ or siblings’ automotive hand-me-downs or what our parents considered “practical” vehicles for young people. This was during a time when ABS and airbags were reserved for the newest, most-expensive cars on the market, and there was still a raging debate about whether seatbelts should be mandatory. And of course, the mandatory “double nickel” national speed limit (look it up). Anyway, our school parking lot was largely populated with RAD-era Japanese and German imports, but there was a decent amount of American steel as well.

JBB – Speaking of American steel, the first high school car that always, erm, crashes back into my mind is my friend David’s circa-1977 Dodge Aspen wagon. Outside it was sort of a bronzey-gold color, and the interior was awash in tan vinyl and plastic. The upholstery wasn’t even pleather; this was straight-up malaise-era petrochemical tarpaulin material.

David had his driver’s license for most of a school year before me, and I somehow made him drive me to and from Trumbull High every day. I also somehow convinced him to jump the Aspen three times a day – twice downhill on Whitney Avenue, once uphill; if you know, you know – for probably six months. We also went garbage can hunting in it.

Eventually, the car developed a braking problem that at the time was a complete mystery to us. In hindsight, it was either a sticky brake caliper or a collapsed brake line. David’s father took the Aspen to their local mechanic, whose response was, “You’re going to put money into this?”

The Aspen went away, replaced by a Chevrolet Chevette 5-door, a silver and black two-tone horror show with a three-speed automatic transmission. It responded less well than the Aspen to flying lessons .

RBH – Speaking of janky MOPAR products, my buddy Nick had a Plymouth Horizon, but not before he’d owned a gorgeous Fiat 850 Spider in bright yellow. With my own 1977 Alfa Romeo Spider, we were the Italian sports car guys and would debate whose car was better looking, a still-unresolved discussion. (I, of course, know the right answer.)

That Fiat got t-boned at an intersection by a woman in a Subaru. To this day, I find it remarkable that Nick walked away unscathed. Unscathed, but very unhappy. After the Fiat the Horizon was a bit of a letdown, although it was damned near impossible to kill. Not for his lack of actively trying, mind you; I don’t recall what finally took it out, but I’m thinking it had something to do with purposely running it out of oil.

Another friend of mine who’d moved on to another school at some point got his grandparents’ 1983 Ford Thunderbird, white on red velour, with the carbureted 5.0-liter V8. It was the squishy version, but to our teen selves it was a veritable powerhouse.

That was the first car I ever modified with paint. We blacked-out the headlight surrounds and grille – remarkably well, if I do say so myself – to make it look 1980s-sporty à la the upmarket Thunderbird Elan. It kinda worked; black-out trim was all the rage, after all! Right after we did that, his mom traded the car in on a new triple-white (because 1987) Ford Mustang GT convertible. David, in turn, got a – wait for it – Plymouth Horizon, which was a pretty decent car with a stick, if I’m honest.

JBB – Funny you should mention tuning a car with spray paint. Our mutual friend Kurt’s mom had a dark gray 1986 Hyundai Excel 5-door. Kurt and I were convinced painting all the exterior and interior trim red – just like a Volkswagen GTI, clearly – would make that car… I got nothing. Because Euro, maybe?

Kurt also had a 1976 Oldsmobile Delta 88 sedan. Though he and I were pretty tight in high school, I don’t ever remember riding in this large white car. I do know it turned Kurt on to American cars in general, and comfy old-man American cars in particular. Following the Delta, through high school and college, were a gold 1989-ish Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera coupe, a gray Eagle Premier, and then much later a black Chevrolet Impala SS (the weird, front-wheel-drive LS4 V8 one) named Vlad.

Vlad the Impala. Get it? Kurt’s funny.

RBH – A couple of my friends had parents whose idea of good teen rides were relatively late-model Japanese cars, like Chris’s dark blue 1984 Honda Prelude and Jeff’s dark brown 1983 Toyota Camry. Both were downright futuristic in comparison with my already primitive Alfa Spider. They had cold air conditioning, moonroofs, good stereos, and were decidedly NOT rusty. I was particularly envious of the Prelude, and a few years later bought one for myself. Even so, that brown Camry in near-perfect condition as it was then would be worth a small fortune among RAD fans now.

JBB – Rick had a 1983 Pontiac 6000 LE in dark gray over light gray velour. With me riding shotgun, Rick crashed it into a fence at the Trumbull Shopping Park (aka, the mall). The first hit was a steel pole sticking straight up about ten feet. We flattened that, taking out three long sections of chain-link in the process. The metal pole topper bounced off the windshield in front of my face; Rick thought my head had hit the windshield.

