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We gave the usual answers about size, economy, agility, fun, and basic simple though sophisticated design. We then left the lodge, drove to the tower for photos and gave Ms. Mullins a ride in Ben's GT and in my MGA, for as it turned out she had never ridden in the cars she writes about. As we posed and joked about the Cornhusker Corvette Club meeting over the bank as we heard some goose hunters attempting to bag their prey, the question kept coming back. Why these particular cars? I continued to ponder the question as I drove the curves on Highway 66 near Ashland at speed to shake the Lincoln Continental who had chosen to fasten himself to my rear bumper, on the drive back to Lincoln and back into the country around the Salt Valley Watershed lakes as Martha and I enjoyed the beautiful autumn weather. There is no real logical answer that I can choose above all others. There are only snippets of memories and feelings that do not leave with time, emotional affect which may start to explain why these particular cars. Part of the reason may have to do with memories of my father, P. Clyde Shaw. Dad had always wanted a T series M.G. He had a number of fun cars, |
including a '55 Studebaker Commander Coupe and a '73 Cougar XR7 with a 351 Cleveland power plant, but save for an old Midget he had inherited from my brother that he was going to restore "someday" he never owned a sportscar. He was delighted when I called home from the University of Nebraska to inform him I had chosen a '63 MGB to replace the '61 TR3 we had purchased from my uncle, and which had met a bad end after my brother and my car had come into contact with a bridge abutment while trying to avoid a cow. Dad loved my M.G. If I left the keys in the car on a visit home, not a dangerous practice on a ranch in South Central Nebraska, it would dissappear. It would come home a bit later, covered in mud after having spent some time in powerslides in a hayfield along Buffalo Creek. But Dad was all grins and, I swear, the car was running better than before the old man had been behind the wheel. He helped me paint that car, recover the seats, replace the front wheel bearings (they were the same Timkin bearings as used in a Massey Ferguson hay bailer) and rebuild the engine. Dad didn't try to discourage me a few years later when I decided to trade the MG for a Camaro. But he often smiled when he referred to the '63 B. |
 Maybe a part of it is the fun that Martha and I had rebuilding the A early in our relationship. We put the engine together at the ranch on weekends, and used a tractor loader to drop the engine back into the car. That was Martha's car for a while and it went into the country with her on photo safaris. The memory of Martha's hair in the wind, a smell of gasoline, oil, and leather, and the sound of the engine shrieking are so precious that I cannot imagine being without the A. There was a dalliance with a Porsche 912 about this time, but somehow the Porche just did not seem as honest as the M.G. About the only thing the Porsche had to offer was the comfort of a closed GT, and snob appeal. But neither of us thought that we had the wherewithal to be considered among the fancy people, so that advantage did not wear well. And we had a chance to drive an MGB GT, with which we both fell in love. |
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