“What do you think, sweetheart?” It was nineteen twenty-nine; Doc had driven home from the automobile dealership and helped his pregnant wife sit inside the new car he had purchased that afternoon. He drove her around their neighborhood, trying to give her a feeling for the Ford Model A Tudor. On every street they drove, the same scene repeated itself―kids stopped in the middle of their playing and gawked. They stared in wonder at the vehicle with the shiny black paint, thin red pinstripes, and wheels with bright red spokes and tires sporting wide white walls.

“Oh, darling, it is beautiful! It will be a wonderful way to bring Junior home from the hospital.” A few months later, in early nineteen thirty, Junior was born. After a few days in the hospital, Doc brought his wife and son home in their shiny black car. The proud father drove carefully, a few miles per hour below the speed limit, as the newborn slept in his mother’s arms.

The prosperous times which allowed Doc and countless others to splurge on the purchase of new automobiles came to a screeching halt about the same time the boy was born. The stock market crash at the end of October, nineteen twenty-nine, sparked a rapid decline in the economic well-being of the United States. The hard times and public malaise quickly spread to the rest of the world. Suddenly, a large number of wealthy people were not so well off; a multitude of the lower classes was close to destitute. The policies of President Hoover did nothing to fix the broken economy and the country was quickly mired in a depression.

“Sweetheart, where are you?” Doc was often very tired when he got home; he worked very long hours these days. He was one of the few physicians who’d remained in his small town when so many residents had moved out west seeking better opportunities, and the professional class had followed. His day started early, seeing patients at the hospital. Late mornings and early afternoons, he spent in the office with those who’d booked appointments. Then he made house calls, visiting the ill unable to travel.

“In the kitchen, darling, how was your day?”

“Ah, there you are. It wasn’t bad,” replied Doc as he kissed his wife’s cheek. “I brought you something.” He pulled a wire basket from behind his body and handed it to his wife with a smile on his face.

“Oh, darling, fresh eggs! That is so wonderful. We will have omelets for breakfast tomorrow. I have leftover ham, and there are peppers ready to be picked in the garden.”

The shiny black Ford wasn’t driven very often during the years of the Great Depression. The family watched its money carefully―spending it on gasoline was not a high priority. Many of Doc’s patients were unable to pay in cash: some brought produce from their gardens, others provided eggs or chickens, and a few did odd jobs for the family. The car’s maintenance was provided by one of the town’s mechanics―payment for his medical care.

“Dad, how come you’re taking Melvyn’s tires off?” It was nineteen forty-two and Junior was eleven-years-old. Over the years after his birth, the economic situation in the United States had slowly improved, in part as a result of President Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal policies. The shiny black car had seen more miles roll under it each passing year and the boy had given it a name.

“We’re putting Melvyn in storage for a little while until I return from the war. Since your mom doesn’t know how to drive, it would just sit here unused. The fuel and oil would spoil, the battery would leak acid, and the tires would go flat.” The Japs had bombed Pearl Harbor on December nineteen forty-one; the following day President Roosevelt, wearing a black armband, signed a Declaration of War against Japan. Men all over the country rushed to sign up for the armed forces; Doc enlisted in the Navy. He was leaving home in a week, to serve as the chief medical officer on a new ship sailing from San Diego, California.

“Should I still wash him while you’re gone?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to, Junior. But once in a while, you should remove the cover and dust the inside, so he doesn’t end up with cobwebs.” Doc would have never guessed that within six months, his wife would have learned how to drive. She had the car’s fluids, battery, and tires replaced, and Melvyn was driven around regularly. The car still didn’t accumulate a large number of miles during those years; rationing limited the amount of gasoline people could purchase. Many stored some of their fuel allowance in gas cans, anticipating the need to use their vehicles in an emergency.

Twenty-one months later, a bell chimed at Doc’s home and Junior ran to the front door. A Western Union messenger stood in front of him. His mother, wiping her hands on her apron, came to see who it was. Those hands flew to her mouth, a small gasp escaped her throat, her eyes opened wide, and were soon filled with tears. She knew the presence of that man could only mean one thing.

In a scene repeated across the country countless times, she read the dreaded five words which were the standard opening line in those telegrams: I regret to inform you… Doc’s ship had been hit by a torpedo fired by a Japanese submarine. He had died in the ensuing fire, trying to save the life of a soldier unable to move on his own. Junior sat by his mother’s side as she cried.

“I’ll sit in the back with Mom, Grandpa. I don’t think she should be back there with just Grandma.”

“Let’s have your grandmother sit up front with me then. You’re a good lad, your mother’s lucky to have you with her. She’s going to need you during the service, at the cemetery, and at home, after Grandma and I go home. You’re the man of the house now.”

“I’ll take care of her, I promise.”

