A Contribution from Colleague and Friend Ed Garten:HENRY FORD AND ADOLPH HITLER NEARLY CROSS PATHS EIGHTY YEARS AGO

Photo: August 1930
Photo: September 1930

HENRY FORD AND ADOLPH HITLER NEARLY CROSS PATHS EIGHTY YEARS AGO

Eighty years ago, the first week in September, Henry Ford attended the Oberammergau Passion Play in Bavaria, Germany. That famous passion play performed by the residents of Oberammergau every ten years (except for two times) since 1638 started to attract international guests by 1900. The attendance list was a contemporary "Who's Who" -- royalty from Russia, France, Sweden, England, Italy, Austro-Hungary, Prussia, and Denmark. Auguste Eiffel, Graf Zeppelin, artists, poets, theater celebrities, church dignities, and American millionaires like Rockefeller and Vanderbilt.

But only a few days before Ford attended the play, another guest was in attendance -- Adolph Hitler. While there is no historical evidence that the two met during this time the coincidence is remarkable.

Hitler hung Ford's picture on his wall and wrote in Mein Kampf that Ford was a great man who had confronted Jewish power; he quoted Ford's book "The International Jew: The World's Foremost Problem" extensively. That book basically blamed Jews for all of the problems of the world. The International Jew is still reprinted and much admired by neo-Nazis and White Supremacists even today.

Some of Ford's early quotes seem to be something straight out of Hitler's mouth: "The international financiers are behind all war. They are what is called the International Jew - German Jews, French Jews, English Jews, American Jews . . . the Jew is a threat." Hitler told a Detroit News reporter in 1933 that he regarded "Henry Ford as my inspiration." Following Hitler's assumption of power, Ford is reported to have sent Hitler 50,000 Deutsch Marks every year on his birthday.

While anti-Semitism persisted in the the Passion Play until 1970, it reached its most painful pitch by the 1930 performance. In 1934, Oberammergau scheduled a special performance to commemorate the 300-year anniversary of the Passion Play. In 1638 the Passion Play was initated following the village's survival from the Black Plague. But by 1934 a new plague was on hand to harass the villagers--Nazism. In an effort to make his Bavarian subjects look like Aryans rather than Jews while playing their biblical roles, Hitler appointed his Bavarian State Minister, Esser, High Commissioner for Tourist Traffic and ordered him to preside over the Passion Play committee. But the villagers refused to modify their makeup and costumes, though they paraded agreeably, regularly "heiling" Hitler.

During August, 1934, the audience paid tribute to Field Marshal von Hindenburg on the occasion of his death and to Hitler when he attended a performance. Hitler was said to be inspired only by the character of Pilate, whom history records as a brutal Roman governor, but whom Hitler exalted by commenting: "There he stands like a firm rock in the middle of the whole muck and mire of Jewry."

Some speculate that Henry Ford may have feared Jews as competition to his business. Thus he peddled racism as a tool to defeat a business enemy. He called the motion picture industry, along with the music and liquor business, organizations controlled by Jews. Of the American film industry Ford wrote, " . . . Americans every day place themselves voluntarily within range of a Jewish life, love, and labor ... . . there are two families in this world, and on one the darkness dwells."

Although Ford later renounced his anti-semitic writings, he remained an admirer of Nazi Germany and sought to keep America out of World War II.

The attached photos include Henry Ford walking down the street following his attendance at the 1930 Passion Play as well as a photo of Hitler that was taken, also in 1930, where is is greeting some Passion Play cast members.

