The Curbside Classics Graveyard: May They Rust In Peace

Even in Eugene, where Curbside Classics miraculously soldier along on the streets for decades beyond their normal life expectancy, the forces of entropy cannot be forestalled forever. If it’s still running enough to get there, you could donate it to the official CC Sales Lot, and pass that slipping and leaking transmission on to the next sucker loving owner. But when the tow truck has to be called, Judgment Day has arrived. Will you pony up and put yourself that much deeper under water? Or will it end up at the Pick and Pull, donating its vital organs to keep its kin on the road a bit longer? But for the chosen few, there’s one other alternative: the Curbside Classic Graveyard, where it may rust (superficially) in peace until the second coming of Henry Ford (or his only begotten Son Edsel).

Where exactly is this automotive Elysian Field? 29329 Airport Road, and this screen shot from Google Street View will help you find it if you decide to come to Eugene. It’s a stone’s throw from the Eugene Airport, and 95% percent of all traffic to and from there pass it, as I did for years until I caught a glimpse of something, and decided to stop and take a look. One thing is clear; this is not a working junkyard. The doors and gates have been locked for ages, and the cars have obviously not been cannibalized.It’s a good thing I’m tall, as all my shots were taken over the top of the six foot fence.

I’ll post my shots according to the random sequence of how I shot them. The first thing that caught my eye were these two Fiat 850 Spiders, one trying to protect its open cockpit from the elements. Ooo! What’s that lurking in the background?

A Hillman Imp, no less. It’s been way to long since I’ve seen one of them. This was probably Eugene’s only Imp, which means it certainly rated an invitation to the CC Graveyard. If I can’t find it on the streets, I can hope to find it here. Lots of vintage bikes back there too. And I can’t even make out all of what’s behind them. I’m going to have to come back and hop that fence.

Panning to the left we see a rather eclectic assortment of vintage iron: a couple of old Chevy trucks, and…I’ll stop and leave some for you guys to identify.

Moving a bit further left, one of those ultra-boxy Rambler Americans, next to its predecessor. I’m seeing an obvious pattern here: this graveyard is organized like human graveyards: by families.

I’m repeating the top picture here just for continuity. A couple of ’58 Edsels, one a Citation, the other a Corsair. Or is one a Pacer? Some definite repeated patterns emerge behind them in those windshields: old Fords, to keep it in the family, of course.

In the front row of the Ford family plot sit the proud Thunderbirds. How appropriate.

Along the west side, the Ford trucks are lined up, in what appears to be chronological order.

There’s some decided inter-familial co-mingling going on in the front row though.

But it soon turns into a nice big Corvair plot, well represented with coupes, sedans, and a fairly uncommon second generation sedan too.

That white four door by the shed could by my first car. Man, those coupes had an overly-long rear deck. No wonder the Mustang was so popular.

Lets swing back to the right, to the head of the Corvairs, where the big Chevies await their Resurrection. Or maybe in the case of cars, it’s their reincarnation.

Did I mention Mustangs? Of course they’re represented here too, as well as some interesting big iron from the fifties behind them.

Here’s the Mustang tails, including a charming customized one with triple lights on each side. Damn; haven’t seen that since I left Iowa in the mid seventies. Charming. Maybe it helped get it in the door here.

Let’s grab another parting shot of that crowded center section before I get too choked up and can’t operate my camera anymore. What a lot of deserving souls resting here.

It’s quite obvious that these cars were all well-used and even battered before they earned admission. This is no fancy-pants collection; my guess is that it started as a wrecking yard, but someone’s emotions got the better of them; like a farmer who couldn’t bear to send his pigs and chickens to market. Given how long the office has been closed, it will probably be his heirs that get/have to deal with them. Wouldn’t surprise me if that happens sooner than later; it’s hard to forestall the Grim Reaper forever.