Lowriders the 'Faberge eggs of the car culture'

No one seems to know exactly where lowriding originated. Espanola, N.M., calls itself the "Lowrider Capital of the World." Still others will argue that it began spontaneously in suburban neighborhoods around Los Angeles after World War II. Others cite Northern California.

"I don't think we'll ever pinpoint exactly where it started," says Denise Sandoval, a Chicano studies professor at California State University, Northridge, whose doctoral dissertation was on lowrider culture. "The reality is that it was popular everywhere in L.A. in the years after World War II. White guys were doing it, black guys, Chicano guys and they were all getting their parts from the same places."

More recently, it has spread to Europe and Asia, with people spending as much as $100,000 or more to outfit cars with elaborate paint and upholstery jobs, lowered frames, hydraulics and earsplitting sound systems.

The pastime began to migrate out of the southwestern United States in the 1970s, Sandoval says, when "Boulevard Nights," "Corvette Summer," "American Graffiti" and other movies and TV shows began glamorizing lowriding.

It's very different from the day in 1970 when Valadez picked his car up for $150 from a GI headed off to war in Vietnam and used sandbags to lower the back. Now people of modest means will spend a good part of a lifetime customizing a car.

The Gypsy Rose is still seen in the opening credits of the 1970s Freddie Prinze sitcom "Chico and the Man," with Valadez at the wheel.

"It's not dissimilar to any type of pop culture," Sandoval said. "Once TV and movies get interested in it, it becomes a big business."

Not that some of the best examples can't still be found on the street.

On a recent Sunday, some two dozen lowriders have lined up their cars in the parking lot of a McDonald's in East Los Angeles, near the intersection that is said to have served as the inspiration for "Boulevard Nights." The temperature is in the low 80s, and the bright Southern California sunshine dances off the cars' flashy paint jobs.

Among those gathered is Deputy Al Martinez of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, who is prepared for the look of surprise he gets when he reveals his day job.

Attitudes have changed, says Martinez, 46, from the days when he himself was getting stopped in his hot pink 1966 Buick Riviera. Most lowriders have too much time and money invested in their cars to cause any trouble when they get together, he says, and most police officers know that now.

For Martinez, becoming a lowrider was pretty much destiny. He'd inherited his car from his uncle.

"I used to follow him around everywhere," he recalls with a smile. "He used to let me clean the rims for a quarter."

To him, the Buick is even more than a work of art.

"It's a family heirloom," he says.

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