Now you've started something John.... I think I shared this story with
the group before, but it comes fresh to mind... after reading your story
and wiping away a few tears of my own.
A couple years ago, Bill Shumow, a prop master I had met and worked on
stage with time and time again... came by our shop for a business
meeting. When he came in, he asked who's Triumph TR 4A was parked out
front. He was surprised to hear it was mine, as we had never discussed
our cars. It turns out, he had once owned a TR 3 in his youth... and
had owned British cars ever since. I could see that he was really
excited by my car, especially since I had removed the windshield and
utilized aero screens instead. I suggested that after the meeting, we
take a ride.
The meeting was almost cartoonish. He kept glancing out the front
windows. His eyes never seemed completely focused; racing around like
REM sleep, but eyes wide open! He rushed us through the meeting, a
strange mix business and pleasure that never seemed to get anything
accomplished other than a social break for my boss and I. Before we
knew what happened, the meeting was over and we were heading to the
front curb! (I don't even remember what the meeting was about!)
As we approached my car, I handed him the keys. He paused in his stride
and made a slight gesture to return them to me as he rambled out,
"You're going to let me drive?... I shouldn't... normally I wouldn't
drive someone else's car... I shouldn't... but I can't... thanks."
Then he noticed that I had stopped at the threshold of the business and
he asked nervously, "What, you're not coming?" I told him this was
something between him and the car and that he should be alone. He
stopped at the door of the car for a second and his mouth opened to
argue my point, but the only words were, "are you sure?". I told him to
get going!
He started the car. It sports only a pair glass packs, no mufflers, so
it roared like a WWII Spitfire coming into action. There is no
carpeting, so the sound seems to come from everywhere. He put it in
gear and off he went. He was relatively gentle and I doubt he got out
of 2nd gear as he came right back around, having only gone around the
block! I yelled, "Bill, DRIVE the car!" and motioned for him to
continue. He simply lapped again.
"Bill, DRIVE the car!... GO!...." And he lapped a third time. Once
again, I could hear it going around the block, hardly revving and never
going beyond 2nd. When he came by this time, I went out to the car
door, and yelled, "Bill, I mean it... DRIVE the car... GO! Use the
gears! Hit the gas! Don't come back so soon!" This time, I saw a
grin, from ear to ear. And he punched it. The car roared down the
street.
I could hear 1st to 2nd, and another chirp into 3rd. I could hear him
flying through the gears, up and down, as he lapped around this business
district of Burbank, turning it into his own Willow Springs. This time,
he was gone for a while, but when he came back, he had transformed to
the Bill of his youth. He slowly got out of the car... and closed the
door with a kind of respect, reaching back, after turning to walk away,
to simply touch the car, before fully departing. His eyes were wet,
undoubtedly from the wind in his face, but it was more than that. He
was shaking with joy and excitement. The color of youth was back in his
face.
Before he left, we talked about going to watch the vintage racing at
Willow in the springs. I could tell he would probably drop everything
to go! I told him I would be in touch in the Spring, and off he went.
The following January, my father died unexpectedly from a heart attack.
(He was 72, I was 36.) As the winter started to clear, I started to
think about Bill. I decided I was going to kind of adopt this man. It
sounds funny, I know, but with my dad gone, I looked forward to the idea
of spending some time with Bill. He was an old pro at his work, and
although he was only in his 50s, he was one of those guys that had the
wisdom of many lifetimes. I checked the dates and was looking forward
to calling Bill about upcoming Willow races. In February, my brand new
black suit came into play a second time. I was not aware of it, but
Bill had been having some health problems, and although they expected a
full recovery, some strange fungus (apparently from his garden!) took
over his heart cavity, and he died. It was an odd day to stand in the
crowd and watch a family deal with a loss of a father and husband so
soon after my own loss. It was the Twilight Zone for me.
My father had driven my car once, reacting very similar to Bill. I
think it brought back memories of his youth, when he enjoyed
convertibles, and, perhaps, a little of his time in the cockpit of a
Corsair during WWII. Bill and my Dad are forever a part of my TR 4A.
When I am beyond the city and the road is clear and winding, I think
they drop in once in a while, to enjoy the ride. I have sold off most
of a restoration project TR 4A, but I still have this car, my driver,
and despite plans to dive into motorcycles again, in 2000, I hope to
keep the 4A on the road.
--Justin
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