Andrew Zemany and his "Lost" Chevy Tahoe -- UD Student "Auto" - Biography

Upon receiving this assignment I found myself racking my brain for a story that holds an important place in my past but could also prevent the reader from dozing off. What would I write about would it be my first time behind the wheel of the beast of a vehicle that was my mother’s Chevy Tahoe. Or would it be my traumatic experience of my first real accident as a young driver. In the end I took the third option which you can judge for yourself upon its exciting conclusion.
It all began two years ago my sophomore year in college. I remember like it was yesterday or at least the day before yesterday. My freshman experience at the University of Dayton at had not been a joyous one when it came to my truck, parking and the crowded streets of Dayton. As a freshman I was not allowed the privilege of a parking pass so I was forced to secretly and skillfully stash my truck along and around the streets of Dayton and Oakwood. By second semester I had even found a location in Irving commons that was free from the risk of tickets that you took along Irving Avenue. The problem with that locale was that it was a hike from my dorm making it inconvenient to use my truck as I pleased. So when I moved on to my sophomore year I readily bought a parking pass in the first available lot S2.
It was a decent location to park my truck, not too far from my classes. It was also not too far from my apartment, and it was right in the center of everything. At the time I was just thrilled to be able to have my truck back from time to time. A little walk was worth the safety and ease of the S2 lot. I didn’t have to deal with the drunken drivers of the student ghetto who routinely removed mirrors of trucks as they swerved their way through Keifaber and Lowes. I also did not have to worry about receiving another ticket from the campus or Dayton police. At the time it was a perfect situation.
My story really begins one night as my friend who I will call Chaz asked to borrow my truck to take out his newly acquired girlfriend. Being the good friend that I am I didn’t hesitate handing over the keys, with the one stipulation of parking my truck in the parking lot instead of any of the streets. Chad agreed and took her out that night. The next day he gave me back the keys and I forgot about much of the incident as the monotony of classes continued the next week.
As the next weekend rolled around I went out for the night like any normal college student. I had been drinking for a good while when a few of my friends announced they were going out to the movies. The thought of a bag of popcorn convinced me on the spot and I tagged along to see a film. We arrived at the movies and I ended up sleeping through the entirety of the film. When I awoke it was time to go so I got and left the theatre that night. The next morning I again woke in my room and reached for my cell phone and it was nowhere to be found. I scoured the levels and crevices of my small room and it was nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes of no luck I began to think back to the night before and it finally hit me. I had dropped my phone under my seat at the movies. The thought of my phone just sitting at the theatre made me very uncomfortable. I very quickly got my keys and headed down to the S2 parking lot and walked the whole lot from end to end but my truck was nowhere to be found. I looked and looked and it was obvious that it was not parked in that lot. My thoughts returned to Chaz borrowing my truck. I called up my friend and asked him where my truck was parked. He began to then explain to me that he parked it on Lowes even though I had told him beforehand to park my vehicle in the parking lot. I was a little upset that he had not followed my directions, however my thoughts returned to my phone so I let it pass.
I then proceeded to walk the full length of Lowes to again no avail. I again called Chaz on the phone and he repeatedly told me that he had parked it right on Lowes. After a short conversation in which I explained that it was nowhere to be found he quickly joined me down on the street in search of my truck. The first thought that came to mind was that someone had stolen my truck. It wasn’t the nicest or the most expensive truck however I had grown pretty attached to it since I bought it my junior year of high school. The idea that it was stolen scared me and I went back to my room and called the police who showed up within a few minutes. They took down my information and were about to start a report when they received information that the city had my car impounded.
Impounded! I was surprised how could that happen I thought to myself. Well it turns out it had been parked in a no parking zone for several days where it accrued several tickets until it was towed and impounded downtown. The news of all of this made me pretty upset I had already lost my phone today and now my car was somewhere in downtown Dayton and now I was going to have to pay for all of the tickets my friend earned me as he ignored my directions and parked on the street. I wasn’t taking any of this -- I made it clear that Chaz was going to pay for everything. He had opportunities to avoid the whole situation; however he was lazy and parked my car right next to our apartment building instead of walking a few minutes.
In the end my friend Joe drove me over to the movie theater and to my surprise I found my keys exactly underneath my seat. It was a great end to one of the longest most frustrating days of my life. The next day would get my truck back from the city after two hundred dollars worth of tickets and fees. Chaz did pay me back and felt very bad about the whole situation. Looking back at the whole story now it seems pretty humorous. I spent the whole day running around try to find my keys and my car and nothing could have been worse at the time. When I think about it all now it was a learning experience. Sometimes you have to figure out who you can trust with your things. I would let Chaz borrow my truck again after that fiasco. However I would always ridicule him for the events that
So there you have it my favorite yet miserable moment in my driving career. I believe it still counts even no real driving was involved. I hope I kept you entertained and didn’t lose anyone along the way. The impounding of my truck continues to live on in the back of my mind as well in the minds of many of my friends.

