He claimed to be the caretaker, not the owner. . .

As I crested the mountain, a smile spread across my face. Not because my knees had survived the steep grade to the top of the Norris Dam overlook in Rocky Top, Tennessee, but because of what I saw. It was an old, old car with a pristine blacker-than-black paint job so polished I could see myself in the reflection. After parking my bike, I approached the presumed owner sitting on a bench, taking in the view.

            “Hi! Is that yours?” I said, gesturing to the antique behind him.

            “Yes.” The man sitting with a woman about the same age said. “Well, technically, I’m the caretaker, but that’s a long story.”

            “I love to hear stories. That is one beautiful car! What year is it?”

            “It’s a ’37 Oldsmobile.”

            “Unbelievable! Can you tell me about it? I’m Joy, by the way.” I said, extending my hand as he stood.

            “Dana. And this is my wife, Denise.” He said, nodding toward the woman as he gripped my hand. “Been married 56 years. High school sweethearts. . . Yes. Every old car has a story. My neighbor bought it from his cancer doctor. We rode all over the place in it. When Bob died, his kids didn’t want it. They knew how much I loved it, so they gave it to me.” Dana’s voice cracked and he apologized for wiping a tear.

            “Oh my. That’s a story alright.”

            “Yeah. I’ve had it since 2015, and I still get choked up when I think about Bob and his kids. We were more than just neighbors. I promised his kids I’d take care of it. Got it painted, but I’ve left the interior. It’s all original. Come look. In fact, why don’t you sit in it? I’ll take your picture.”

Ten minutes later, a newcomer interrupted our talk and photo shoot with questions of his own. As Dana felt compelled to respond, I thanked him for bringing me such joy and dismissed myself.

I’ve kicked myself for not exchanging contact information, but that’s how life goes sometimes. Maybe one day Dana will stumble across this story and discover he gave me more joy than I could give him.

I found joy that day, not in reaching a pinnacle, but in hearing the story of an old car and its caretaker. Got an old car story? I’d love to hear it.

Thanks for being a part of this journey!

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Joy M. Walker