Cruising, slowly, back in time

On the west end of the Ivy Ridge shopping center, distinct from the herd of dull sedans and SUVs, shimmers a row of classic beauty.

Within the 20 parking spaces sits a creamy white '57 Chevy Bel Air, with tail fins that make it look like a dove; a muscled '73 Ford Maverick in Incredible Hulk green; and an ocean-blue '71 Corvette convertible.

Under the bluish-gray sky, near the pharmacy and the bank, members of the Roxborough Ridge Runners, a classic-car club, convene in a semicircle of lawn chairs with their pride on display, drawing fans - their Thursday evening ritual.

More than trophies, the metal sculptures represent youthful freedom, before the confines of bosses, mortgage payments, and the kids' college tuition. They are a longing requited.

Jerry Beaver, known to everyone except his wife as Beaver, has a boxy '56 Chevy 210, greenish blue, with a wraparound windshield like a hound dog's droopy eyes. He calls it "the second edition."

"This car brings back memories of the first car, drag races, and the malt shop," says Beaver, 69, his baseball cap turned backward. He bought his first '56 Chevy 210 soon after high school while working at a chemical plant, where he mixed oils for 35 years.

"It's a connection to what used to be. Back then, we went everywhere. Gas was 28 cents a gallon. Everyone chipped in, and we drove all night."

Then came the wife, followed by the kids, followed by "You gotta sell that car" - a common club testimony.

"Now with kids out of the house," Beaver continues, referring to his four daughters, "I bought that for myself as a Father's Day present."

Everything on it is original, he says, except the wheels and the engine. He keeps a toy beaver in the passenger seat, "riding shotgun."

"I feel good getting in the car," he says, staring at the stylized jet-bird hood ornament. "I just feel so good about it. I just love the car."

Somehow Francis "Frannie" Pfiel managed to keep his first car: a black '57 Chevy Bel Air with an "India Ivory" top and "Matador Red" interior. It sits at the end of the row like a proud peacock. He bought it when he was 16 and a senior at North Catholic with $325 he saved from school raffles.

"I got my learner's permit in that car. I drove to the senior prom in that car," says the white-haired Pfiel, standing by the hood, resembling a tanned Frank Sinatra.

After he joined the Navy, got married, had two boys, and moved to Roxborough, the Bel Air sat in his garage for 17 years under discarded junk and toys until his sons asked about the old car.

The three have since restored it with a bigger engine, modern brakes, and power steering "instead of turning the wheel 16 times to turn a corner," Pfiel says. And a brilliant paint job.

"Nothing looks better than a black car. But the sheet metal has to be perfect," he says, pointing out dings in a long white cruiser next to his.

Hands down, his most beloved accessory is the Schmidt's tap handle atop the gear shift. "Back in the day you weren't cool unless you had one," he says, grinning. A son found them online for $15; Pfiel bought two.

He starts the engine and listens to the hum as if it were a heartfelt song.

"Beautiful, just beautiful," says a passerby standing with his three children, who lap ice cream, oblivious of their father's longing. Pfiel nods and pats the hood.

Outside of the Thursday cruises, the Roxborough Ridge Runners are a neighborhood fixture. Their cars have paraded in church events, town-watch nights, Little League celebrations, and wedding processions. For big shows such as the Mother's Day cruise, registration fees go to charity and community efforts. On Sept. 11, the club will hold a fund-raiser for nearby St. Mary's Episcopal Church.

There seems to be an unwritten rule. Most drive their classics only to club events.

"I don't think it's gotten 500 miles in the 25 years I've had it," John Davis Sr. says of his shiny two-seat Corvette convertible, charged with a Camaro engine.

"Oh, you don't go to the mall and leave it there," Beaver says. "You've got to be able to see your baby through the window."

As the sun dies, streetlights reveal a velvet sky. The parking lot has thinned out.

"You see my new one?" Bob MacBride, 58, donning a dice earring that matches his car accessories, asks Pfiel.

MacBride's latest is a 1928 Ford roadster pickup, Army green with big tires and a bucket front seat, like something a general might be chauffeured in. The snugness forces him to use his knees for an armrest. He bought it for Christmas, after selling his '39 Ford.

"My wife told me we can't keep them both," he explains. "The wives don't understand. . . . Mine doesn't come out unless there's a meal involved."

Part of the fun is trolling for parts, and working out the kinks.

"It's a never-ending process," MacBride says, already looking to replace his new tires. "Everything happens over the winter. Then in the spring you tell the guys, 'Look what I did.' "

Ed Arrington, a gray-haired retired firefighter from Wynnefield, agrees. He drove to Tennessee to get his '67 Chevelle, now restored to a rich blue with red-stripe tires.

"We all have ego," Arrington says. "And what really gets you going is when you're riding down the street and you get a thumbs-up."

In the midst of such beauty, 34-year-old John Davis Jr., the youngest club member, feels a bit insecure. He drives a "scary dusty" '64 Impala convertible, burgundy with blemishes of rust. Working at his family's printing shop, he's saving to get it mechanically sound, then he'll worry about pretty. But he can't help but dream.

"The big tires would look better," he says to no one in particular, the parking lot's fluorescent sign aglow.

"Absolutely," Arrington booms. "You've got to have some big boots on it."

Looking over, John Jr. shrugs and decides: "It's subtle."

And he's content. The motorized treasure is his.

"Philly Corners," a feature of The Inquirer and Philly.com describes the people and places that make Philadelphia special. To read stories and the blog, go to www.philly.com/

phillycorners

We also welcome your story suggestions, so e-mail us at phillycorners@phillycorners.comEndText

See more images

on photographer

Tom Gralish's blog at http://go.philly.com/cruiseEndText