How many of today’s young are first stirred to shared sexual arousal in cars? For my generation this was often the case, for these were the years before coed dorms, and before the pill. We were able to slide across the bench-like front seat, whether moving or parked, and snuggle close. No bucket seats or cup holding consoles to form a barrier.

         But, this brief essay is about cars, not sex. It's about private space, the unobserved life that cars offered then, and in some important ways still do.

         A few years ago, I was reading Richard Ford's latest novel, "The Lay of the Land", when shock-jock Don Imus made front page news with his mean spirited verbal assault on a young women's sports team. For those like myself, who had never been part of the Imus audience, a window opened on this brand of controversial and often offensive talk-radio program. Many expressed surprise on learning that hundreds of thousands of listeners make these commentators a lucrative source of advertising income for the broadcasting networks.

         I’d read about the profane rants of Howard Stern, but never actually listened, not even to our homegrown counterpart. Apparently every major venue has one.  

         But first, back to the book. Ford's everyman protagonist, Frank Bascombe, is a realtor. In his car, either alone, or with colleagues or clients, he conducts both business and many meaningful personal conversations (often with himself) when driving the New Jersey countryside.

         Ford's query was: Why do so many things happen in cars? Are they the only interior life left?

         Maybe so.

         Many attempts have been made to analyze the audience of those angry white (mostly) men who make up the cadre of shock-jock radio personalities. They don't simply provide the eroticism of a Lenny Bruce or a Hustler type display of blatant sexuality, although sexual innuendo is pervasive. Specific groups are targeted. Women, blacks, and gays are those most often denigrated.

         One explanation for their popularity made sense to me. This is the rationale: time was when gathering to share sports talk or gossip at the office water cooler, or to ogle nude pinups in the back room, also afforded an opportunity to exchange the latest sexist or racist joke or slur. Even the surreptitious pat on the rump. Perhaps for some this was innocent fun. For others it was a way to assert their power and status as superior to those being ridiculed, workplace behavior which at least until the 1980s went unchallenged.

         Then when women employed outside of their homes achieved a critical mass, behaviors previously acceptable were called into question. With the backing of supportive men, receptive legislators and the concurrence of jurists, the definition of  sex discrimination, as experienced in the work setting, was expanded and the word "harassment" entered our common vocabulary. The term “politically correct” was also born and bespoke a new standard, received with delight by some and with a cynical sneer by others.

         Now, to return to the analysis I found persuasive: it is suggested that many of those tuned into drive-time radio, listening to mocking racist and sexist put-downs,  while resenting society’s new rules, are happily unrestrained, and free to guffaw or gloat in the privacy of their cars.

         No doubt some wince. But all are secure in their unobserved life on wheels. 

         And do some hear the message on their ipod? The unobserved life on foot.