‘AMERICAN GRAFFITI’ : STILL CRUISIN’ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

MODESTO —  I’m doing all right in school,

They ain’t said I broke no rules.

I ain’t never been in Dutch,

I don’t browse around too much,

Don’t bother us, leave us alone ...

--”Almost Grown” by Chuck Berry

Steve Wells had two things on his mind tonight--cars and girls. From behind the wheel of his black pick-up truck, he and his pal Rick Jennings could see a lot of both. They’re doing what everyone else in town seems to be doing tonight, cruising up and down McHenry Avenue, the city’s fabled car-crazy cruising boulevard.

Jennings spied a cute girl walking down the street. He leaned out the window: “Hey, sexy!” She didn’t look over. He grumbled, gunning his engine a little, “I guess she didn’t hear me.”

If the girls don’t get your attention, the roadsters will. The street was filled with glistening custom cars, trucks and cycles, their noisy motors burping and growling, competing with the sound of radios blaring rock classics from a bygone era. The air was so thick with the pungent scent of gasoline fumes that you figured that if anyone lit a match, it would blow up the block.

Just ahead was a Pepto-Bismol pink Corvette, with a pair of purple racing stripes whipping across the doors. Farther back, stuck in the middle of a crowded intersection, you could see a white, convertible ’55 T-Bird. A pair of blonde teen-agers in Ray-Bans and flat-top dos were bouncing up and down in the front seat, as if they’d driven right out of an old Coppertone ad.

“There’s a Toyota jeep running around here somewhere that’s supposed to be the world’s tallest jeep,” said Wells, 21, shouting over a Chuck Berry song that was blasting on the truck radio. “I mean, its top is like 15 or 16 feet in the air.”

On the main drag, the pace was so agonizingly slow that it took 10 or 15 minutes just to complete a couple blocks.

“It’s a killer,” said Jennings, 19, who’s wearing a baseball cap with the slogan “I Love Hot Women and Cold Beer.” “There are women everywhere. It’s just like a big party.”

Unfortunately, with hundreds of radios blaring and the roar of engines everywhere, it was almost impossible for the guys to make contact with any girls on the street.

“I’ve been coming since I was 15,” said Wells, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. “You always see a lot of unusual things out here. It’s a real night to remember.”

Jennings eyed a trio of girls, all outfitted in Modesto Christian High letter-jackets, walking down the street. “Geez, the girls are pretty stuck up if you ask me.”

Wells laughed. “Of course, if I was a girl and some guy came up to me, half-sloshed, saying hello, I’d say ‘Later!’ too. But if you’re the guy, what are you supposed to do? You’re the one who’s got to do the picking up.”

Don’t give me no dirty looks, Your father’s hip, he knows what cooks, Just tell your hoodlum friends outside, You ain’t got time to take a ride. --”Yakety-Yak” by the Coasters

Everything seems somehow larger than life on what has become known as “Graffiti Night” here. Held every year on the first Saturday night after high school graduation, it’s the ultimate cruising celebration, a time when all of Modesto revs up its engines and goes zooming back to the future. Partly in honor of graduation, partly a tribute to hometown hero George Lucas, who immortalized the rites of cruising in his 1973 film “American Graffiti,” the rowdy nostalgia party last weekend had the festive air of a chrome-studded carnival on wheels.

From mid-afternoon to after midnight, 60,000 people--nearly half the town’s population, were packed into a 30-block stretch of McHenry Avenue.

While there were some grizzled, first-generation cruisers out on the street, most of the celebrants were only a few years out of high school, young enough to have only learned about Modesto’s drag mating dance from the film or anecdotes passed along by their parents.

It was a convivial Mid-America version of spring break in Fort Lauderdale. Battalions of teen-agers roamed the streets of the cool night, one eye on the passing parade of freshly-scrubbed hot rods, the other on the opposite sex.

Spectators sat in lounge chairs or on the back of pick-up trucks, armed with cases of beer, soda pop and sandwiches. Local entrepreneurs sold “Graffiti Night” T-shirts and caps, families wheeled little tots in strollers down the sidewalk and local police strolled past the revelers, keeping a close watch on the largely docile crowd.

Police last Sunday reported 23 arrests, most of them for public intoxication and equipment violations.

“Gonna make all your dreams come true, baby!”

--Wolfman Jack in

“American Graffiti”

It’s hard to imagine Modesto, a quiet, tree-lined town of 135,000, without conjuring up images of “American Graffiti.” Nestled in the San Joaquin Valley about 300 miles from Los Angeles, it has become a center for manufacturing and light industry. But it still has many reminders of a small, Midwestern farming community. Driving along the outskirts of town, you see miles of orchards, vineyards and open pastures filled with cows and horses and you can smell the sharp odor of hay and alfalfa just blocks away from City Hall.

