Driving Like a Dream.

A recent photo safari with a client took us back and forth across Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico—covering something on the order of about 2,200 miles on a mission to completely replenish his company’s equipment photography. On the second leg of our journey, the photographer and his assistant, along with eight cases of gear, had a mid-size SUV. Therefore, the client and I needed a second vehicle that turned out to be a silver Mercury Grand Marquis—otherwise known as a land yacht.

At first sight of the vehicle, the client and I rolled our eyes at each other. After all, we’re both the same age and were hoping for a rental that was way cooler than an old guy’s car. Then again, with 50 nipping at our heels, some might consider us old guys. Nevertheless, we were left with the Mercury. 

By the way, in Texas, we pronounce it “Merkery.” Just sayin’.

Back in the day, my dad drove one of these road hogs. His preference was the Oldsmobile Delta 88—two-door, although once he had a Cadillac Eldorado Coupe. Both had split-bench seats just like the Mercury I was driving and they drove like riding on air. 

In all honesty, it didn’t take long to realize what Dad and his generation appreciated about these beasts of the road. The trunk was massive—cavernous, in fact. Aside from the full-size spare tire, it held our safety gear and luggage with room to spare. And when we needed it, the engine had get-up-and-go–– maybe not 0 to 60 in eight or less, but it had spirit.

Cruising at open road speeds, which we will acknowledge here as the posted 70 mph (pleading the fifth on anything over that), our stately Grand Marquis moved confidently and luxuriously down the highway. Even over the rough and dusty access roads to rig sites, our gal floated us to our destinations with grace. In fact, while driving the Grand Marquis, I recalled what I thought was a couple of old 70s Mercury commercials. The central message on one was that the ride was so smooth and plush that even on a washboard road, a gemologist could perfectly cut a high-value diamond with flawless results. Another was a blindfold test comparing rides of the Grand Marquis and other more opulent cars. There is something alluring about that kind of cushy, sumptuous ride.

No, I’m not ready to turn in the family SUV––as spacious as the Marquis might be, it doesn’t compare to a Suburban when you have three sons and frequently haul sports gear or scouts on campouts. Nor will I trade in the performance of my sport sedan. Still, over the high plains of Texas, into the desert of New Mexico, or through the hills of eastern Oklahoma, it was nice to kick back with one hand on the wheel while leaning on the center console armrest as the Marquis took us on a road cruise with a welcome and familiar ghost. Yeah, I could almost see my Dad easing back as he flicked cigarette ash out the vent window, whistling to a Bing Crosby tune on the radio during one of our family cross-country trips.

Side note: Back in the Day, luxury cars had amenities like opera (oval) windows, Brougham tops (partial hardtop with vinyl at the rear), whitewall tires, and plushy interiors of leather, vinyl, or velour. Ratings for MPG were not an issue before the Energy Crisis that started in 1973. Pop the hood on one of these ladies of the asphalt and the engine compartment seemed roomy, too. Nowadays, everything but the kitchen sink is crammed under the hood.

Editor's note: This post has been updated for context, grammar, and punctuation.