Nicole Brodeur | Memories ride in these cars

A moment, please, to remember the Pontiac Firebird.

It was the wing-hooded vessel that contained so many stoner moments, the sounds of Billy Squier and the sweet stench of piña colada air freshener.

There will never be another. Its parent company, General Motors, is shutting down the Pontiac brand this year.

Same with the El Camino, the flat-bedded weekend warrior owned by the likes of Bill Clinton and Frank Sinatra (really?). It was about to come back as a G8 sport truck before General Motors ran out of money and turned its back.

They join the ranks of America's orphan cars: automobiles we loved, but then lost to their own failings, the economy, or our own fickle American tastes.

There are so many now that Sunday's Kirkland Concours D'Elegance, which celebrates vintage automobile, motorcycle and wooden-boat design, has created an entire category around orphan cars.

LaSalle. Graham. Nash. DeSoto.

They are names that, in automotive circles, are often followed with a sigh.

Packard. Hudson. Tucker. Studebaker. There will even be something called a Hupmobile.

"In 1900, there were more than 1,000 automotive manufacturers in the United States," said Peter Hageman, one of the founders of the Kirkland Concours, now in its seventh year.

"Now, there's the Big Three, and a couple of boutique manufacturers," he said.

"Big difference."

Sue Plummer Loveridge's 1951 Studebaker Commander V-8 Convertible will be at Kirkland. She brought it up from her other home in Arizona.

But her car really isn't an orphan at all. Loveridge literally grew up with the car back home in Illinois.

It was the Commander that brought her home from the hospital. The earliest picture Loveridge has of herself is at 6 months old — being held in front of the Commander.

The car was bought for $2,857.28 from a dealership owned by her aunt. Loveridge worked at the dealership and, later, at her father's gas station, where the Commander stood by.

When she was homecoming queen, Loveridge rode in the back of the Commander. When she was out with friends, she used the spotlights on either side of the hood to find beer hidden in the bushes.

When Marilyn Monroe came to Bement, Ill., she almost rode in the Commander, until Loveridge's uncle reasoned that fans could get to the bombshell too easily in a convertible, and put her in a sedan instead.

And when Loveridge towed the car to Arizona for the restoration, she found her father's and brother's dog tags in the glove box. Both men are long gone.

"It's a lifetime of memories," she said.

Memories are all we're going to have of a lot of cars, as automotive companies eliminate brands in an effort to right themselves from a 26-year sales low, and as consumers trade in their "clunkers" for those with better mileage and performance.

But a simple stroll through the Kirkland Concours can show us what came before the bankruptcies and the bailouts. It could help you see cars for the beauty — and the memories — they inspire.

Said Hageman: "These cars tell us what we've lost."

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Tuesday and Friday. Reach her at 206-464-2334 or nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.

She's made it through the year.