This is a city where high school graduation is a front-page event, where the appearance of a California Highway Patrol helicopter hovering over McHenry Avenue prompted quizzical stares and where the maker of “American Graffiti” is still known in the local paper as George Lucas Jr.

One of the pivotal films of a generation, “American Graffiti” was perhaps the first film to capture the baby boom generation’s coming of age. While it’s a film brimming with romance and innocence, its bittersweet nostalgia is well-earned, drawing on much of the isolation and uncertainty of a generation poised on the brink of a forbidding new age.

Set in Modesto circa 1962 (though actually filmed largely in Petaluma in Marin County), it condensed much of Lucas’ adolescent cruising experiences into one long, seemingly endless late-summer night. With an evocative gallery of early rock hits as its connecting thread, it follows the exploits of four high school chums who made such an archetypal impact on moviegoers (and film makers alike) that they seem to have been around for centuries.

All the action radiates outward from Mel’s Drive-In, which serves as a second home for shy intellectual Curt Henderson (Richard Dreyfuss), moody hot-rodder Big John Milner (Paul LeMat), nice-guy campus hero Steve Bolander (Ron Howard) and geeky, horny Terry (The Toad) Fields (Charlie Martin Smith). With ace deejay Wolfman Jack serving as a surrogate parent and the MacKenzie Phillips, Candy Clark and Cindy Williams characters on hand to lend some gum-cracking wisdom, the film captured a remarkable teen-age rite of passage, the final, fading moments of a dying era.

It’s easy to understand why the rites of cruising were such an integral part of “American Graffiti.” To Lucas, and many kids of his generation, cruising was a symbol of coming of age, of both maturity, eroticism and heroism. As Lucas himself once put it: “I had my own life once I had my car. Along with the sense of power and freedom came the competitiveness to see who was the fastest, the craziest and the bravest.”

For kids growing up in post-war America, there was no clearer symbol of achievement and affluence--the true aspirations of the age--than a sleek, shiny renovated jalopy. Not many kids could afford a new car, but nearly everyone could scrape up enough cash to fix one up. Adolescents crave a sense of community, and what could be a better showcase for their labors than a long, well-lit boulevard, crowded with equally polished, purring machines.

Lucas has called cruising as “the endless search for girls,” but it was also a quest for a more rarefied kind of romance, a fulfillment of youthful passion and fantasies. As he described “American Graffiti” in the film’s story treatment, it’s “an endless parade of kids bombing around in dagoed, moondisked, flamed, chopped, tuck-and-rolled machines rumbling through a seemingly adult-less, heat-drugged little town. . . .”

Graffiti Night has taken on a life of its own--in Lucas’ day, the cruising scene was 10th Street, an older, downtown route that was abandoned in the late-’60s. But “Graffiti Night’s” links with the original film haven’t been forgotten. The movie was playing at two theaters in town, including the Ceres Drive-In. A pair of local radio stations did live remotes from McHenry Avenue. One local reporter, Morgan Brooke, enthused over the air, “It’s the biggest night of the year for Modesto,” though she spent much of her broadcasts plugging the 10 p.m. Happy Hour at the Acapulco Lounge.

Even several of the original Faros Car Club (known in Lucas’ film as the Pharaohs) were on hand. Johnny Mercer, an ex-Faro who’s now an officer in the local sheriff’s department, was out cruising in a sparkling 1940 Ford Deluxe Coupe. He was interviewed last weekend by the Modesto Bee, complaining about the film’s portrayal of the Faros as duck-tailed delinquents. “I thought it was disgusting,” Mercer said. “Certainly there was some drag-racing and alcohol consumption, but we weren’t a gang.”

Another ex-Faro, Brian Murray, said the film “got to the truth a little more than what was comfortable.” He remembered Lucas, from his classes at Downey High, as a “mousy guy.”

Everybody says he’s lazy,

But not when he’s kissing me,

Everybody says he’s crazy,

Sure he’s crazy, crazy about me.

--”Don’t Say Nothing (Bad

About My Baby)” by the Cookies

A couple of rowdy guys in a ’51 Mercury leaned out the windows of their spiffed-up car, ogling a trio of girls, all wearing matching Modesto Christian High letter-jackets. “Hey, what are you doing?” one of them asked.

One of the girls, without so much as glancing at the street, retorted, “I wouldn’t know. Do you?”

Undeterred, the driver asked, “Why don’t you hop in?”

Julie Blakely, a tall, slender redhead, shot back, “Doubtful.”

Her pal, a pretty brunette named Mary Cassle, looked at the guys as if they had radiation poisoning. “Very doubtful,” she said, with unerring finality.