The thirteen-year-old boy held his mother’s hand as his Grandfather drove Melvyn. The car that carried the immediate family as Doc was put to rest, became Junior’s obsession. He constantly cleaned and polished the Ford; it still gleamed as bright as the day his father drove it home for the first time. The boy grew up worshipping the memory of his father. Melvyn was a very personal connection to his personal American hero.

In the years following Doc’s death, Junior took absolute possession of the shiny black carriage with the red pinstripes. It was his pride and joy, his link to his father. He learned how to wrench, took care of the car’s engine compartment, kept it clean on the inside, and shining on the outside. It was in the backseat of the Ford he lost his virginity, to some girl who moaned and squealed through it all. Several others followed, including his best friend and teammate on the football team.

They’d gotten hold of a bottle of Jim Beam, driven out to the lake, and drank. Junior was leaving for college in the fall; his buddy was going to become a Marine. They ended up naked and made love.

“Thank you, Junior. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt this would happen.”

“I know, buddy, I could tell every time you looked at me. You’re welcome, but there’s really no need to thank me. We grew up together, we’ve gone to school together, and we played sports together; you’re my best friend. You’re the brother I never had. I love you, and I wanted to do this for you. I enjoyed it because it was you, but it’s not my thing. It won’t happen again. But just because we have different needs, doesn’t mean I love you any less. I’ll be your friend for life.”

They never saw each other again. The Marine was a casualty of the Korean War. Junior wept as his friend was buried. He returned to college with a renewed determination to be the best he could be. He would become a doctor to honor his dead father, and he would enlist in the Army in memory of the father, and the friend.

After high school graduation, Junior drove Melvyn through four years of college, and three of medical school. Weeks after he became a physician, as he was getting ready to begin his residency, the old Ford was part of another milestone in the family’s history. It conveyed Junior and his bride from church ceremony to banquet hall reception. It was also the newlywed couple’s transportation for a weekend honeymoon at a resort in the Adirondack Mountains.

Nine months later, the car was back at the hospital. Trey was born in nineteen fifty-five, Junior was twenty-five, and Melvyn had been part of the family for all those years. The proud father carried his new son in his arms, while a nurse helped the new mother into the front seat of their car. Before he transferred the baby to his wife, Junior introduced the boy and the auto to each other.

“Trey, I want you to meet Melvyn. Your grandfather bought him many years ago, he’s been mine since Dad died, and one day he’ll belong to you.” The infant gurgled as his father spoke; almost as if he could understand what was being said. “Melvyn, this is my son Trey. He’s going to be crawling in and out of you soon enough. I promise to teach him how to take care of you, the same way Dad taught me.”

Although well maintained, and properly taken care of in all manners, the miles were adding up for the old Ford. The new father felt a newer car might be safer to use on a daily basis; he bought a station wagon. Melvyn became the special occasion vehicle. He was present at family celebrations and made appearances at certain social events.

Trey grew up learning how to take care of the shiny black treasure under his father’s guidance, much as Junior had promised. He’d help wash and dry it and would hand his dad tools whenever Junior tinkered under the hood. At some point, the kid took ownership of it; he would tell anyone who’d listen Melvyn was his car.

At the age of ten, in nineteen sixty-five, Trey lost his father in Vietnam. Junior had volunteered to do a tour in Southeast Asia; he wanted to care for injured soldiers, the way his dad had. Weeks after arriving in country, a mama-san, working as an orderly at the hospital, smuggled in a bomb. Men who had survived a bullet on the field died in their hospital beds in Saigon―along with the physician working to heal them.

Once again, the nineteen twenty-nine Ford carried a grieving widow and her young son to a memorial service, and then to the cemetery, where its second owner was buried. A victim of a senseless war in which politicians never allowed the armed forces to win, and which divided the American people. Melvyn was stored in the garage. Trey, now more than ever, claimed the Ford belonged to him. he wouldn’t allow his mother to sell it, or anyone to drive it unless he came along for the ride.

“Of course it’s legal to drive it on the streets. Can’t you see it has a valid license plate?” Trey was sixteen and was told he couldn’t take the test for his driver’s license in the old car. His reply came in an extremely sarcastic tone of voice.

“Young man, you’re not to speak to me in that tone of voice. I’m the one who decides if you get your license or not. I’d suggest you listen to me, and do as you’re told.”

“Ma’am, I’d like to speak to your supervisor.” Growing up without a father, the boy had learned how to assert himself early on. He’d never allowed anyone to bully him, and he wasn’t about to let a pompous civil servant be the first one to do so.

He passed the test with a perfect score. When a year later his mother remarried, it was he who drove the newlyweds from the ceremony to the reception. Beforehand, he had explained to his stepfather-to-be, the car wasn’t available for the honeymoon trip. Trey felt it would add too much wear, and tear. The kid was a force to be reckoned with.