A Well-Written Student "auto" biography -- Robert Buchsbaum III, "An Old Flame and a New Romance in Carmanship"

Robert Buchsbaum III

Hst 485: Seminar: Automobiles

Sept 3, 2010

Auto-Biography: An Old Flame and a New Romance in Carmanship

My first car, a 2006 Red Ford Expedition, was meant to last forever—at least, according to my juvenile sense of romanticism. Alas, it only lasted 2 years before fate caught up with me! My senior year at Beavercreek High School, my parents got tired of their red Ford Explorer. It was their biggest car, the one they liked to use for vacation driving. They decided to “trade up” to a bigger and newer Ford car. After getting the Expedition, they decided it should be my car for driving to school and around town. It was quite a big car, in terms of size and roomy interior. I fondly remember all the stuff I could fill its insides with…groceries galore, school books, football clothes, and the million and one flotsam and jetsam of a high school student’s busy existence. It was the car that took me on my first “blind” date. I remember arriving at the Beavercreek Regal Cinema off Fairfield Road with a freshly purchased orchid, nervous about meeting someone for the first time. Although the date began sensibly and the movie, a comedy, was quite good, the date ended abruptly when the lady in question decided to terminate the date after the movie ended. It was also the car that took me to the High School Prom in May of my senior year and the “after prom” reception at the Kettering Recreation Center off Dorothy Lane Road. I drove back and forth to Sinclair College from home in Beavercreek to attend classes leading to my Associate degree while still a high school student.

“Red” and I also went on out of town excursions. With my mother as assistant driver, I drove the car down to Jacksonville, Florida in the summer of 2008 to participate in the Jacksonville Jaguars football training camp. I drove most of the distance through several Southern states and remember vividly the palm trees, sand, and girls on the beach while driving around Florida during off hours from the camp. The car performed well except for a flat tire due to a random nail that pierced the tire near the camp.

The Expedition was my faithful car companion as I went to archaeology summer dig camp at Heidelberg College. I was one of 6 transient students selected to help Dr. Bush in his archaeological digs at Johnson’s Island, the site of a Civil War military officer prison. “Red” helped out as I shopped for computer outlets and other supplies including food at Wal-Mart during the several weeks there.

It seemed as if this blissful car romance would last forever, at least in my juvenile imagination of the time. As Fall rolled around and my first year at University of Dayton began, I looked forward to having the car transport me, as a commuter, back and forth each day. At first this worked very well. The routine of travel, parking, schooling, and driving home became ingrained as if part of my inborn instincts.

The rains of early Winter fell and one day tragedy struck. The early morning roads around my home neighborhood in Beavercreek had become slick with frozen ice. This was a memorable morning because all around town there were reports of innumerable car accidents. However, I was not an early morning radio listener or television watcher, so I missed out on this vital precautionary information. I was running late and in a hurry.

There are many twists and turns of the small tertiary roads in my neighborhood. Two of them, at opposite ends from my parent’s home, have earned the dubious appellation “Dead Man’s Curve.” While no deaths have occurred from traffic accidents at either of these curves, the appellations have stuck because of the extreme curvature of both roads. As might be expected, these curving road sites can be extremely hazardous during bad weather.

I approached one of these Dead Man’s Curves unaware of the slickness of the roads, but focused more on my haste to get to UD class. As I turned the corner with Red, suddenly I felt my car lose its grip on the road and begin skidding. At this point in the road, all of the front yards steeply climb upward about 20 feet, where the foundations of the houses are built. Along this steep gradient there are numerous concrete steps alongside the rising driveways that lead up to people’s garage doors.

