Car dealerships helped to track life's journeys

In just a few weeks, one of America's great industrial migrations will be under way: The new 2010 car models will begin rolling into the nation's car dealerships. While this is typically accompanied by a figurative flourish of trumpets, this year's fleet arrives to the funereal drumbeat of dealerships slamming shut.

The latest estimates predict that a total of 3,800 dealerships will close by next summer, putting up to 150,000 people out of work. Though these closings are but one painful detail of the current economic calamity, they deserve particular attention.

The surviving dealers are about to ramp up the inevitable Labor Day "sell-a-thons," a reminder that the holidays have always produced sales peaks and handy sales pitches for car dealers. They have been "Talkin' turkey" on Thanksgiving, impersonating "Honest Abe" every February, and appropriating Uncle Sam on the Fourth of July since the automobile's earliest days. Does the phrase "Don't miss our sizzling summer savings!" ring a bell?

That dealership sales and promotions have tracked the nation's seasonal and cultural calendar so closely is a clue to what's really being lost as thousands of showrooms darken. Throughout most of the 20th century, from Bangor to Beverly Hills, car dealerships have served as a kind of storefront for the American dream, with each new model year capturing the nation's simmering aspirations in chrome, steel, and tinted glass.

Who hasn't peered through the glass of a dealership after closing time, studiously measuring a car's sinuous allure against the hard realities of a paycheck? Car dealerships are truly capitalism's candy stores.

They've also been a compass for the American journey, offering the Comet and the Galaxy as we headed to the moon; the Tahoe and the Expedition as we lamented the lost woods; and, more recently, the Prius, Eos, and Ion - computer-generated names that speak to our current digital obsessions.

While we may not miss the dealers' boisterous, low-budget television commercials, even advertising artistes will acknowledge their mastery of a bare-bones, brass-knuckles style of selling. It's an approach that won't win many awards for creativity, but it does put food on the table.

Whatever dealerships represent in our national life, their sudden shuttering will matter on Main Street. Countless Little League teams will now go without sponsors, and it's unlikely that many multinational banks, freshly bailed out and brimming with cash, will be looking to slap their names on a 10-year-old's back.

And that sporty roadster on display at last year's hospital raffle wasn't provided by General Motors' corporate headquarters; it was a gift from the car dealership down the block.

For many of us, visits to the local car dealer marked moments worth savoring: mustering out of the Army in '46, welcoming the birth of the twins in '73, getting that big raise in '98, or preparing for last summer's 1,500-mile road trip to spring training with a kid brother. The chapter headings of our lives were often attached to the cars we were driving.

At a minimum, that requires a moment's reflection on the people who sold them to us. And, as "Going Out of Business" banners replace the "Cash Back" ballyhoo, it's worth remembering that the dealerships gave us more than an oil change.