When George Lucas' "American Graffiti" reached theaters in August 1973, the movie's chief plot device -- small-town teens looking for love and fun by cruising around downtown in their hotrods -- already felt like an innocent summertime diversion from a bygone era.

The previous winter, former U.S. Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall had declared that America had reached "the end of a long love affair with the car." And, sure enough, the oil crisis hit just weeks after the movie's premiere, resulting in long lines at service stations and even some Americans surreptitiously siphoning gas from their neighbors' cars in the dark of night.

But cruising didn't go away. In Portland, slow-moving vehicles with teens leaning out the windows clogged up Southwest Broadway street and Sixth Avenue every Friday night. Cruisers often stopped their cars in the street and got out to chat with new friends. They blasted their stereos and giddily made their engines roar.

"There's no better place to go," one girl said in 1974. Added another teen: "My father used to cruise here -- they can't stop this scene."

Actually, they could, thanks to an official crackdown that included police handing out citations along with copies of a letter from Mayor Neil Goldschmidt and Police Chief Bruce Baker warning teens to keep moving when driving downtown.

As a result, the cruising scene shifted to 82nd and 122nd avenues on the eastside. For a time, those seeking connection even eased their vehicles along Mt. Tabor's roads.

One cruiser, 18-year-old Kendall Gene Gwyn, and his friend Seth Darling loaded an 18,000-watt stereo system in the bed of Gwyn's pickup truck and headed out to 122nd Avenue. "We just added some new features today, and we just turned it up,'' Darling said after the police pulled them over. "It's not really ready for full operation yet. Just show." Even so, Gwyn ended up with a citation for excessive noise.

Cruising soon returned to Broadway, and cranky adults continued to complain about the traffic snarl and the noise. In 1987, the city passed a strict anti-cruising law. This new ordinance made "it illegal to drive past a certain point more than twice between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m." and specifically targeted downtown. Police set up checkpoints at Broadway and Southwest Morrison, and launched into action whenever traffic gridlocked. The punishment for offenders: a $150 fine and the towing away of your car. Police also threatened to shame kids by taking them home to their parents.

The Oregonian editorial board celebrated the police's hard line, insisting that its success inspired Eugene's city council to enact a similar law. "Cruising has been occurring in urban-suburban areas for years," stated the editorial. "Many of today's parents and grandparents were cruisers of yesteryear. Show-off-and-tell is a characteristic of most human beings, and cruising is the adolescent's theater."

At least it was until the internet arrived. To be sure, kids continued to cruise into the 21st century, but it wasn't quite the same in the Digital Age. The thrill wasn't as palpable; the ritual didn't have the sense of urgency that it had back in the day.

Early in 1974, with "American Graffiti" still playing at downtown theaters, Portland teens and college students were willing to ignore the harsh realities of the real world to continue cruising. Offered The Oregonian: "Youths who cruise the street doubt the gasoline shortage exists but agree that cruising beats staying home and watching television."

-- Douglas Perry