As Red careened toward one of these residences, I realized the car was heading toward a stone mailbox. In trying to avoid hitting the mailbox, the car started rising up the front lawn toward a tree in the middle of the yard. It was a grand tree, old and huge in size, a venerable denizen of the neighborhood. Before another second had passed, Red and the Tree became one. While the tree braked Red’s skidding out of control acceleration to zero, it also completely pulverized the front of the car.

I was shaken but not injured. Almost immediately, a little old lady, the home owner, popped out of her front door like an angry little squirrel. She did not come to my assistance but went back into her house and emerged several minutes later with a cell phone. Using it as a camera, she began to take dozens, maybe hundreds, of photos of the accident scene.

I still had my own cell phone, so I called my mother immediately to report the accident. She was out there by the scene in a few minutes. The police had been notified but were so busy with the infinitude of other car accidents occurring that they did not show up for another 3 hours.

Meanwhile, my mom saw what the lady homeowner was doing with her cell phone. She angrily asked the lady what was she doing, taking pictures for the insurance company instead of seeing if I was hurt or not, or if I needed to go to the hospital. The lady, who happened to be the wife of a retired military, was embarrassed to be caught in this inhumane posture. It was not until the cops arrived, I was safely in my mom’s Mercedes, and then the lady comes down to my mom’s car and asks me if I am alright.

Red had been totaled by the accident. I was crushed by the loss and the realization that we would not be able to have the car repaired.

Several days later, our family settled upon a replacement car. It was even bigger and redder than Red: A huge, Hummer H3. Although China was about to take over the Hummer business from GM, our Voss salesman assured us that Cadillac would continue to honor servicing these cars. It was sad to have to leave the Expedition, but a car new romance was about to begin, this time with a Hummer.

As good a student "auto" biography as one can get -- ADam Josefczyk, "Gasoline in the Bloodstream: the Josefczyk Car Family Tree"

Adam's Nissan Altima SE-R

1962 Corvair Spyder1963 split window Corvette

2002 X50 turbo

2001 911 Turbo

Adam Josefczyk
“Auto” Biography
9/3/10

“Gasoline in the Bloodstream: The Josefczyk Car Family Tree”

