Have you ever had a funeral for a car?
Jamie Victory has had three.
For Victory, a 55-year-old St. Clair Shores resident, saying goodbye to a car is not a simple matter of signing some paperwork, handing over the keys, and moving on. There are eulogies to write, songs to select, mourners to gather. There is a right way to grieve.
And if you're going to understand Victory, you must first understand the subject of this grief and joy: White Lightning.
Since 1996, Victory has driven only white Chrysler minivans. He says they're the only vehicles he will ever drive. Not a Lamborghini. Not a Mustang. Not even a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon.
A Chrysler Pacifica, and only a Chrysler Pacifica.
Victory has a defined set of passions: He loves the Detroit Tigers, works
as a DJ and cleans his minivan in the service bay of Parkway Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep, Ram in Clinton Township, with a devotion few car owners could conceive. At that dealership, Victory has spent nearly three decades building friendships, cracking jokes and spending lots of time.
Now, after years of being a familiar face around the dealership and his hometown, Victory has found an audience far beyond Macomb County.
A series of videos posted to the dealership's social media accounts has introduced him to millions. The clips, which feature Victory hanging out with the staff in his trademark Detroit Tigers full uniform (he wears it every day, he told the Detroit Free Press) have generated more than 6 million views on Instagram alone.
The first video featuring Victory, which has more than 3 million views, depicts the staff of the dealership revealing work-related secrets with their boss sitting in a chair in front of them. One employee reveals he lost a gas card in a sewer drain and told nobody. Another admits to joyriding a Ram pickup truck over the course of two weeks.
About halfway through the video, after a jump cut, Victory appears in the middle of his room in his Tigers gear. He shares no secrets; instead, he just stands there.
The thousands of commenters found it charming.
"Bro just spawned in," reads one comment.
"It would appear we have a visitor," reads another.
Other commenters seemed to know Victory already, with one identifying him as "the king of St. Clair Shores!"
Victory was born with several health issues and has faced his fair share of medical complications in his life. He said his mother was told that her son would be incapable of living a "normal" life.
"I proved all those doctors wrong," Victory said.
A van by any other name
Victory's first car was a white 1991 station wagon. His first White Lightning, however, was a 1996 Plymouth Voyager.
The name came to him during a storm. One day, as thunder rolled and lightning flashed, he looked outside and thought of a name for his car.
"And I'm saying, how about White Lightning?"
The name stuck. So did the white paint — though Joe Giacona, a salesman at Parkway and one of Victory’s closest friends, thinks Victory cleans his car so often nowadays that he will soon scratch the paint off of it.
The first White Lightning did, however, have a small branding problem: Its windshield bore a sticker that read "White Lighting" — without the second "n."
"We knew what it meant," said Giacona with a laugh.
In fact, Giacona's family had known of Victory for years before the two became friends. His father, who managed used cars at the dealership for 37 years, was the first to befriend Victory.
Giacona’s father kept seeing Victory at Kroger, where Victory used to man the bottle return. Eventually, Victory was looking for a van — the first White Lightning — and the relationship began.
"I mean, the minute I met him, I've known who he was, but once I actually got to interact with him, I was addicted," Giacona said. "I mean, this guy is hilarious."
As the friendship grew, so too did Victory’s lineage of White Lightnings. White Lightning 1 became White Lightning 2, then White Lightning Kitt 3 and, eventually, White Lightning Kitt 4. The “Kitt” is a nod to the talking car from the television series "Knight Rider," given to the two latest minivans because Victory could speak to them through their voice controls.
Victory's relationship with the vans is well documented.
He writes about them in a book of daily entries, recording what he and White Lightning have been up to. One entry among the hundreds covers a car show. Another chronicled a disagreement over driving through a puddle. Another was more somber: On Friday, Nov. 3, 2023, Victory laid White Lightning 3 to rest.
Victory's written account of the funeral, held at Parkway in its service department, lists the songs played to honor his fallen steed: "On Eagle's Wings," "Shepherd Me O, God," "Be Not Afraid," "Here I Am, Lord," "Amazing Grace" and "Let There Be Peace on Earth."
The closing song was "It's Not Easy to Say Goodbye" by Kenny Rogers.
Victory wrote that there was not a dry eye in the room. While he and Giacona recalled the funeral, Victory’s eyes welled up again.
"The hardest thing I had to say to White Lightning Kitt 3: ‘You can go up to heaven now.’" he wrote in his account of the service.
The van's parts would be used to help other vehicles in the service department, he noted. Even in death, White Lightning could be useful.
White Lightning 1 had a different sort of afterlife.
Giacona recalled that Victory was in an accident and damaged the van's front end. Although the van otherwise was in good condition, it was declared a total loss because the cost of repairs exceeded its value.
Victory was devastated.
