Dad’s first new car was a 1963 Chevrolet Biscayne, custom built and to be shipped to us from Detroit. It was carefully selected from the catalog at the dealer’s showroom (LeRoy Motors, of course, because it was reassuring to buy local). We brought the folder home for several days, to ruminate on the choice of options, and in particular, the future car’s color. The names for the colors were wonderfully evocative, and the possibilities of choices and combinations seemed endless. We were turning in a Buick from the flashy 50s, with two-tone side doors of turquoise and white featuring elaborate chrome decorations and wide white-wall tires. We were optimistically investing, now, in the Future, of putting a man on the moon. That was the charm of the 60s.
The sleek, low designs of our future required more simplicity, straighter lines and slightly more nuanced tones (we still hadn’t heard the term ‘earth tones’ and goodness knows no one spoke about ‘natural’). My 12-year-old input about color was taken very seriously in the family, and we finally arrived at a choice which was a rich cocoa-brown hue. The paint chip sample was highly lacquered with discreet flecks of brilliance, and called ‘Cordovan Brown.’ I spent a long time dreaming about what this wonderful effect might have, parked in our driveway, or when I was taken up to LeRoy for piano lessons. The interior was to be the new Chevrolet fashion breakthrough: ‘Fawn.’ It was a lovely tan nuance that was dosed out in various shades and patterns in the molded plastic dashboard, steering wheel, and vinyl and cloth seats, carpeting, and optional matching floor mats.
But somehow colors in that decade began literally to explode, and I recall the spectrum of psychedelic effects that occurred everywhere around us, on record jackets, book covers, interior design, and clothing. The most endearing colors were the new, unusual shades with their exotic names: ‘Tangerine,’ which appeared magically on dinnerware, wallpaper, and everything else in your kitchen; and ‘Avocado,’ the new electrical appliance trend. Ovens, dishwashers, toasters and toilets could be matched to make the modern home up-to-date.
The true period gem was purchased by my own Uncle Cecil and Aunt Marion: a 12-foot-wide mobile home with 2 bedrooms! Stepping inside, the factory-installed décor seemed perfect, with a large kitchen at one end, delivered with a wonderful round table and matching chairs in the new ‘Danish Modern’ style, in waxed walnut, a hardwood newly brought into fashion. They were beautiful, and surely would go for a good price these days. The kitchen curtains were ‘Tangerine,’ of course. The appliances were ‘Avocado.’ Mind you, in Western New York a real avocado was seldom, if ever, seen, so the effect of the word, the mere suggestion, somehow vaguely evoked the Future. The living area, in the center, had beautiful hangings in the corner involving three lights, suspended from the ceiling, all with globes hung at different heights. Tangerine, turquoise, and white. Simply stunning to my eyes against the ‘driftwood’ wall paneling. The curtains on the picture window must have been a pattern bringing together the various tones of the lampshades.
That sunny disposition resonated for many years every time you would push open the door of that trailer, where I once spent a week in that tiny extra bedroom. But one afternoon years later I clearly recall standing, helpless, to discover Aunt Marion weeping as she slowly put the tangerine-colored phone back on the wall, having just heard the news that Elvis had died, and truly marking the end of an era.