I must have called the guy dozens of times, year after year for more than a decade. It was about a racecar hiding in his garage that few people knew about. It was historic, beautiful, powerful, and definitely worth obsessing over. Trouble was the guy wasn’t a seller. Despite the inoperative nature of the vehicle, no money or approach mattered. It was always a courteous “thanks for calling but no thanks.” After a while the owner became acquainted with my voice and the conversations politely ended before they began. Then, on what would become my final attempt, I heard that horrible recording about his phone being disconnected. And at that point I suppose I gave up.
Years passed and the car fell from the top off my cranial lust-list. It wasn’t that I’d lost interest. Just that other shiny objects had me distracted. The torment associated with this type of long-term automotive longing can be profound, and I have found psychotherapy and medication to be totally ineffective. For me, gradual forgetfulness, a progressive form of amnesia, has always been the very best coping mechanism. Of course there will always be people out there, like my good friend Harold Pace, who take great pleasure in coaxing the memory. In a recent phone call Pace said to me, “I just heard Worth Hill posted his Bocar for sale on Craigslist.” And before I could get to the keyboard Pace added, “And it sold immediately.”
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