At the time, the dealership was building its new facility (its previous location was on Gratiot Avenue). Giacona gathered what remained of Victory's belongings from the wrecked van, put them in a shoebox and arranged to bury the box beneath the dealership's future service department.
The building opened in 2005, and the box is still there.
"Jamie is literally in the walls of the dealership," Giacona said. "I mean, his damn van is buried in our service department, at least what's left of it."
A five-star Victory
Victory generally spends his Saturdays at Parkway Chrysler to clean White Lightning.
The dealership's detailing shop around the back of the facility offers a warm place to work during Michigan winters, and Victory takes full advantage.
He cleans the engine. He works the door jambs. He gets into the places most drivers don't think about until a mechanic points them out.
"I mean, I'm wiping down the engine, I'm wiping down everything." Victory said while giving the Free Press a tour of White Lightning Kitt 4.
The van is spotless under the hood. Its exterior, though, not so much.
The bumpers and side panels bear myriad scratches and dings.
Giacona has a theory: "He drives like a complete animal," he said, laughing. "You would not think he drives a minivan.”
Victory disagreed and said a neighbor was responsible for the damage, and the rest of the scratches are battle scars from him loading and unloading his DJ gear.
Giacona was unconvinced.
"That's one of the 700 scratches on the van," he said.
The banter between the two is familiar. Giacona is quick with a joke, sometimes profane, and protective of Victory in a way that feels brotherly. Though Victory is older, Giacona often slips into the role of his guide, helping him slow down when he gets excited and making sure others understand him.
Victory, for his part, is not shy about returning the affection.
"He's a good guy," Victory said of Giacona.
The dealership has become a place where Victory can spend time with people who know him and don't require him to explain himself.
"Just to have 100 friends in one building, that's the key," Giacona said. "Not one person's ever said, ‘Who's that? What's his problem?’ "
Then, Giacona paused to explain why that matters: With Victory’s videos going viral on social media, some have taken to the comments to poke fun at him.
Giacona detests that, he said, but he understands that is part of being on the internet. The Victory he knows is undeserving of criticism.
"He doesn't throw his weight around,” Giacona said. “He comes in and he just wants to be friends."
Victory has a job at McDonald's, pays his bills and runs his own DJ enterprise where he spins the hits in St. Clair Shores' social district.
When he's not dropping needles, Victory serves in a title he appointed himself: Parkway Chrysler's five-star mascot.
Since the videos have introduced Victory and his title to a much larger audience, some have questioned whether calling Victory a mascot is respectful. Giacona has defended the name, explaining that Victory chose it himself and that the dealership sees him as a source of good luck.
"I'm the Parkway five-star mascot," Victory said.
Giacona’s been in the car business for about 30 years. “Jamie’s been with me for 25 of them,” he said. Victory has attended his family’s weddings and is, barring a genealogy test, a member of his family.
‘You can do anything’
Victory has had a difficult life, he and Giacona both said. He has undergone numerous operations, and doctors told his mother when he was born that he would not be able to live independently.
Victory has spent his life proving them wrong.
"I have a DJ company," he said. "I pay my bills. Just like everybody else."
The specifics of his medical history are not what Victory wants people to focus on. He prefers to talk about what he does, what he loves and what he hopes to do next.
"My mom always told me that, ‘Jamie, you can do anything that you want if you put your mind into it,’ " he said. "If you're putting your mind into something that you really want to do, it's going to happen. That's how I work."
Giacona called him the most positive person he has ever met.
The viral videos have brought Victory a new crop of admirers beyond the employees of Parkway or regulars at the McDonald's where Victory works. Giacona said he has heard from people overseas, in places like Wales, who have become protective of Victory and his van. The comments sections are full of people celebrating his enthusiasm, his routines and his refusal to be embarrassed about the things he loves.
His devotion is so complete that he has a nighttime ritual: Before going inside, he hugs and kisses the van goodnight.
" 'Goodnight. Goodnight, White Lightning,' " he said, describing his routine.
If Victory could gain anything from his newfound virality, he has two dreams: The first would be to throw out the first pitch at a Detroit Tigers game next season. The second would be a successor to his current van.
For now, White Lightning Kitt 4 is still on the road. Victory doesn't know how long it will last, but he has his eye on the next one. He’s been eyeballing the new, refreshed 2027 Pacifica on the dealership’s showroom floor. Of course, it is white.White Lightning Kitt 4 has about 100,000 miles, and it's still running like a top, so it's not quite time for a new one, but Victory is looking forward to the future nonetheless.
Any other automakers interested in currying Victory’s favor — or putting him in a different ride — he said, need not apply.
No Lambo, Bugatti or Caddy could persuade him. He’s already made up his mind.
Liam Rappleye covers Stellantis and the UAW for the Detroit Free Press. Contact him: LRappleye@freepress.com.
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Who is Jamie Victory? Meet the viral Chrysler minivan superfan
