Carole Radziwill: Why I Still Drive in New York City

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My first crush drove a sleek Chevy Camaro, but it was my 1976 Olds­mobile Vista Cruiser that was my first true love. A gas guzzler during an oil crisis, but otherwise perfect, it symbolized freedom, whether I was cruising to the mall or driving to West Point for weekend cadet dances. That car meant a life beyond my small upstate town—just me and Tracy Chapman on the radio, the city lights laid out before us. When the transmission seized, I welled up as it was towed to the junkyard.

Years later I was living with Anthony, my future husband, and he had a new 1992 Jeep Cherokee, navy blue with a tan interior. We’d drive every weekend to our house in Long Island and return to his garage in New York. He loved that car. When he passed away in 1999, I kept the Jeep on the street. My rebellion, I suppose, against the anger I felt for being left behind. When it was stolen from in front of our building, I was almost glad. I didn’t think about cars for a long time after that.

It wasn’t until the spring of 2020, when the forced isolation of the pandemic again stirred thoughts of freedom. Cars had changed so much over the decades, but it was that classic Jeep, with roll-down windows, an AM/FM cassette stereo, and a fuel-injected six-cylinder engine, that I dreamed of. A search on eBay led me to a perfect match: a 1998 Jeep Cherokee Classic XJ. Its bright red paint had faded over the years, but it had weathered the passage of time, scars of a life well lived, and I respected that.

These days, if I can’t drive I don’t go. With a turn of the old-school key, the motor stirs to life, initiating a kinetic force as the crankshaft begins its rhythmic motion. The thrusting of the steel pistons sparks a fusion of fuel and flame—the heartbeat of internal combustion—a timeless ode to the power within the quiet hum of intricate machinery.

Reliable allies in the relentless rhythm of urban life, we are often seen navigating streets and avenues, dropping off dates after dinner, hauling furniture to storage, or barreling through Times Square to the latest Broadway show, and always picking up friends along the way.

Firmly behind the wheel, I have embraced automotive enthusiasm, choosing an old classic over those slick, modern alternatives. We weave through traffic with resilience and a steely spirit that echoes the pulse of the city. I am also, after all, a classic.

This story appears in the March 2024 issue of Town & Country, with the headline "Ol' Reliable." SUBSCRIBE NOW

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