Dreams Work

All the way home it felt unreal. All those months saving, planning, hoping this would happen. It wasn't easy, the times had been difficult. As they drove along they snuggled, their warmth reinforcing their happiness. A life thermometer. In this cocoon, they just felt wonderful. This was their first major financial decision in their short married life. Such a cost, such an accomplishment. But this is what they wanted. The dreams of tomorrow buffer the expenses of today. For them, it was more than a new car, it was a statement, symbolizing their success together. The Depression gave very little room for enjoyment. Now cruising along, they were somebody and something. The year was 1941; their automobile a Dodge Luxury Liner sedan. Little did they realize how life would change in just a few

1941 Dodge Fluid Drive Luxury Liner sedan, one family owner. Memories and love insured this car's survival.

months. After Pearl Harbor, the automotive industry would have no time to build such magnificent cars. Tanks and airplanes would set the stage. When the war finally ended, so too did yesterday's lifestyle, dramatically. Still, they kept the car, pampering it, loving it, cherishing those earlier feelings forever. In 1944, they welcomed another member to their family, a son. As time passed, the Luxury Liner would take on proportions far beyond steel and chrome. Seventy-six years later, the simple story evolved into powerful memories, extending into their son's generation, guaranteeing survival of the automobile.

What is this thing called love?

Love is a strong emotion, outweighing all others. It pushes us to extremes, adds an extra step to our walk, turns clouds into sunshine, winter into spring, and lasts a lifetime, and longer. Love wears many faces: for a country, among friends, within a family. Love is resilient yet fragile like the monarch butterfly who migrates thousands of miles each year, but if caught in your hand, can easily damage. But the greatest love is between a man and a woman as their union creates a gift not just for them, but for the human species as well - a baby. Here love transcends death, tidbits of DNA tucked neatly into each arriving generation. We feel the moment in every smile, hug, and kiss, all bundled into the warmth of a newborn. It is the symphony of life. When the cheering fades, and accolades cease, love will still exist. It is a gift of eternal covenant.

Patek, Philippe & Co. 18k yellow gold pocket watch, # 880695. You never actually own a Patek Philippe, you merely look after it for the next generation. An ad campaign steeped in DNA.

The Tell-Tale Sign

The house didn't need a street number. Google Maps was useless. In fact, no directions were required beyond the street name. The gentleman lived alone without a woman in the home for years...were the only words we needed to hear. Abandoned cars, unpainted siding, cracked windows, the house pretty much stood out in the neighborhood. The narrow pathway through the rooms, an unrecognizable kitchen, every bed and bathtub crammed with oddities, were screaming signals for help. If there is no close family, the situation compounds. We worked our way through each room, separating the wheat from the chaff, until we discovered a door and short staircase down into the basement garage. Dimly lit, the sunlight unable to penetrate the dirty windows, the labyrinth contained something that caught our eye. A familiar shape tucked under a tired canvas sat in the garage bay. We stepped over and around the debris strewn everywhere, then reaching the shape, ever so slowly peeled back the cheap suit and there, underneath was an amazing discovery. Covered in dirt, its wide white wall tires flat from fatigue, sat the 1941 Luxury Liner. A quick glance at the antique auto license plate told us this car had never been forgotten, just simply parked when life abandoned living.

The car was simply parked...when life abandoned living.

We're off to see the Wizard

Ron Thompson has a gift. Given enough polish and a large enough jack, he could have the Titanic topside and gleaming...in a week. We have watched him for years return forgotten antiques to their original luster. Our auction gallery landscaping is the result of his keen eye. Let me see what I can do with the car were his only words. First a taillight appeared, sparkling, then a chrome strip, glistening. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the Dodge re-emerged from its hibernation. Inside, he peeled off the tired seat covers, wiped down the dashboard, and vacuumed the floor mats. His work was methodical, meticulous, and magical. We stood back in amazement. The car looked...well...new. We glanced skyward nervously for any errant Japanese Zeros. Does it run? The number one question. Without the ignition key we never pushed

Full plate ambrotype, souvenir of Niagara Falls, ca. 1850-55.
Long before the Dodge Luxury Liner was a glimmer in an automotive designer's eye (16).

forward. To attempt the task without a good mechanic would do far more damage than the passage of time. It had been driven into the garage and there it has remained until our arrival. All in good time, my little pretty, all in good time.

The High and the Mighty

King Nebuchadnezzar and Emperor Shah Jahan had one common trait: the overwhelming love for their respective wives. The former is believed to have built the Seven Wonders of the World's Hanging Gardens of Babylon for his Queen Amytis; the latter constructed the Taj Mahal mausoleum for his favorite wife Mumtaz Mahal. Wealthy individuals have such an advantage. The rest of us make do with a piece of jewelry, a favorite book, photographs. What we stumbled upon in this garage was as effective as any tomb or edifice. Here, so carefully protected, was this son's love for his parents through the automobile they shared. His legacy was this lasting memory of them, such is the trickery of emotion. As humans, we grasp anything to retrieve that which is lost. It is how we cope with loss. Finality has no equal. You may laugh at such reasoning but...

Love is a many Splendored Thing

On a business appointment to a Victorian home, this writer walked upstairs with an extended family in tow. Down the hallway we headed. Stopping at a closed bedroom door, they asked me to go in. Carefully turning the knob, brilliant sunlight met me as I stepped into a beautiful room. Around me were all of the trappings of a life well-lived. Gloves on the dresser, a crochet bedspread, massive mahogany furniture. It was a time capsule frozen in the Edwardian Age. I turned around and was startled by the family gathered around the door jamb, but still standing in the hallway. They all shifted nervously. You're not coming in? I asked. We never enter Grandma's room. She never allows us. The present tense was glaring. Noting a wicker suitcase deposited bedside, I inquired to its meaning. Oh that, every summer she vacations in Lake George. The morning she was leaving she died. An uncomfortable silence. Not in this room certainly or she'd still be here. I interjected. Silence. Not a glimmer of humor. And when was that?

Fern I. Coppedge (1883-1951), oil on Russell canvas board, Bucks County Grist Mill, New Hope, PA, 12" x 12" (505).