Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte 

This is the true story of a car that had a life and personality of its own. A vehicle that transported colorful characters, and made the rounds in more ways than one way, on the streets of 1980’s Somerville.

There was a former policeman that lived up my street and he owned a very cool black 1973 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. Every time I went by this car I marveled at its elegance. I actually daydreamed about owning a car like that. If I was walking home I’d always stop and take in its sleek lines, look in the windows, and fantasize driving it to Las Vegas or Fort Lauderdale or Revere Beach!

Then it happened. Around 1982, I heard my neighbor was selling it. He put a lot of miles on it and it didn’t want to put any more money into it. My heart started beating like mad. But he didn’t want to sell it to me because it needed a lot of work like a radiator, the A/C was broken and it had some rot. It wouldn’t even start!

Because we were friends, he would only take … $30! 30 bucks! My pals pushed it from his house on the top of the street down to our driveway with me steering, and very excited about my Caddy. My Dad was on the phone in the kitchen when it rolled into the driveway. Looking out the window, I heard him loudly say, “My son just parked the biggest (expletive) Cadillac I’ve ever seen in the driveway!”

One of my friends helped me install the used radiator I bought at Nissenbaums junk yard, and I was off and running, and stalling occasionally, but it was a blast. I was in the band The Echos at the time so that was on my front plate.

I turned 30 years old in 1983. To celebrate, we had a rolling party. My dear friend and fellow Somerville musician Dave S. volunteered to be the designated driver. Seven of my friends, including the driver, piled in for a rolling birthday party. Because I was very immature, and also a theater buff, I had a collection of silly hats, goofy sunglasses, and colorful kerchiefs. My friends wore fedoras, scally caps, army helmets, and a motorcycle cop helmet with a built-in microphone.

Of course, we were making silly comments out the window to pedestrians. Gas was around $1.25 a gallon back then. We gassed up and hit the streets of Somerville to celebrate my thirtieth birthday on July 28, 1983.

As I said, my pal Dave S. was the designated driver that day and I loaded the best of the best of my pals – the craziest of the crazies – in for a rolling party. There were childhood friends, a fraternity brother from Emerson, and bandmates.

Among the birthday guests were Jay, Dave E, John, and Archie. There were two more guys with us that I can’t really remember. I think it was Mark A., Charlie V., Ron B, Jerry A., Jimmy M., or Jimmy L., I can’t recall. It was 37 years ago!

We were all decked out in our kooky helmets, bandannas, sunglasses and other various obnoxious attire. The birthday crew looked like a bunch of nuts (and we were). Dave chauffeured us from one establishment to another encompassing most of Somerville. Some of the places we hit were The Venice Cafe, Johnny D’s, The Rosebud, The Coronet (currently Redbones) Khoury’s State Spa and, of course, The Embassy Lounge on Somerville Ave.

I remember when we pulled up right onto the sidewalk in front of Primo’s or Mama Leone’s. Our driver and lifetime friend Dave S. reminded me on the phone this morning that we were picking up and dropping people off all day. Such a great day!

You can imagine the looks we got when we piled out of that limo-like Caddy dressed ridiculously, all over the city. That 1973 Fleetwood Brougham was like driving around in my living room. What a birthday, what a car, what great bunch of friends. What a year 1983 was.

I just found out that a very good Somerville friend also had a black Fleetwood Brougham around the same time. She was given the nickname “Gangsta Mom.”

A few years later the old beast was starting to fail but it was still fun cruising in it. We had a phone on a cord that led to nowhere, just for looks. When the air conditioner broke, we drove around with the windows up so people would think we had A/C.

In 1983, Dirty Laundry, Sexual Healing, and Separate Ways were on the radio. With our competent designated driver, we went Steppin ‘Out, but always tried do the Safety Dance. However, occasionally the cops still had to tell us to Beat It.

Three of my pals from that epic day are no longer with us. Rest In Peace Archie, John G. and Dave E. The ‘73 Fleetwood is long gone. All I have left from it is the hood ornament, and many great memories of a zany birthday with some of my best friends in 1983 Somerville.