Taking a quick shortcut through a nearby neighborhood, my brother and I spotted the taillights of a dusty ’69 drab green Oldsmobile half buried in a cluttered garage. As we slowed, we noted the faded 4-4-2 badge on the decklid. Resting on its original 14-inch rims, its deflated radials revealed that the car hadn’t moved in years. We were stoked; this was as close to a “barn find” as we could get living in Southern California…

After some negotiating, the original owner, Dick, finally conceded to the sale. He explained that the decision to purchase the stately Olds over a 1969 Charger that had caught his eye was because of the 4-4-2’s creature comforts. “During those days, I was driving quite a bit for work,” he reminisced. “I was working down at Camp Pendleton. The Charger was a good looking car, but the Oldsmobile just seemed like it could handle the long haul better.”

Besides its dusty camouflage, the 4-4-2 was in incredible shape. Only the smallest evidences of rust bubbling up through the paint showed in the usual A-Body places; the lower quarters and fenders. Dick had all the documentation, all the receipts from oil changes, tire rotations and general servicing; an art forgotten by my generation. This was, by all conducive purposes, the single most original car I had ever laid my hands on.

This all-original '69 Oldsmobile 4-4-2 sat in this two-car garage for nearly two decades before being aired-up and trailered back to my brother's garage. With a little bit of TLC, this Olds was street worthy yet again. These cars are still out there. You just need to look further than eBay, Craigslist, and those multi-million dollar auctions.

Dick watched as we returned with a flatbed trailer, aired up the tires, emptied the boxes of Christmas decorations and file folders out of the cabin and trunk, and pushed the big coupe onto the trailer. I looked back over my shoulder as the elderly gentleman watched as we pulled away, like a father watching his child driving away to start a new life away from home. Deep inside, I felt somewhat guilty.

That night, we thrashed to get the 400ci big block to fire up. New plugs, plugwires, and a can of starter fluid finally brought life back to the gold-hued big block after 15 years of dormancy. Fresh gasoline filled the tank and fuel lines and a few twists of the screwdriver tuned the grime-caked four-barrel. Coughing out the cobwebs, we let the Olds idle, happy to know that there was plenty of life left in the big 4-4-2.

That weekend, I borrowed a cardboard box full of waxes and polishes, pads and an electric buffer from a professional detailer friend of mine. Working in the shade of my brother’s garage, I labored to bring the shine out of a paint job that hadn’t seen any love in over a decade. Working my wrists to premature arthritis, I hand-rubbed every inch of stainless and chrome trim until it glimmered.

With little more than a weekend's worth of time, some elbow grease and an electric orbital buffer, this 4-4-2 was back to tiptop shape in no time. "Green and brown?" you ask. It turns out more muscle cars came in subdued colors than red, yellow and black.

When done and pulled out on to the street, I was never more excited to see a dark green Oldsmobile. Titled “Autumn Gold,” the factory Oldsmobile shade was significantly darker than the Chevrolets and Pontiacs painted in a hue by the same name. Topped with a dark brown vinyl top over an olive green interior – artistically called “Parchment” – the Oldsmobile was an exercise in blend-into-the-crowd coloring. It was gloriously ‘60s.

This got me thinking, “What better way to avoid getting tickets?” But not a lot of people agree with this line of thinking. My ’69 Dodge Charger came from the factory in T7 Tuscan Bronze, basically a dark metallic copper, which I chose to keep when I repainted her. To the layman, it’s brown, and I’m ridiculed because of it. Why? Because brown cars just aren’t cool. Right?

Consider that factories built more muscle cars in variant shades of green, brown, light blue/turquoise and gold than all the HEMI Orange, Carousel Red, and Sunfire Yellow street machines combined during the 1960s.

Definitely a "gentleman's muscle car," this Olds came with just enough to qualify as a 4-4-2, but not a whole lot else in the "Haulin' the mail" category. The color isn't quite Olive Green, rather, Oldsmobile called it "Parchment."

In fact, the prolificacy of these sedate colors are what spurred an influx of sporty body decals and “High Impact” hues towards the end of the muscle car era. Factories rushed out retina-seering colors with pun-riffic names like Panther Pink, Anti-Establish Mint, and Hulla Blue. These new colors were antithetical to the “under the radar” mindset from only a year before, and rising insurance rates – caused primarily by a spike in traffic violations – consequently followed.

Walking car shows today, not a lot of people seem to recall those early years. The reds, blacks and silvers that you see at shows aren’t likely the shade they rolled off the factory floor with. Even worse, I tend to cringe when I see ’66 Coronets painted in Plum Crazy or ’67 Chevelles slathered in Hugger Orange. I suppose I’m a purist snob, but these colors weren’t even available during their production years, and frankly, just don’t look quite right.

I find a certain beauty in a Palmetto Green Metallic ’65 GTO or a Midnight Blue ’68 Road Runner. Primaries are loud and proud, but the subdued metallics and muted shades speak to the muscle car’s DNA of being a stripped-down family coupe with a secret buried beneath the hood. Now, I won’t ever complain about a Go Mango Dodge Demon, but I’d rather keep my muscle car looking like it’s got a secret or two…because who wants to get beat by a brown Dodge anyways?

Light ’em up,

Kevin