Customized '70s Van Fans Keep on Trucking With 'Vanner' Events Custom Vans, Mobile Rumpus Rooms of the 1970s, Hold On to Dedicated Enthusiasts by Jon Kamp on The Wall Street Journal, April 25, 2014
"The 1970s may be long gone, but for a group of freewheeling fans, the spirit lives on in boxy glory. Sometimes with flamingos emblazoned on the side.
Custom vans—the Grand Funk-blasting, mobile rumpus rooms of yesteryear—have held on to some dedicated enthusiasts. Even with grandchildren in tow or full-time jobs beckoning on Monday, the "vanners" are trying their mightiest to keep on trucking. Age has dampened a few things. "Pretty much, we don't want to see these people naked anymore," said Joe Madonia, a 55-year-old who runs the Museum of Vanning & Hall of Fame at his Hudson, Fla., home. He is working on moving the museum to a free-standing building. He has at least 50,000 pieces of vanning memorabilia, plus two vintage vans, both 1970s Fords. One has several murals, including a sword-wielding knight, while the other has a "gangster flamingo" with spats, a hat and flying bullets. "My wife is very into flamingos," he said. Van culture took off in the early '70s, when the "shaggin' wagon" served as a versatile, cheap ride for young people seeking groovy times on the road. These weren't flower-powered magic buses but mostly big, Detroit-made vehicles personalized for comfort and partying.
Hot Rod Magazine helped shape the fad into a yearly gathering known as the National Truck-In in 1973, when then-editor Terry Cook penned some high-minded ideals for the inaugural event: "For those of you who are participating, please be cool. No arguments, no drugs, no thievery and no cutting brodies in the dirt." Cutting brodies, in '70s parlance, was another way to say spinning doughnuts.
Within a few years there were many thousands of vans at competing national events, estimated Mr. Madonia, a National Truck-In board member and longtime attendee. Vans were also cutting brodies all over pop culture, ranging from Sammy Johns ' "Chevy Van," a soft-rocking ode to casual romance on the road, to Scooby-Doo's van, the Mystery Machine. "It was a sociological phenomenon," said Mr. Cook, now 72 and an event promoter in New Jersey.
The craze steadily faded over ensuing decades. People grew up and had children. Rising gas prices also curbed interest in gas-guzzling behemoths, enthusiasts said. Full-size passenger vans today, mainly an afterthought for auto makers, are more likely to ferry hotel guests to the airport.
"Sometimes I don't know whether we're a survivor or I'm General Custer," said Steve Kesler, president of Explorer Van Co., a family-owned company in Warsaw, Ind., that converts vans for passengers and recreation. He said he has converted roughly 2,250 vans every year for the past decade, but used to do four times as many. Many competitors have faded away, he said. Yet die-hard vanners are still living the shag-carpeted dream, even in reduced numbers. They are planning their 42nd annual National Truck-In this summer, in Greenwich, N.Y. There were 640 vans at last year's gathering in Ohio, long a vanning hot spot, up from recent years when the group struggled to draw 500, Mr. Madonia estimated. Big gatherings often feature highly polished rides vying for trophies, talent shows and cover bands, plus daytime games for the children. Adult beverages still flow freely, although the partying, which attendees said used to feature a fair share of nudity, has eased with age.
"You had to tone it down because people bring their families," said Rollie Eldred, a 62-year-old vanner in northern Ohio. The retired maintenance technician customized a burgundy 1969 Chevy with a gullwing side door and a strange brew of parts, including a Pontiac Bonneville grill; Cadillac headlights; the roof from an Oldsmobile station wagon; and the touring trunk from a 1929 Packard.
Mr. Eldred also hosts social gatherings at the "EconoBar," a bar in his garage that he fashioned from the front end of a 1961 Ford Econoline. The bar has a sound system and fog machine. Decades on, vanners say their tight bonds, formed when CB radios counted as social networks, have kept them together. "That's what I think it is—the love of vanning, the love of each other," said Pete Guthrie, while cruising around his hometown of Fall River, Mass., in his nautical-themed van. The 52-year-old has been lovingly caring for "The Golden Voyager," a 1972 Ford, for more than three decades. The interior looks like a 19th-century ship, subdivided between a cabin with ornate woodwork and a tiny sleeping berth in the rear. There are also memorials for vanners who have died, and buttons and stickers abound with classic '70s messages, including the familiar adage: "If this van's a-rockin,' don't bother knockin.' " Mr. Guthrie—who wears an American flag bandanna, has an equipment-repair business and likes to wish people a "vantastic day"—honked to onlookers while gunning the van's growling V-8 engine and wrestling the wheel, which lacks power steering. The gold-painted exterior includes a clipper ship etched on a side window and the van's name emblazoned across the front.
His club, the New England Van Council, will gather in Rhode Island this weekend for its 30th anniversary "Blessing of the Vans," in which each vehicle is blessed for a smooth-running season, Mr. Guthrie said. Some newcomers are trying to recapture the '70s magic. Jim Bacchi, a composer who lives near Los Angeles, launched the vanner group "California Street Vans" last year. His Dodge "Big Bamboo" hails from the Reagan era, but it is a '70s throwback, with an 8-track stereo, CB and a colorful wraparound tiki design against a light blue background. The Mystery Machine-evoking color draws a lot of commentary. "I almost got a sticker made to say 'Scooby-Doo isn't in here,' " said Mr. Bacchi, 51, who is a fan of popular midcentury tiki music. He is also working on a '70s Dodge. To the north in San Francisco, Beth Allen, a 47-year-old graphic designer and musician, collaborates with friend Leon Chase on her website rockinvan.com, which celebrates vanning culture. She uses her '95 Chevy, swathed in a "cave of shag" in back, to transport everything from band equipment to dirt bikes and dogs. She also uses it for commuting and camping. It is "a party on wheels," Ms. Allen said. "There's just something about a vehicle you can do so much in."