Many of the interests and hobbies we develop from life are “genetic.” By genetic, I mean boys often love what their dads and grandfathers love. Though far from being an absolute rule, the idea of families passing on pursuits, pastimes, and passions to the next generation is often a wonderful blessing, a glue which further unites family members in love. Throughout my life, these inherited interests, sometimes, obsessions, have centered around a love of Jesus Christ, an interest in conservative politics, and a love of sports. I bleed Bengals orange and black, Buckeye scarlet and grey, and Flyers red and blue because of my dad and my grandfather. I love and became addicted to golf because they invited me with them numerous times to hit the links, to watch them hack it up, and later to be a “ringer” who could impress their buddies and clients with long drives in golf outings. Generally, I have been blessed to enjoy the same things that my dad and his dad love.
Perhaps the one interest that runs through the bloodstream of Josefczyk males that I failed to appreciate until recently was a fervor that drove their wives crazy: a fixation with fast, high-powered automobiles. My grandfather, rightfully so, intiated this trend with his infatuation with these four-wheeled “toys.” Hank Josefczyk boasts quite the car legacy.
His gasoline-empowered love affair with phenomenal high performance sports cars began with a with a 62 Corvair turbo convertible and concluded with a 2002 silver Porsche 911 Turbo X50. Throw in two other Porsche 911 Turbos (2001 red 6 speed and a 2001 silver with tiptronic), two Porsche 928s, a sweet 1974 Pantera GTS, and a ’68 Corvette (427 with a T top), and you have one heckuva lineup. However, the jewel of the collection might just be the 1963 split window fuel-injected Corvette Stingray, a car whose value has skyrocketed and whose legacy is defined as one of the most famous ‘Vette’s in history. Though many of those speedsters preceded me, as a twelve year old riding in my grandfather’s Porsche 911 I remember feeling on top of the world as the speedometer quickly soared over 100mph. Needless to say, I boasted of my grandpa’s newest hot rod to all of my friends in school.
Hank and his wife, Sally, the UD cheerleader he married as a basketball player raised three rowdy sons, Mark (my father, the oldest brother), Mike, and Matt. Amid constantly raising hell and playing sports, the brothers developed a shared interest in working on their dad’s automobiles. Bringing to mind scenes from the Tom Cruise movie, Days of Thunder, working on cars was one of the only activities they could do together without the potential of trying to kill one another. The boys loved cars because their dad loved cars. This shared enthusiasm took them in different directions in their experiences and preferences with cars.
Mike developed such a zeal for cars and huge trucks that automobiles became his vocation; he eschewed becoming a chef in order to follow his first love and be around these iron horses as often as possible. He became a sought-after mechanic, turning his hobby into a profession which he deeply enjoyed. Employed at six Ford dealerships in California and Ohio, he rose to the highest level ---ASE certified. Anyone could count on Mike for advice to work on their cars; he saved family and friends a lot of time and money, fixing their vehicles for free. Mike did not just take an interest in other people’s cars; he owned quite a few high-powered toys himself. Mike had quite an infatuation with 4x4 Jeeps & Broncos. Always the hands-on one of the brothers, he took pleasure in purchasing ones that required a lot of work so he could repair them with his buddies. One of his most memorable “beasts” was a 1969 Jeep (Buick V6 motor & 4 inch lift – bright yellow). After several Ford Broncos (full size) later, his last truck was a customized F-350 converted to a Bronco (basically what would be later be known as an Excursion). Add being a race-enthusiast to driving and messing around with trucks, and one can easily see that Mike took great pleasure in automobiles—they were central to his life.
The youngest Josefczyk brother, Matt, also inherited an affection for automobiles, particularly those that are designed to race. A pilot for Jet Blue, Matt adores fuel-powered marvels of engineering. Not content to fly only in the sky, Matt boasts quite a high-speed history of supped-up Integra Type Rs, Subaru WRX STi’s, and most recently, a 2010 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution. It’s probably safe to assume that he is always first in flight. Symbolizing the role that cars play in their relationship, Matt and Hank often bond over driving their speedsters to racing schools.