The girls were experts at fending off impertinent advances, especially from guys who tried to bait the girls with sacrilegious remarks, making fun of their parochial school background. “They’re always trying to get a reaction out of us,” Blakely explained. “But it’s not like we’re nuns or something. I mean, we’re not loose--but we know how to have a good time. We just keep walking, real confidently, and they leave us alone.”

“Or we just sock them in the stomach,” chimed in Erica Fields, at 15 the youngest of the three. “Well, that’s only a last resort,” Blakely said. “They come up with some pretty good lines, like, ‘Hey, baby, wanna take a walk on the wild side?’ ”

This prompted a big laugh. “We actually had a guy tonight say, ‘What’s a beautiful girl doing in a place like this?’ ”

“Yeah,” said Cassle, 17, who wants to be a biologist some day. “I told him, ‘Get a new one, buddy!’ ”

Anyway, all three girls have boyfriends (who donated the letter-jackets). However, by twists of fate, none of the guys was available for Graffiti Night action.

“It’s a real long story,” Cassle said. “You see, my boyfriend--well, actually he’s not really my boyfriend--in fact, he’s out with another girl tonight on his motorcycle. He asked her out a long time ago, but only ‘cause he didn’t think I’d go out with him.”

The others joined in with their own explanations, but it was difficult to follow all the dramatic and complicated developments in their tumultuous love lives, largely because everybody spoke at the same time.

According to Blakely, her boyfriend, Jess, “is real shy, but he’s not very innocent. Actually, he’s so romantic. And cute.” She sighed. “His smile. . . .”

Fields put in, “He has these amazing dimples.”

“And he has this ’57 Chevy,” Blakely said. “But he was too shy to take us.” She frowned. “You know, I’m not looking for a commitment or anything. I’d just like to know whether we’re going out or not!”

Fields laughed. “All I can say is that Goose is the greatest--he’s the best athlete in school,” she boasted about her guy. “He goes out with a girl who’s out of the country. But they’ve broken up.” She shrugged. “They break up every summer. So he kind of cheats on her.”

“But Paul--that’s Goose’s real name--really likes Erica,” Blakely explained. “He wrote some stuff in her yearbook this year that was really awesome!”

Cassle couldn’t stand it any longer. “All I can say is that my boyfriend is going to have to pry this jacket off my body!” She rubbed the arms of the jacket together. “It smells so good!”

The girls were still excitedly debating the merits of their absent boyfriends when a young guy stopped to listen. Hearing the conversation turn to college possibilities, he summoned up the courage to volunteer, “Hey, I graduated too.”

Blakely gave him her iciest delivery, cooing, “I’m so glad for you.”

I told her that I was a flop with chicks,

I’ve been this way since 1956,

She looked at my palm and made a magic sign,

She said what you need is Love Potion No. 9.

--”Love Potion No. 9” by the Coasters

Scott House, 19, doesn’t have a fancy car, but he’s been out cruising the sidewalks with an even better conversation-piece: a six-foot snake. “Pretty rad, huh,” he said proudly, letting the sleek Malaysian python ravel itself around his shoulders. “It cost $400, but it was worth it. I’ve got another one at home that’s seven feet long.”

House held out the snake’s head and placed it in the palm of his visitor’s hand. “He doesn’t bite, at least as far as I know,” he said. “I take him to parties all the time. The girls really dig him a lot. They love doing strange things to a snake, though I guess it really depends on the girl. Let’s just say he’s a cruiser, like me.”

House began twisting the snake’s head around his tail. “Did ya ever see a snake tied in a knot?” He pulled on the creature’s tail and head at the same time. “See, it exercises his muscles.”

A couple of girls bicycling by screeched to a halt when they saw this demonstration. One girl asked if she could wrap the snake around her neck. Her friend, watching from a safe distance, groaned, “Kathy, you gross me out!”

You couldn’t help but wonder if the snake ever really freaked anyone out. House beamed. “That’s the whole idea,” he said, watching a crowd gather around him. “It freaks everybody out!”

I bought a ’34 wagon and we call it a Woody, It’s not very cherry, it’s an oldie but a goodie,

It ain’t got a back-seat or a rear-window,

But it gets me where I wanna go ...

--”Surf City” by Jan & Dean

When he was just out of high school, Carl Aguilar now 26, was driving the back roads of Modesto when he spotted a rusty old hulk half-buried in a farmer’s field. “That’s where I found this,” he said proudly, sitting in the sunken driver’s seat of a gorgeous black ’52 Chevy blue dots on the tail-lights and a hydraulic front end that can bounce almost a foot up in the air. “My friends and I go out cruising in the country, have a couple of beers and if we see a car way out behind a barn somewhere, we just go up and ask.”

Aguilar stared at the street as a three-window ’35 Ford Coupe with a chopped top rolled past. “I paid $300 for this--it was stuck in the sand in a field. We had to get a dump truck and chains just to get it out of there. It took me seven years to get it like this.”

