Originally posted by Bob Henning
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Yes,I did read it all.
And am violating my own policy of responding to negative threads.
But the highlighted sentence means a lot to me.
I remember 1971. ......Like it was yesterday.
Was in high school... Lost my dad the year before...
My best friend's dad painted my dad's (now mine) bondo'd '61 Hawk in his front yard (Blaze red lacquer with plenty of orange peel).
My high school car friend and I wanted to go to the SDC Int'l meet.
Heck, I didn't even know where South Bend was.... We left after school and my part time job at a gas station at 9:00pm.
Rolled into South Bend (or we thought it was South Bend) after midnight.
Asked where the Studebaker meet was. Nobody knew... Stopped at the Farmer's Market, dragged out a couple of pallets, and crawled into our sleeping bags... dog tired.
Were awakened at 5am before sunup to the sound of farmers trucks pulling in with produce. Got some strange looks..
Drove around looking for anything Studebaker meet related. Couple motels had letters up on their billboard signs.
Made a couple wrong turns and went down some side streets... People actually jeered us and a couple of rocks were thrown at us. How welcoming!
Finally found SASCO and it was heaven. Six stories of digging through stuff. And me with only $45 in cash and needing gas to get home.
Bought some goodies. Found a motel that had Stude's in the parking lot. Went to the back of the parking lot and stretched a hammock out between two tree's.
Slept great that night until the T-storms rolled in, and then found out how a Hawk is not a great camper for two guys.
Found the show grounds and had a great time. Memories seared into my feeble brain....even 45 years later...
Flash forward to today...
I find it embarrassing to see the only rocks getting thrown now are NOT from the South Bend people, but from our very own club members.
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