A recent sighting of a 1959 Cadillac Sedan de Ville sent me to the closet in search of Cadillac ads and the lost summer of my youth. The ads (which include images from other luxury car brands between 1952 and 1960) were easy to find. The summer was a bit more elusive.
It was 1970, and by then my family’s own 1959 Cadillac Sedan de Ville was 11 years old. The era of big fins was gone and the car was already a cliché. A monstrous hunk of faded-pink metal, its clear seat covers were yellow from too many years in the hot LA sun. Click on any image for a larger version. These ads are from 1959.
The Cadillac had more or less become my oldest sister’s car since we were, at that time, a three-car family. I was 14 that summer, and having an 18-year-old sister with a driver’s license and a car seemed like a good omen. I was too young to work but old enough to have some fun. The following ads are from 1960.
I had just graduated from eighth grade and was on my way to high school via a summer of going to the beach, riding my bike, and tooling around Southern California with my sister behind the wheel. Ads are from 1956.
I was in a good mood that summer, but my sister was most decidedly not. She had just spent a year away from home at college, and the prospect of coming back to the materialism of suburbia to drive a pink Cadillac was reprehensible. The military industrial complex was in full swing and the Vietnam War consumed her and many other young people. My father accused her of becoming one of “those filthy hippies.” These ads are from 1956.
This resulted in numerous and ongoing battles with my parents, who didn’t want any trouble, especially of the political or counter-culture kind. There was a lot of yelling between the trips to Hermosa Beach and the Slurpee runs. But my sister never let it dampen her enthusiasm for taking me to the places of summer. Ads are from 1958 and 1956.
We’d turn on the AM radio and listen to songs like Simon and Garfunkle’s Bridge Over Troubled Water or Lola by the Kinks. My sister hated the Carpenters, which was good enough for me. I hated them too. Ad is from 1958.
That summer my sister, whose name was Marguerite, had a somewhat unusual job. She worked at a local department store posing as a mannequin, wearing the fashions of the day. Ad is from 1957.
I think it was mid-July when she first got sick. I was going to the beach with my best friend the day we discovered that something might be seriously wrong. Specialists were consulted, blood was drawn, and many a brow was furrowed. Ad is from 1960.
Soon I was riding my bike to the hospital or traveling with my mother in the Buick. The Cadillac stayed in the garage, a silent reminder of things gone amiss. My Slurpee consumption dropped dramatically, and my parents made a desperate attempt to patch things up with my sister. Ad is from 1952.
The end of summer came, though I hardly remember, and my freshman year of high school began with a week of grueling orientation. It was during the second week that the phone rang loudly in the middle of the night. I would never see my sister again. Ads are from 1958 and 1953.
My dad sold the Cadillac shortly after that, for $200 to a used car dealer in town. I remember how odd it was to drive by and see it there in the lot, waiting for a new owner. It seemed like family, that car. Ad is from 1952.
But families change, and so do cars.
I’ll always think of my sister when I see a 1959 Cadillac Sedan de Ville and the Slurpees and suntan lotion of that fateful summer. It should have been so great.
This article was last modified on May 17, 2023
This article was first published on August 20, 2010
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