Custom vans—the Grand Funk-blasting, mobile rumpus rooms of yesteryear—have held on to some dedicated enthusiasts. Even with grandchildren in tow or full-time jobs beckoning on Monday, the "vanners" are trying their mightiest to keep on trucking. Age has dampened a few things. "Pretty much, we don't want to see these people naked anymore," said Joe Madonia, a 55-year-old who runs the Museum of Vanning & Hall of Fame at his Hudson, Fla., home. He is working on moving the museum to a free-standing building. He has at least 50,000 pieces of vanning memorabilia, plus two vintage vans, both 1970s Fords. One has several murals, including a sword-wielding knight, while the other has a "gangster flamingo" with spats, a hat and flying bullets. "My wife is very into flamingos," he said. Van culture took off in the early '70s, when the "shaggin' wagon" served as a versatile, cheap ride for young people seeking groovy times on the road. These weren't flower-powered magic buses but mostly big, Detroit-made vehicles personalized for comfort and partying.
Hot Rod Magazine helped shape the fad into a yearly gathering known as the National Truck-In in 1973, when then-editor Terry Cook penned some high-minded ideals for the inaugural event: "For those of you who are participating, please be cool. No arguments, no drugs, no thievery and no cutting brodies in the dirt." Cutting brodies, in '70s parlance, was another way to say spinning doughnuts.
Within a few years there were many thousands of vans at competing national events, estimated Mr. Madonia, a National Truck-In board member and longtime attendee. Vans were also cutting brodies all over pop culture, ranging from Sammy Johns ' "Chevy Van," a soft-rocking ode to casual romance on the road, to Scooby-Doo's van, the Mystery Machine. "It was a sociological phenomenon," said Mr. Cook, now 72 and an event promoter in New Jersey.
The craze steadily faded over ensuing decades. People grew up and had children. Rising gas prices also curbed interest in gas-guzzling behemoths, enthusiasts said. Full-size passenger vans today, mainly an afterthought for auto makers, are more likely to ferry hotel guests to the airport.
"Sometimes I don't know whether we're a survivor or I'm General Custer," said Steve Kesler, president of Explorer Van Co., a family-owned company in Warsaw, Ind., that converts vans for passengers and recreation. He said he has converted roughly 2,250 vans every year for the past decade, but used to do four times as many. Many competitors have faded away, he said. Yet die-hard vanners are still living the shag-carpeted dream, even in reduced numbers. They are planning their 42nd annual National Truck-In this summer, in Greenwich, N.Y. There were 640 vans at last year's gathering in Ohio, long a vanning hot spot, up from recent years when the group struggled to draw 500, Mr. Madonia estimated. Big gatherings often feature highly polished rides vying for trophies, talent shows and cover bands, plus daytime games for the children. Adult beverages still flow freely, although the partying, which attendees said used to feature a fair share of nudity, has eased with age.
"You had to tone it down because people bring their families," said Rollie Eldred, a 62-year-old vanner in northern Ohio. The retired maintenance technician customized a burgundy 1969 Chevy with a gullwing side door and a strange brew of parts, including a Pontiac Bonneville grill; Cadillac headlights; the roof from an Oldsmobile station wagon; and the touring trunk from a 1929 Packard.
Mr. Eldred also hosts social gatherings at the "EconoBar," a bar in his garage that he fashioned from the front end of a 1961 Ford Econoline. The bar has a sound system and fog machine. Decades on, vanners say their tight bonds, formed when CB radios counted as social networks, have kept them together. "That's what I think it is—the love of vanning, the love of each other," said Pete Guthrie, while cruising around his hometown of Fall River, Mass., in his nautical-themed van. The 52-year-old has been lovingly caring for "The Golden Voyager," a 1972 Ford, for more than three decades. The interior looks like a 19th-century ship, subdivided between a cabin with ornate woodwork and a tiny sleeping berth in the rear. There are also memorials for vanners who have died, and buttons and stickers abound with classic '70s messages, including the familiar adage: "If this van's a-rockin,' don't bother knockin.' " Mr. Guthrie—who wears an American flag bandanna, has an equipment-repair business and likes to wish people a "vantastic day"—honked to onlookers while gunning the van's growling V-8 engine and wrestling the wheel, which lacks power steering. The gold-painted exterior includes a clipper ship etched on a side window and the van's name emblazoned across the front.
His club, the New England Van Council, will gather in Rhode Island this weekend for its 30th anniversary "Blessing of the Vans," in which each vehicle is blessed for a smooth-running season, Mr. Guthrie said. Some newcomers are trying to recapture the '70s magic. Jim Bacchi, a composer who lives near Los Angeles, launched the vanner group "California Street Vans" last year. His Dodge "Big Bamboo" hails from the Reagan era, but it is a '70s throwback, with an 8-track stereo, CB and a colorful wraparound tiki design against a light blue background. The Mystery Machine-evoking color draws a lot of commentary. "I almost got a sticker made to say 'Scooby-Doo isn't in here,' " said Mr. Bacchi, 51, who is a fan of popular midcentury tiki music. He is also working on a '70s Dodge. To the north in San Francisco, Beth Allen, a 47-year-old graphic designer and musician, collaborates with friend Leon Chase on her website rockinvan.com, which celebrates vanning culture. She uses her '95 Chevy, swathed in a "cave of shag" in back, to transport everything from band equipment to dirt bikes and dogs. She also uses it for commuting and camping. It is "a party on wheels," Ms. Allen said. "There's just something about a vehicle you can do so much in."
