Pasadena Nights: Cruising Colorado Blvd in the ’60s

Bob’s Big Boy(Photo – bobsburbank)

It was a cool November evening, and my friend Sonny and I were deciding which car to take cruising that Friday night.

By Emil E. “Gene” Schultz

History had proven the rules: my dad’s ’64 blue Cadillac Sedan de Ville? Girls would only look. His new bright red 1960 Ford Skyliner? Girls would talk. My metallic emerald green 1950 Chevrolet Deluxe coupe? They all wanted in. We chose the Chevy and headed for Colorado Blvd, aiming for Bob’s Big Boy drive-in.

East Colorado Blvd had become the new hub after Old Town’s decline. Once the center of Pasadena shopping and tourism, by the late ’50s Old Town was mostly Frederic’s of Hollywood, a few adult bookstores, and a collection of crumbling warehouses. Lake Avenue east, along Colorado, was now where fashion, shopping, and dining thrived. And Bob’s? It drew the younger crowd: flashy hot rods, scores of pretty girls, and plenty of cops to keep the peace.

That night, my ’50 Chevy gleamed. The 400-plus-horsepower engine was tuned and ready. We hit the old Route 66: Monrovia along Huntington Drive, turning onto Colorado at Santa Anita racetrack. The road curved north around the track, opening into a straightaway flanked by groves of citrus trees all the way to Michillinda Ave.

Approaching Bob’s, we joined a long line of colorful hot rods. My engine began to protest the slow crawl, the temperature climbed, the idle labored. I revved it a few times. Finally, we pulled into an open space just as the engine died.

A redheaded carhop appeared at my side. Between flirting and coy banter, she took our order and disappeared. Sonny flirted with the girls next to him. A shiny metallic blue Corvette pulled in beside us. The girls asked about my car, fast or just for show? I teased, “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

After burgers and shakes, I tried to start the Chevy. Rurr rurr click click. Two guys jumped out and pushed us back; I popped the clutch, and the engine roared to life with smoke and noise. The Corvette girls dumped their trays and followed us out. The driver pulled up alongside, squealing tires, revving to race. I hesitated—cops were everywhere.

Then I spotted Officer Sullivan, a Highway Patrolman I knew, waving in a way that dared me to go. I revved, held seven grand, and dumped the clutch. Tires screamed, smoke trailed, the front end lifted, and we shot forward, leaving the Corvette in dust. A few blocks later, I returned to Sullivan, he’d pulled the Corvette over. “How does it feel to be shut down by a six-cylinder?” he asked the girls.

Released, Sonny and I cruised on, hunting for the next adventure.

Gene Schultz is a native Californian who has traveled the world finding great adventure everywhere.