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Scoping classic cars at Bob's Big Boy in Burbank

September 03, 2013
(File Photo )

Remember when engines were measured in cubic inches? Remember when cars had chrome kissers that looked like psycho sharks? And when you flashed your headlights, the gum-popping carhop would come take your order — grudgingly, as if she had better things to do?

I do. Or did I just dream all that?

Well, this dream sequence lives on at Bob's Big Boy in Burbank, near Warner Bros. How to describe this buzzy, retro scene? It goes back forever, or a few years before.

On a recent Friday night, Beach Boy Brian Wilson shows up to take in the weekly car show, full of the little deuce coupes he used to write about.

The stuff of song, this place. Even the Beatles hung out here back in the day, in the big booth in the corner (look for the plaque).

Yep, stars come and stars go at Bob's Big Boy, a living tribute to a SoCal lifestyle of fries and flirting.


"People tell me this is 'American Graffiti' come to life," one of the regulars says. "I tell them I lived 'American Graffiti' right here."

More than half a century ago, high school kids used to swarm this Toluca Lake landmark, arrange street races and take home $100 for the college fund. That doesn't happen so much anymore, but the heaving heavy metal still does. Big-block Chevys. Hot-rod Lincolns. On Friday nights, happy days are here again.

From New England to Seattle, weekly car shows are a slice of Americana, but no place does them like Southern California. Every night, there's one somewhere. Car clubs rally at diners, doughnut shops, any old place that'll have them.

At the top of the sheet metal heap is this Bob's Big Boy rally, 6 to 11 p.m. every Friday since the dawn of time (which, by the way, was right around 1949).

Early afternoon, enthusiasts start lining up for prime spots near the restaurant, where the building's red neon piping will reflect off the hard-candy shells of Studebakers, Kaisers, Cobras and Corvettes.

Vintage cars. Men collect them like Christmas ornaments.

My latest half-baked theory is that everything is always for sale. You just have to find the right price point.

And that's the case with this fleet.

Take this full-competition 427 Cobra, built in 1965 and one of only 21 big-block 427 Cobras ever made. Anthony Boosalis owns it, babies it. What's it worth?

"Probably $2 million," he says.

Some owners restore the cars, then bring them here to flip. Others hold on to them almost forever.

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