Never one to be out-done by his younger brothers, my dad, Mark, also shares his father’s zeal for automobiles. Like his brother, he remembers loving cars as a little boy because his dad exhibited such an enthusiasm for them. Though the constant competitor, Mark could never rival Mike’s knowledge and ability to work on cars. Though a capable grease monkey, in truth, he always enjoyed the driving aspect far more. As a high-schooler, my dad was given an impressive first car—a 1977 Ford F250 with a 4 inch lift kit (351 motor). Needless to say, cruising around in this monster gave him quite the confidence boost in high school. When he graduated, his taste in cars also matured into the muscle cars that his dad loved. Sharing Mike’s love of Fords, my dad purchased a 1982 Ford Mustang GT with T-top sunroof. This speedster had a 302 V8 motor, designating the nickname “the Boss is back.” Ford’s 302 V8 was called “Boss” back in the 1960s, and ’82 marked the return of the V8 in a Mustang. The envy of his college classmates, he drove the “Boss” until 1994 when he gave it to Mike to restore. By 1995, my dad had three kids (myself, and two younger sisters). However, even though he moved on to more “family friendly” and company cars, he still had trouble distancing himself from fast cars, owning four Taurus SHO’s (Super High Output). Just a few months ago, Mark bought a sweet 2010 SHO, a car he describes as the “best” he has ever owned.
Clearly, quality automobiles with substantial “giddy-up” run in the Josefczyk lineage. However, as afore-mentioned, though I’ve truly enjoyed riding my grandpa’s Porsches and have been blessed with exciting trips to the Indy 500 and other races, I never shared my family’s obsession with automobiles. For the first five years I had a driver’s license, I treated cars as the vehicle which moved me from point A to point B. I have recently realized this lackluster treatment of cars may have been due to the type of car I was driving in high school and my first three years of college. Though the two used Taurus’s and especially the 1986 Honda Accord (passed down from Hank’s mother, my great-grandmother) that I’ve driven were largely reliable, I never experienced true thrill behind the wheel. The ’86 Honda holds a very special place in my heart, as it transported me to and from golf tournaments and class; however, I often described it as a “go-cart with metal on top.” I can authoritatively declare that no amount of maneuverability can ever make up for an engine that despises acceleration.
However, this mild-apathy toward cars was radically cured and transformed into car-owner enthusiasm the moment that my dad, after buying his new SHO, bequeathed me his Nissan Altima SER –high performance. This car is super smooth, has leather interior, and is ridiculously FAST. My conversion has been almost immediate. For the first time in my life, I look forward to driving just for the sake of driving. I am now an insider in the world of legendary Josefczyk cars, and I will never be the same. I look forward to the adrenaline rush of cruising down the open road.
Tragically, my uncle Mike died suddenly in 2005 of a heart-attack at the age of 40. God works in mysterious ways, and He faithfully heals our wounds; however, some suffering will not subside until we see Him face to face in Heaven. This terrible loss deeply affected family and friends; however, the Lord has given them strength to remember the wonderful times they enjoyed with Mike and honor his memory. The world, and the car community, lost a great ambassador when Mike passed away, but his influence lives on in our lives.
Around a month ago, my dad drove home in a red 1973 Ford Bronco, completely reconditioned show truck —a classic, truly an awesome ride. My mom thinks the purchase may signal a mid-life crisis, but my dad insists that he bought it because it reminded him of the days when Hank, Mark, Mike, and Matt would work on cars in the family horse barn. More importantly, he bought it because it reminded him of his beloved brother.
Two weeks ago, one of my best friends convinced my dad and I to drive his Bronco up to a weekly car show held across from The Greene in Beavercreek, OH. My grandfather joined us, driving my grandma’s red Thunderbird. As we made the rounds and my dad and grandpa talked shop with other car buffs and aficionados and recalled stories involving cars my grandpa had owned that were represented at the show, I began to realize that this was about much more than fuel-injection and horsepower—this experience revealed and exemplified a bond forged between Josefczyk father, son, and brother several decades ago. I realized that a love for and friendship centered upon cars had increased Hank, Mark, Mike, and Matt’s love for each other, and (as I glanced at the Bronco and thought of my Uncle Mike) held an even greater meaning now that this devotion was a constant vehicle to access memories that united them with Mike.
Additionally, as I reached in my pocket and felt my keys, I quickly recognized that my SER might represent the starting point in me carrying on this legacy once the torch was passed. I experienced joy in knowing that I share in a very special inheritance, one that far transcends the automobiles that ignited it. Further, I look forward to this common bond deepening as I have been allowed a very special opportunity to have my grandfather audit this seminar beside me.