A couple of kids on skateboards skidded to a halt so they could study the sleek machine. They yelped with delight as Aguilar squeezed the hydraulic jack and jerked the front-end up in the air. Aguilar is a member of Carnales Unidos (Brothers United), a car club with a chapter in Merced, where Aguilar lives. He has five vintage autos, including a ’54 Chevy, a ’47 Buick and a ’67 MG Midget.

“I’ve been coming here for three years now,” explained Aguilar, who was wearing black slacks and a sleeveless red T-shirt with his club’s insignia on the front. “I usually cruise most of the night--of course, it takes most of the night just to go one way on McHenry. I saw a lot of nice rods out there tonight, though I’d like to see them restrict it to just older cars and custom jobs.”

For Aguilar, the appeal of cruising hasn’t changed much from Lucas’ days. Half the fun is the girl-watching,” he said. “Actually, it’s not such a good idea to whistle at women anymore, so I let the car do it for me.”

He pushed a button, which set off a noisy, siren-like wolf-whistle. “See, when the car whistles at them, they love it,” he said with a sly grin. “They turn around and give you a big smile!”

Does Aguilar think he’d ever get too old for cruising? “No way, man,” he said, wagging his head. “I’ll be here next year and the year after and the year after that. And if I don’t have this car, I’ll have another one. I’ll always be here!”

I kiss ‘em and I love ‘em,

‘Cause to me they’re all the same.

I hug ‘em and I squeeze ‘em,

They don’t even know my name ...

--”The Wanderer”

by Dion and the Belmonts

“The great thing about this night is that it’s different every year,” explained Jason Poirer, a gabby, cherub-faced kid who was wearing a big, silvery wig that made him look like a walking Christmas tree ornament. “I’ve from Stockton (a small town 25 miles away) and I’ve been coming here since I was 15. When I was younger, my brothers used to take me.

“The cars are the thing. Every year there’s a different trend. Five years ago, it was Chevys and Chevettes. Last year it was Volkswagens. Now it’s mini-trucks. If you’ve got a nice car, it’s great. But if you’re in a crappy car, you’d better stay home.”

Poirer noticed his visitor staring at the pick-up truck he was lounging on. “Mine’s over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby parking lot. “I drive a Capri. I’d bring my Nissan up here, but I haven’t bought it yet.”

Poirer, 20, who’s a sign technician--”that means I paint ‘em and install ‘em”--had been hunting for a new girlfriend, without much success. “I like the girls here,” he said. “I just haven’t met the right one.”

His friend, Lisa, a dark-eyed brunette who was wearing a baggy University of Hawaii sweatshirt, began to laugh. “Yeah, I’m trying to find him a real hot one,” she said. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll have to take out an ad.”

Sittin’ in my car outside your house,

Remember when you spilled Coke all over your blouse ... All summer long we’ve both been free,

Won’t be long ‘till summertime is through.”

--”All Summer Long” by the Beach Boys

Liz Johnson now lives in Hayward, an Oakland suburb, but she grew up in Modesto and comes back every summer, always in time for Graffiti Night. Except for a minor skirmish with a local cop--”He made me pour out my wine cooler, and I’d only had two”--she’s been enjoying the evening’s freewheeling atmosphere.

“I’m part of the second generation for all this,” said Johnson, 21, a girl with an infectious grin and a thatch of closely-cropped hair who said she wants to be a gospel singer. “My mom and dad grew up here, and my mom always told me everything about cruising. That’s how they met. My dad used to have this tiny little car with this big engine, and he’d always be out cruising when he was a kid. In fact, you know the dragster guy, who drove the yellow car in the movie--my dad knew the real kid that he was based on from the movie.

“It’s kinda neat, ‘cause I’m doing all the same things they used to do. It seemed like life back then was so much more simple. They didn’t have all the peer pressures we have today, like drugs and sex. It’s just amazing how young they were. They got married when my mom was 16 and a junior in high school. Now, can you believe it, they’ve been married 32 years!”

Johnson shrugged. “The only problem is that my grandmother always gets freaked out when we’re out here. She’s always worried about me getting raped or something, ‘cause some girl got raped and her throat cut once. Actually, the guys here are pretty tame. If they say something really crude, I just flip ‘em off.”

Her pal, Dareama Skinner, a sharp-tongued girl who’s sitting on the rear-end of a pick-up truck, waved her fist in the air. “I’m her bodyguard,” she boasted. “I’m ready for a fight, anytime.”

“Anyway, it’s totally natural for kids to cruise out here,” Johnson said. “It’s a way to show off, to get out the frustrations from school and stuff. If they couldn’t cruise. . . .”

Dareama gestured toward the crowded avenue. “They’d die.”