Harold Patinkin, around 1950, in a Lincoln convertible.

courtesy of Mark Patinkin

He remembers sitting at his window at age 10, watching the cars go by and, of course, back then, the 1930s, every one of them was American. The obsession with cars was such that, like many young boys, my dad could identify most of the makes and models.

There were Packards and Studebakers; Nashes, Hudsons and DeSotos — and, of course, the two premier marques of the great General Motors Corp., Cadillac and LaSalle.

There were no Toyotas, of course, and though there were automobiles made overseas, they were inferior.

That’s why I thought I’d talk to my father, now 83 and a lifelong buyer of Detroit iron. I wondered how the collapse of the U.S. auto industry struck those who were raised to feel our cars would always rule the world.

His own family owned a big Packard when he was young. His dad loved to pile the family into it on weekends to drive to the countryside. They didn’t even have a destination. It was just for the pleasure of driving in a fine automobile.

Later, they got a Buick.

I asked my father about the brand’s reputation. If you ask me, it’s a bit old-school today. It was different then.

“All General Motors cars were great cars,” my dad said. “So were Ford and Chrysler.”

So, too, were the cars produced by other U.S. makers, like the Hudson. That was his brother’s car in 1947. “One of the best cars I ever drove,” my father said.

His dad hated to give up each automobile he owned: “He said they’ll never build a better car. But then they did.”

In 1949, his old man wavered between a LaSalle and a Lincoln Cosmopolitan, both fine choices. He got the Lincoln.

“A marvelous car,” my dad said. “I’m sorry I didn’t just keep it in a garage. It’s a classic today. They knew how to build cars.”

His own first car was a 12-year-old Plymouth bought when he was in college in 1947. It ran fine, and held up with few problems.

He bought a Chevrolet after that, and then a Mercury, from the Ford Motor Co.

While he was courting my mother, he had a Lincoln convertible. He was sure it would help his cause. I asked my mother about it.

“I remember he picked me up in some convertible to impress me,” she recalled apologetically. “I didn’t even notice. I wasn’t a car person. I didn’t even realize I was supposed to be impressed.”

They got married anyway.

In 1953, they vacationed together in France. At one point, they hired a tour guide and were surprised when he showed up in a Chevrolet, bigger and sturdier than the local automobiles. They asked the driver why he had it.

“Oh, those European cars,” my dad remembers him saying. “They’re nothing. Who would want anything better than this Chevrolet?”

Later, he had a Dodge or two, and then they had five sons.

That moved them to a long phase of station wagons.

“They were the cat’s meow,” my dad said — the SUV of the suburban 1950s and ’60s.

I remember taking long family trips across country and counting other station wagons, almost all American, like ours. Most foreign cars remained novelties.

Over the years, my dad got other Chevrolets and drove a few Oldsmobiles, including two 98s. The car symbolized a certain success, just as the Lincoln and Cadillac reflected higher status. General Motors understood that cars were more than transportation; they were an expression of self. My dad said Detroit also understood that the quality built into each car had to reflect that higher status, and did.

Of the dozens of American cars he has owned, he said all were well made.

How does he feel about what’s happened not just to General Motors, but the whole U.S. industry?

“It’s the saddest thing ever.”

To him, the grimmest sign was when folks his age, raised to worship Detroit, began abandoning it.

“Friends would brag about their BMWs and Mercedes,” he said. These were people who were raised to see foreign cars as junk, and American brands as must-buys. My dad sometimes thought: “We’ve come a long way from when the Packard and the Buick ruled America.”

A few years ago, it was time for my mother to get a new car. My dad suggested the Buick Lacrosse, but she felt it was too big for her. She made a different request, and he went along with it.

“I felt disloyal, but for the sake of domestic tranquility, one does a lot of things,” my dad joked.

After 80-plus years carrying on his dad’s tradition of buying only U.S. cars, he got her a Japanese model. My mom now drives a Lexus.

It made him realize something that seems to still escape Detroit: if a competing product is better, even lifelong loyalty isn’t enough. It’s why he is not surprised at GM’s fall.

I asked what his plans were that afternoon. He was going to drive my mom to a doctor’s appointment. He said they would be going in the Lexus. He said he knew it would not be the only foreign car on the road.

mpatinkin@projo.com