Only after we fled the scene of the crime did we realize, standing in my driveway, we’d abandoned Rick’s front license plate and bracket at the mall. We returned to find a security guard handing the evidence over to a cop. Rick’s Dad – who, funny enough, was running the Trump Shuttle at the time – was not amused.

Mike had a second-generation Honda Prelude. Like Reed, the car made a hell of an impression on me; it was just so damn civilized and handled so damn well. Mike stuffed his into something and replaced it with a front-wheel-drive Toyota Celica ST. Mocking ensued. I also later bought a Prelude.

Speaking of running down things connected vertically to the ground, my friend Andrea had an early-mid-1980s Jeep Wagoneer. One Halloween a bunch of us were out trick-or-treating, as high-schoolers do. The memories are fuzzy, but while several of us looked on from the side of the street, Andrea whizzed by in the Jeep, veered off into a front yard, plowed down several mailboxes, swerved back onto the road, and then continued on toward home (apparently). Nobody was drinking, and Andrea didn’t do drugs. Plus, there were no cell phones by which to be distracted. We never really nailed down a reason for those mailboxes having to die.

RBH – Of course, no 1980s parking lot worth its salt could get by without a Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z and/or a C4-era Corvette. We had both, and in black. I have particularly fond memories of hanging out during lunch or after school in a cul-de-sac near campus in the IROC-Z with Rob and Dan, a couple of friends who were smokers (I wasn’t) and had mullets (I didn’t) while listening to heavy metal (not really my music). And it was totally awesome.

We also had a few guys who drove late-model Volkswagens. I clearly recall a couple of 16-valve GTIs and a 16-valve Scirocco. I had multiple cousins with GTIs/GLIs so those never really made much of an impression on me, but I loved Ted’s black-on-black Scirocco. Due to circumstances, Ted subsequently had an early Mazda RX-7 – nearly identical to the one I occasionally “borrowed” from my uncle – and then a maroon 1988 Mustang GT convertible. The Scirocco was still my fave.

JBB – Hope had a silver Dodge Colt, one of those little 3-door captive-import Mitsubishi hatchbacks with the Twin-Stick gearbox. We got it stuck on a jump at the Indian Ledge Park BMX bicycle track. Henry drove a Ford Fiesta, one of the early rear-wheel-drive German versions. Gia had a tatty triple-white Mk1 Volkswagen Cabriolet that I would park my restored Colibri green 1980 Rabbit Convertible next to.

Senior year, Adam showed up with a brand-new second-generation Acura Integra GS – a red 5-speed hatchback – that he bought himself with money earned from computer consulting (whatever the hell that was).

A different Mike had a circa-1978 Oldsmobile Delta 88. It was a metallic light blue color that looked pretty good with the white racing stripes we painted from the nose over the hood and roof onto the trunk. Pro Tip: Don’t use a razor blade directly on the paint to trim the masking tape for the stripes, because you’ll get rust pinstripes outlining those stripes. Another Dave had a dark blue mid-1980s Mitsubishi pickup. Lorie drove a metallic medium blue 1978 Toyota Corolla two-door sedan. Small world: Lorie went to my school while her mom was Reed’s high school art teacher/lady crush.

RBH – Some of the other late-1980s high school cars that stand out in my memory for one reason or another include: a hard-driven white BMW E30 M3 (that would be worth a mint today but likely didn’t make it past the 1990s); a brand-new Honda Accord LXi hatchback; and a 1983-ish Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme sedan (the G-body version with the rear windows that didn’t roll down) in dark blue with blue velour. There was also a Chevy Celebrity Eurosport, a black BMW 325i sedan (with a “Police Supporter” badge on the back), and a Saab 900 sedan.

Elsewhere were a late-1970s Buick LeSabre (in faded silver over red), a blue Ford Maverick, a light blue 1979 Buick Regal, and a light blue 1976 Chevy Malibu coupe that could pass for Lloyd Dobler’s. (You know, the one where he and Diane Court lost their virginity together.) Somewhere in there was a light blue Chevette. I’m sure there was at least one Volvo 240 station wagon, because Fairfield County, Connecticut.

Meanwhile, on the faculty side, one teacher had a very clean early Volkswagen Rabbit while another had a – wait for it – blue Prelude. The Ukrainian/Hungarian Spanish teacher with the world’s longest name drove a diesel Datsun pickup.

Lots of blue at my high school, too.

JBB – All to say, we come not to condemn the cars of our youth, but to celebrate them. Frankly, we’d welcome many of them into either of our wonky fleets today. Those were the days, friends. Those were the days. And, hey, if any of you out there went to high school with us and we forgot you and/or your car, drop a note below in the comments.