I saw the black shiny car in its perfectly renovated state driving down San Vicente in Brentwood. That car is an old friend, I thought for a second. This new tricked-out version brought me straight back to the late 1950’s when I was first introduced to it.
I was driving and it was hard to concentrate on both the road and the flood of memories at the same time. I was holding back tears when I lowered my window to yell to the new owner, “Hey, that’s my car!” Well, not technically mine anymore, but it was my mother’s, we had it my ENTIRE life. I miss that car and I’m sorry I never drove it. The new owner convinced me he is taking very good care of it and loves it. For years, I kept harboring that sedan in various garages where I lived.
Most people get to inherit small, valuable items, like rings. Not me. I got the beloved, vintage Mercedes. It had only one owner and that was my mother.
I was still a child when our Mercedes Benz came from the dealership to our parking spot; a day I will never forget. It was 1959. I was six years old. That vehicle holds more sentimental value to me than any ring.
The car represented freedom and independence for my mother. She was out there, struggling on her own and it would be the first and maybe last big purchase of her life. A huge, in-the-tabloids battle raged over a red Cadillac convertible during my parents’ divorce. The newspapers claimed that Evelyn Duke, divorcing producer Maurice Duke, had received the car as a gift to match her red hair. She didn’t get it in the settlement. (more…)
