Classic Chevys Steer Area Car Fanatics to Valley Club
Sherwin Silver is a mild-mannered certified public accountant who commutes back and forth to his Burbank office in a sensible Japanese sedan.
But Silver harbors, in the garage of his Woodland Hills home, the object of his driving passion: a ’56 Chevrolet Nomad two-door station wagon that reminds him of the glory days of American cars.
“The ‘50s were a time when Chevrolet, Ford and Chrysler put out cars that demonstrated America’s dominance of the automobile market. People all over the world looked to the United States for the best styles and manufacturing techniques,” Silver says.
For him, Chevys were then at the forefront of the highly competitive but somewhat exclusive market. His love affair with that automotive era has never waned.
He is not alone in his auto-obsession. There are at least 60 other Chevy fanatics who make up the Valley Classic Chevy Club.
These folks have get-togethers the first Wednesday of the month at Glendale Federal Bank in Studio City, where they talk about cars, organize shows and plan participation in other Chevy groups’ events.
Every so often you will see the group caravaning down the Ventura Freeway heading out for Sacramento, San Jose or down to Long Beach for a show.
“On these excursions, getting there is part of the fun,” according to Silver, who says group members keep in touch with walkie-talkies while fellow motorists--viewing this automotive blast from the past--do double takes.
“Our members are not major collectors, like Jay Leno or something,” says Silver. “Most of us have one or two cars that we like to keep in working order and take out once in a while,” he says.
But he admits to springing for a healthy chunk of change to keep his two cars in operating condition. In addition to the Nomad, he has a ’56 Chevy convertible that’s still in the restoration process.
Perhaps the highest profile member of the group is George Tours of Simi Valley, who owns a Nomad wheel stander. This is a station wagon dragster that goes a quarter-mile on its two rear tires.
“George’s wagon is so unique and famous that he’s now got it on display somewhere in Germany,” says Silver, who adds that the rest of the group’s cars do not do tricks.
Silver says one of the best parts of the Chevy owners club is the group’s socializing. “A lot of the people we get to know at the meetings have become good friends.”
The Valley Classic Chevy owners will hold a show May 7 in the Price-Costco parking lot in Northridge. Silver says it’s the group’s opportunity to show off members’ cars and encourage other Chevy owners to join.
The dragster will be there if it is not doing a public appearance elsewhere. And Silver will bring his two cars.
Many members dress up in outfits to match the styles of their car’s era. Carole Silver, for example, will be attending in her prized poodle skirt.
Chevys ho!
Former Ad Exec Finds She Has a Way With Animals
Blond and blue-eyed Carole Gurney, 45, of Agoura looks like the advertising executive she once was.
But Gurney’s current profession--animal communicator--means she talks to people’s pets.
The pets don’t even have to be in close proximity. She says she can “talk” to them over the phone. Something about telecommunication. Something like that.
And, if there is a lost dog or other animal, no problem. She says she can get in touch with them by telepathy.
Gurney laughs when asked if people tend to think she is barking mad.
“The truth is all of us have the ability to communicate with our animals. Children often talk about conversations with their pets until their parents hush them up,” Gurney says.
“Before humans developed speech, they communicated with each other and animals telepathically.”
She seems to have the respect of numerous animal care professionals.
Kathleen Carson, a South Bay veterinarian oncologist, says she was a confirmed skeptic who became a believer after Gurney correctly diagnosed the problem with her cats, Moonbeam and Frank.
When Gurney gives workshops she says the audience usually includes many professionals from the healing arts.
Still, holding chats with out-of-sorts cats or lost or ailing dogs seems a strange way to make a living. Gurney begs to disagree.
She was born in tony East Orange, N.J., and attended a posh East Coast junior college before becoming an advertising executive. She was sent to California to start up a new office for her company and never went back East.
By 1983, she had left the ad biz to start her own company assisting corporations in relocation strategies. By 1986, she decided to take a year off.
Her fascination with animal communication began that year when she ran into a 10-year-old, wide-eyed, pure-bred Arabian horse named Tallanny.
“I had gone riding with a friend in Malibu and there he was. I got such a strange feeling. It was like meeting a person for the first time and feeling as if you’d known them all your life,” she says.
She bought the horse and still has him. Although she says she couldn’t understand the words that were passing between the horse and person then, she can now.
That ability came about, she says, when her vet suggested she take her misbehaving cat to what she thought of then as an animal psychic. She was amazed when the psychic identified the problem quickly and suggested a remedy that worked.
Gurney was fascinated and went to some workshops in animal communication and admits to being a left-brained person with lots of doubts. Not a good student.
She says clients were happy to part with their cash because they got answers to questions they didn’t know how to get answered. Take the case of Popcorn, the 700-pound pig.
Popcorn is the pet of Kate Porter, whom Gurney says has a television pet show. Porter raised Popcorn from the time she was a piglet until she turned into a great big, sulking sow.
After a “conversation” with Popcorn, Gurney told client Porter that Popcorn was sad because her owner no longer petted her. The owner said that was correct. The pig had gotten so big she was a little afraid of her.
Gurney says Porter was relieved to know exactly what was making Popcorn so unhappy and resolved to pet her when she learned that was the problem.
Pig and Porter were happily reconciled.
Gurney also located a lost dog, she says, for a Chatsworth woman. “The dog, Calamity, had disappeared during the Northridge earthquake. The owner was distraught and thought her dog might have been run over. I contacted the dog telepathically and got a fix on where Calamity was,” Gurney says.
“I told the dog I needed more information and to send me pictures of the surrounding territory,” says Gurney. She says the dog did. The owner knew the spot up in the hills. The dog was found, none the worse for the scare.
Gurney says she understands the skepticism about her ability to communicate with animals, but says it’s not too different from radio signals--generated by living things.
She says she tries not to work with the pets of people who are too closed minded, because the animal will pick that up and all she gets from it is static.
Gurney’s teachings have taken her to Santa Barbara, Long Beach and San Diego. She has a class coming in February at Pierce College, through the school’s extension program.
She also occasionally holds seminars in the homes of private clients, such as the one actress Linda Gray hosted in her Canyon Country home.
Gurney says anyone can learn animal communication. It’s no different from learning a new language or pumping up a muscle you have allowed to get flaccid.
She says her work brings her a lot of joy and she’s always amazed by the personalities and humor of her animal clients.
She says animals demonstrate to humans a valuable lesson: how to give unqualified love.
Overheard:
“I always knew there would be issues about having pierced ears for earrings when she got old enough to care about that sort of thing. I never in my worst nightmares thought we would be negotiating about noses and belly buttons,” a mother in Studio City told friend about trying to adapt to the issues facing parents of Generation X.