UD Student "Auto" Biography -- Ben Kohntopp and his Roadtrip Adventure

Hi folks -- what follows is the first in a series of student "auto" biographies from my current HST 485 seminar. I tell my students to get out on the road like this is worth more than reading a dozen books on America, particularly if you make a number of stops along the way and talk to genuine folks who live and travel on the road.

Benjamin Kohntopp

Dr. Heitmann

HST 485

3 September 2010

The Long and Winding Road

It’s really quite amazing how multi sensory a simple experience such as sitting in a car can be. The smell of the leather and the ever lingering “new car smell” attack your nose as your eyes feast upon the road ahead of you. All your ears can hear (unless the radio is blaring, of course) is the gentle rumble of the engine as it propels you forward, your fingers gently wrapped around the wheel with a certain sense of pride. This was me a little over a month ago, huddled down in parent’s Honda Ridgeline, rambling past Nebraska’s many cornfields with my destination foremost on my mind. This summer, my friend and I partook on a cross country road trip, starting in Toledo, Ohio (my hometown) and ending in the great city of San Francisco, California. It was by far one of the most memorable things I have done and will ever do; and it is all thanks to that wonderful truck.

She was a new truck, barely broken in, really. She certainly had never had the experience of a cross country road trip. At just three years old, this truck had seen very little outside of the flat fields of Ohio. It was decided well before August (well before July, even) that my friend and I would take the trip, but we were not quite sure where exactly to go or how we were going to get there. It was honestly just a careless idea, a whim that I had thought up at the end of the last year. I had told myself that I would see the Pacific Ocean and I was absolutely determined to see that through. After telling my friend about it, I thought up the idea of travelling across the country, but flying was never an option. We wanted to see this country the way people always have, from the earliest of times. The only difference is that we would be going about 80 miles an hour.

So when the moment came for me to pack up the truck and head out to pick up my friend in Chicago, I was a little bit nervous to say the least. I had never been further west than Illinois and there I was, about to embark on a trip five or six times that length (not including the ride back). Yet when I got in the truck, which was now heavy from all of the goodies I had packed aboard, something happened when I held that steering wheel. I honestly felt power. I felt like I was going on a life changing trip and that there was absolutely no way I could back down now. That smell of leather ran through my nose, and the grip of my hands on the wheel got tighter. I was ready to go.

My first stop was in Naperville, Illinois, which is a town just outside of Chicago. I stayed at my friend’s house for the night and, early the next morning, we were on our way. When I finally got onto I-80 west and saw nothing but road ahead of me, I knew then that this trip was going to be something special. We made our way into Iowa, stopping at the World’s Largest Truck Stop (we just had to stop) and slowly but surely finished the painfully boring trip through Nebraska. We were flying. After a good 14 hours of non-stop driving, something caught my eye. Not so much at first, but as I neared it, I wondered more and more as to what it could be. My first thought was that it was just another highway sign. But then I could finally read it and when I did I nearly swerved off the road with excitement: “WELCOME TO COLORFUL COLORADO”.

Before I describe my experience in Colorado, I would just like to point out that the mountains of Colorado are indescribably beautiful. I remember simply staring at them for the longest time, because in all my sheltered life, I simply had never seen something so beautiful. Luckily, we stayed the night in them, taking a back country camp site after a six mile hike. I will not say that I was sad to leave Colorado, simply because I knew more amazing things were in front of me, but I felt like I was losing something. It was almost like saying goodbye to a friend, someone who had captured my awe and attention for so long that leaving them seemed criminal. Regardless, we roamed onward. After another amazing 14 or 15 hours, we finally arrived at one of the most beautiful skylines I have ever seen. We had arrived in San Francisco, and accomplishing my goal was ever closer. After a short struggle in the downtown traffic, we rested in the hotel for a day or two, all the while seeing the sights that made San Francisco so great. After that, we headed to Santa Cruz, California and the ocean. When we finally arrived I was dumbstruck. I had finally seen it and I could not believe it. We made our way down to the beach and the first thing I did after casting my things aside was to run headlong straight into it. The water was bitterly cold, but I just did not care. I was so happy. I sat in the water with a simple but satisfying sense of great accomplishment. My journey was over.

While my friend and I went further, making our way back home with a few stops in the Grand Canyon and in Denver, nothing compared to the feeling I had while I was sitting in the ocean. I set myself out to do something and I did it, but it was certainly not an easy trip. It had taken about 40 hours of driving to get to that ocean, but it was driving that I was more than happy to do. And in the end, all I can do is thank that Honda truck. I would not have made it anywhere without her.

Kettering, Ohio Cruise-In, September 3, 2010 -- Early Corvettes and More

1956 Corvette tail light. I consider the 1956-62 Corvettes to be the very best. V-8 equipped, but elegant and pure in body design. Few frills, classic designs, more than adequate performance.
Interior of a 1957 Corvette. In my opinion, the aftermarket radio spoils it! Tunes aren't worth the corruption.
Does this Cobra have enough gauges? Set up like a 747. Too much of a good thing can lead to poor aesthetics.
Inside of a 1956 Pontiac, if memory serves me right. Classy and a reflection of the times.