It was a steamy summer evening in the burbs of Philadelphia in 1956. Everything was 1956. Oh you don't know about black and white TV, Pre Betty Crocker scratch cakes, ice cube trays that stuck to the freezer, slick new cars from Detroit and moms that wore aprons. But we did have Elvis.
We had a light dinner, Dad said let's go for a ride. I thought It had to be a Howard Johnson's trip for ice cream. We piled into the family's Nash Rambler and drove in an unexpected direction. We ended up in front of an 1880's massive carriage house in Berwyn, Pa. Inside was a tall man in a Gulf Gas Station uniform. I didn't have a clue why we were there - not a clue. Then the tall man drove a car out of the dark interior and parked in front of us. It was like a vision as it sat there in dusty shafts of light. The car looked beautiful, unique and shiny, was it a Model A. My skinny brother and I were stunned. Without looking at the car, my Dad asked to see the title. The tall gent was agitated but handed it over saying "see it's signed on the back". My mouth fell open; "what's going on". Price was confirmed at four hundred dollars. Four bills were then slapped into that agitated hand in seconds. But, we hadn't looked at the car or even driven it. Dad jumped in (title in pocket) and headed home. We followed in the Rambler. The next day the tall man called demanding more money for the 22,000 mile A Model. Dad asked him. "who has the title". I inquired about Dad's plans for his car, he said "it's yours, keep it running". The car changed my life. Thank you, Dad.