The number of miles Melvyn was driven was never as high with Trey as they had been with his father. He drove it to school sometimes, but mostly he was on his motorcycle. On Homecoming, and Prom nights, the car was a star; all his friends vied for the chance to ride in it. His girl and his two best friends―one with his girlfriend, one with his boyfriend―were the lucky ones on graduation day. The car was not part of his college life, except during vacations; he attended a university on the coast, too far away to drive. He’d come into the garage as soon as he arrived home, take the Ford’s cover off, dust it off, and take it out for a ride.

“I’m glad you and Pop are happy, Mom, but I wish Dad had been here today.”

“I know, Trey, I know. But I’m sure he would have been proud of the man you’ve become.”

It was nineteen seventy-nine, and Trey was marrying his high school sweetheart. For the second time since it rolled off the assembly plant, Melvyn drove off from a church with empty cans tied to its rear bumper. The reception, held at the largest hotel in town, was a big night for the car. Management insisted it be parked in front of the entrance; they wouldn’t allow any of the guys working as valets near it. Being fifty, it was now considered a classic.

Two years later it made the trip from its garage to the hospital and back once again. It brought home the first member of the family’s new generation. His mother had told Trey how his father had introduced the boy and the car to each other. He felt it appropriate to repeat the ritual.

“Four, I’d like you to meet Melvyn. Your great-grandfather bought him many years ago, your grandparents brought me home from the hospital in it, and he’s been mine since Dad died. One day, he’ll belong to you.” The baby’s eyes were open and seemed to look at the father as he spoke; one would have thought he could understand what was being said. “Melvyn, this is my son Four. Much like I did, one day soon he’ll be crawling in and out of you. I promise I’ll teach him how to take care of you, the same way Dad taught me.”

As the years and the miles added up, Melvyn’s use decreased. Trey and Four always took excellent care of it: fluids were changed regularly, belts were replaced at the slightest show of wear, and its interior was reupholstered when small tears first appeared. It was still the go-to car for certain events. In a family that valued heirlooms, Four’s main mode of transportation was his dad’s old fifty-two Panhead. “Dad, I wanna drive Melvyn to school tomorrow, okay?”

“Trying to show off on the first day of class?” Four was about to start his junior year of high school. He was riding the pogo stick of teen hormones. If driving a classic to school helped him get some tail…

“Yup. That and looking to get laid.” His son’s honesty and quick retort made Trey chuckle. Father and son walked together toward the garage; they wanted to make sure all was well with their mechanical family member.

The Ford was driven to school on the first and last day of classes each of the next two years. It was part of the Homecoming Parade, featured in the school’s yearbook, and used as a prop for the football team’s group photograph. The day after Four’s Senior Prom, his father found a pair of lacy pink panties, and a couple of condom wrappers, on the back seat. Trey kept the panties, using them to embarrass his son in subsequent years.

Four went off to college. His life went through many changes while away, but like his father before him, on each trip back home the garage was his first stop. Friends came home with him during some of those breaks, most found riding in the shiny black car a novelty; one thought it was a religious experience. That one came back regularly after his first trip, becoming a fixture in Melvyn’s passenger seat while visiting.

Trey drove the classic beauty to Four’s college graduation. Friends who had visited in the past knew about it, but many others didn’t. They walked around it, stared, and asked permission to sit in it. They had a never-ending number of questions, often asked in respectful hushed tones, while it remained parked in front of the dorms. After the ceremony, after their caps had flown through the air, and after handshakes, hugs, and kisses were exchanged, many of the graduates insisted on having pictures taken in front of Melvyn.

“Hey, Four?”

“Yeah, Dad?

“Do the two of you wanna drive Melvyn home?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!”

Four drove his beautiful old friend home; his parents drove their son’s SUV, with all his possessions in it. The year was two thousand three.

“Morning, Four.”

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” Four turned on the phone’s speaker, placing it on top of the chest of drawers, so he could finish making adjustments in the room. He took one last look around the bright, colorful space, slightly changed the position of the rocking chair his mother had given them, smiled to himself, grabbed the phone again, and walked out of the room.

“What time do you have to be at the hospital?”

“They told me to be there at two, Dad.”

“You going by yourself?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, then come over to the house around eleven; your mom wants to see you before you go, and I’d like to buy you lunch.”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll see you then.”

It was two thousand eleven, it had been eighty-two years since Melvyn rolled off the assembly plant, Trey was fifty-six, and Four was thirty years old.

“Thanks for lunch, Dad. And thanks for bringing Melvyn out, I’d not driven him in a while.”

“I thought today was a good day for the old man to go out for a ride, and the right day to do this.” Trey smiled at his son as he took an envelope from his jacket, and handed it to Four.

“What’s this?

“That, my son, is the title to Melvyn Ford. He now belongs to the two of you. I had some work done on it; there’s now an infant seat properly installed in the back. Your mom and I felt our grandson should leave the hospital in the same vehicle you and I did. I’ll catch a cab back home, while you go pick up Jared Allan Ramsay V. You need to bring Quint over, so we can see him for a few minutes. Then you take him home, to his other father.”