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Teenage boys fell hopelessly in love with tail-finned, pastel-colored, mechanized pieces art in the 1950’s, the honeymoon of the American car culture. The caress of the large diameter steering wheel of a mid-fifties automobile released an infusion of freedom and...

I was just five years old when I learned to shift for myself. Somehow I’d won the rare privilege of riding in the front seat of our 1952 Mercury with Mom and Dad. The long couch-like front seat stretched from door to door, soft coil-springs covered in scratchy wool...

The rhythmic hum of car tires on a brick street can be as therapeutic as rain on a tin roof, particularly as it echoes off stately Victorian homes set back just enough to allow old shade trees to soften the clatter and cool the air.  The Village of Bremen still...