He Has Fun, Fun, Fun Cruising Down Sunset in T-Bird Time Machine

Gripping the oversize steering wheel of a 1957 Thunderbird for a supercharged ride around Beverly Hills is, well, fun, fun, fun.

But Big Daddy Ford is taking the T-Bird away from us after all these years, ending production of what began as a sexy, two-seat roadster and evolved into a bulky clone-car.

It’s not necessarily true that Bentleys, Beemers and Jags are the yardsticks for nobility these days in status-absorbed Southern California.

A guy in a gray Porsche Turbo convertible gave my Made-in-America chariot a long, lusty stare; the blackened windows of a stretch limousine rolled down in unison as the heads of a highbrow group inside poked out for a peek.

“Yeow!” blurted one 50ish passerby.

Yes, the demise of the Thunderbird brings a tear to the eye of those who see the end of an era. First built in 1954 to compete with the ‘Vette, the T-Bird abandoned its coupe heritage in 1967 and grew into a bigger, heavier, more traditional luxury car before finally falling victim to an image that could not set it apart from your father’s Oldsmobile.

But in this classic beauty, a ride along palm-lined boulevards, past mansions, boutiques and tourist hot spots on the morning of the Academy Awards was an attention-getter, for sure. After all, this wasn’t the boxy Chevy Blazer I usually drive; it was an art treasure, borrowed, but mine for the morning.

There’s a rush behind the wheel of this rare old ‘Bird, one of fewer than 200 equipped with a supercharger back in the Eisenhower years when your personality was pretty much defined by what you drove.

Cruise into the driveway of the pink and posh Beverly Hills Hotel and the pink-shirt-clad valets who park some of the most expensive machinery in the world give longing glances.

“Wow!” was the common reaction.

The hotel’s pink is almost the exact shade of this T-Bird. In its day, Ford called the color “Coral Sand,” but it’s pink, any way the sun shines on it.

A pedal-to-the-metal stomp on the throttle jerks back my head as 300 horses take charge. The Ford-O-Matic automatic transmission lets me feel each shift of the gears.

This was a driver’s car; I can feel the rumble of the 312-cubic-inch engine, the whir of the supercharger and the kick of the transmission.

Decked out with all the options, this ’57 T-bird features Dial-O-Matic power seats, power windows and a radio that automatically increases the volume in proportion to the speed of the engine. It also has the Town and Country radio feature to better tune into Elvis and Pat Boone--whether driving in the city or along rural roads.

Although cutting-edge in their time, the options seem oddly gimmicky when looked at from the techno-hip ‘90s.

But some things endure.

The car has chrome wire wheels and a giant chrome horn ring. Round porthole side windows (they were called opera windows when resurrected in the ‘70s) on the pop-off roof were designed to eliminate blind spots.

The collector classic that brought stares on Sunset Boulevard and Rodeo Drive is owned by the son of late cartoon voice Mel Blanc.

There were allegiances back in the ‘50s. A friend was a Ford fanatic--”Fix or Repair Daily,” we would taunt. The guy next door was an Olds buff. I was a Chevy man.

Whatever the loyalties, admiration for the two-seater T-Bird (built only until 1957) was unconditional. It was a true American sports car with V-8 power, fins, lots of chrome and a price tag under $3,000.

Bing Crosby was an early pitchman for the T-bird. Suzanne Somers cruised in a 1956 Thunderbird in the coming-of-age film “American Graffiti,” and Thelma and Louise drove a prized 1966 T-bird convertible through their midlife crisis.

And today, as I turned onto Rodeo Drive from Wilshire Boulevard, a couple with their teenager in tow paused to take a snapshot of my 40-year-old gas-guzzling geezer; a thirtysomething pedestrian sucking cola through a straw almost choked when he spotted me; occupants aboard a VIP Tours bus pressed faces against the smoked glass; al fresco diners at Cafe Rodeo looked up from newspapers; security guards outside of Van Cleef & Arpels pointed and gave a thumbs-up.

Rubberneckers gawked, honked and blinked headlights in deference to this ‘50s icon.

And from the cockpit, I have to admit: It’s a thrill.

The car’s handbook says it all: “The Thunderbird is designed to please the most exacting motoring enthusiast.”

In 42 years, about 4 million Thunderbirds were built before Ford decided this year to pull the plug.

No big deal, really. There were 11 generations of Thunderbirds that turned the sassy two-seater of yore into Big Bird. The executive who made the decision to dump the roadster for the subsequent land yacht was Robert S. McNamara, who later became secretary of defense.

More than 5,000 names were considered for the Ford two-seater before it was introduced back in 1954, including Hep Cat, Fordster, Detroiter, Coronado and an initial favorite, Roadrunner. Ford stylist Alden Giberson came up with Thunderbird.

Ford gave him a bonus: a $95 suit from Saks and an extra pair of pants.

T-Bird lust emerged as soon as the two-seater took flight. Orders totaled more than 3,500 within the first 10 days and first-year sales rose to 16,155 cars, far exceeding the planned volume of 10,000.

Volume peaked in 1977 at 325,153. Last year, only 79,721 were sold in the United States.

Noel Blanc is selling his T-Bird this summer at the Christie’s Auction in Pebble Beach, along with six Ferraris. The Thunderbird is expected to bring $95,000.