Dick Clark is not pleased about the headlight situation. Oh sure, he’s driven his fair share of luxury automobiles, both domestic and European. He has even leased various Japanese models, though he finds the lack of headroom troubling. But every day lately, Dick finds he’s spending more and more of his valuable time thinking about how best to carry out his crusade against the proliferation of very bright headlights. Unread copies of Billboard accumulate in a growing column on his nightstand. He isn’t keeping up with pop culture like he should, and close friends say they’ve noticed a few gray hairs at his temples. He lies awake at night, vacantly watching the LEDs dance on his clock radio. In the morning, exhausted, he makes his coffee without turning on the kitchen radio. He does not make his customary scan of both frequencies in search of his friendly rival, Casey Kasem. For the first time in his life, there are dark circles developing under his eyes.
Why do they have to be so bright? Why is the light so intensely white-hot? Is this a further sign of man’s inhumanity to man? Dick Clark is deeply troubled. Now that Daimler and Chrysler have merged, he feels certain that very bright headlights will be installed on virtually all automobiles. This, of course, is unrealistic and pessimistic. But there is little doubt in Dick Clark’s mind that cheap, aftermarket headlights will be made available to drivers of older cars. These will not be quite as bright, but they will have the same painful blue nimbus seen from certain angles. He’s already noticed them retrofitted on used minivans and economy cars.
Technically, Dick is not losing sleep over very bright headlights. He’s resigned to the fact that they are here to stay. Instead, he is obsessed with what his own personal response should be. He feels a vague sense of powerlessness, even though he is one of the most influential pop culture icons ever to hold a California driver’s license.
The fact of the matter is that this is not the first time Dick has toyed with the idea of using Bandstand as a bully pulpit. Several years ago he was very unhappy about high levels of mercury in the environment, due to sneakers with batteries in them. In the seventies, he felt that so-called “earth tones” were unflattering to most complexions. In the fifties, he was convinced that canned beer was a sure sign of social declension. But his producers always prevailed. Why would he want to needlessly alienate his fans and his potential advertisers? Bandstand was about uniting the kids, not dividing them! A professional would surely save such personal “issues” for private after-parties.
Frankly, though, Dick is at his wit’s end. He has tried everything. At first, he would flash oncoming cars. Unfortunately, they often flashed him back. When you are flashed by very bright headlights, you don’t soon forget it. Once, Dick saw multicolored lights in his peripheral vision for a long time afterward. Dick Clark is a very conscientious steward of the corporal territories of Dick Clark (particularly those in the Northern Hemisphere), so you can imagine how disturbing this must have been.
Dick tried honking. He quickly realized this brought him the wrong kind of attention. Other drivers thought he was trying to get them to notice him—Dick Clark! A grown man with his own television program! And yet still eager for every last bit of public recognition, no matter how petty! He felt certain this would lead to a backlash in his popularity, or at least an insinuating article in the tabloids. Not very helpfully, his agent advised him to avoid driving at night.
Perhaps it was desperation that finally pushed him into playing “chicken” with drivers of cars equipped with very bright headlights. Most sane people would say that at this point Dick Clark had crossed the figurative line. His producers would have killed him if they knew what he was up to. Luckily, he came to his senses. In theory, of course, it would not have been an unpleasant death for a timeless legend like himself—Dick Clark finally dead! Foul play suspected! Yet he was repelled by the thought of leaving such a big tonsorial job to even the most accomplished of mortuary beauticians.
In his troubled dreams, Dick Clark entertains fantasies that do not conform to the expectations and practices of the waking world. He uses laser-sighted weapons to frighten inconsiderate drivers (he would never actually fire). With a very powerful transmitter, he commandeers their car radios and shames them in full surround-sound stereo. He spends hours in the hot sun of the San Fernando Valley, putting up false detour signs that say “Deduction for Business Use of Halogen Headlights, Next Exit.” In the mercifully muted twilight between dreaming and waking, Dick Clark is afforded a precious few moments of extraordinary happiness each morning.
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