By
Marty PadgettMarty Padgett, June 30th, 2005
I owe my car life to two men. And when one of them left us today, I kept his Duesenberg and his
Rolls-Royce. Last Friday my sister called. She doesn't call at 10 in the morning. So before I took the phone, I made a checklist - gas up the
Honda, put my black suit in its bag, don't forget my long socks. In an hour, she was ready too, and we drove back home to Washington for the funeral that had been a long time coming. My grandfather, William Grove, didn't just love cars. He was part of the car life in America. His grandfather puddled steel in Pittsburgh and at 70, moved to Detroit to build cars. His father was a taxi driver and, when he was...
I owe my car life to two men. And when one of them left us today, I kept his Duesenberg and his Rolls-Royce. Last Friday my sister called. She doesn't call at 10 in the morning. So before I took the phone, I made a checklist - gas up the Honda, put my black suit in its bag, don't forget my long socks. In an hour, she was ready too, and we drove back home to Washington for the funeral that had been a long time coming. My grandfather, William Grove, didn't just love cars. He was part of the car life in America. His grandfather puddled steel in Pittsburgh and at 70, moved to Detroit to build cars. His father was a taxi driver and, when he was...
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