Conversations With People We Value #10
In 2017 I had written a piece for Hemmings.com that celebrated the half century of experiences associated with owning the same 1961 Corvette. It had generated a large number of thoughtful responses. However, none packed the impact of one that would come three years later.
A classic Corvette and a soldier’s old letters connect to a kid brother’s memories

In late July of this year I got an email from friend and Hemmings editor Mark McCourt. He alerted me to a comment that had just been posted to my three-year old story about the 1961 Corvette I had owned since 1967. Normal practice does not have an editor alert a writer about a posted comment.
Reading the comment took my breath away. It’s author was the “kid brother” of a dear friend who had passed away some years ago. The post stated:
“Mr. Hall, my name is John O’Brien. My late brother Maury O’Brien, one of your good friends, used to tell us that you meticulously cared for this car. I’m a car guy and it makes me feel good knowing that a car like that is still being driven and not just a trailer queen! I’d love to see it in person sometime. Feel free to contact me anytime. My cell # is (— ——). Your kind words and funny stories @ Maury’s funeral were very helpful during a difficult time! God bless you and your family!
Maury O’Brien and I had attended high school together. He possessed a wry sense of humor, great athleticism and a gifted eye as a photographer. Our mutual interest in all things photographic would seal our long friendship.
My Corvette made all our road trips a better adventure. With the top down and Wonderbar tube radio doing its best, we made countless trips to the Jersey Shore. On a slow day, we would target anyplace offering a good excuse to run some film through our Nikons.
Maury passed away in 2007 leaving behind a legion of friends and relatives who mourned his passing and celebrated his life. They still do.
John was Maury’s youngest brother, eleven years his junior. When John answered my phone call his voice carried a strong memory of his brother. We talked. We laughed. By the end of the call it was agreed that I would drive my Corvette to his house, certainly doable in an afternoon. He said that we would be joined by Maury’s two other brothers Vince and Gene and John’s 30-year old son, John, who had enjoyed a special relationship with his now departed uncle. They would come from even greater distances. His other brothers had been my friends though not as close as Maury. We had lost touch over the decades.

With John O’Brien
Even for those who have shared their lives together as caring siblings, when one passes, those remaining acquire a ready hunger for details. Somehow new memories in some small way rekindle the freshness of that life as if it still continues to be lived.
Beyond just my car I realized that I needed to bring more. I knew where to look, dusty as it might be. I save old letters.
Personal letters are the messengers of history, possessing great value for loved ones and future generations. I treasure letters. Those I possess include letters authored by a distant relative who wrote on his experiences in “Kansas Bloody Kansas” in the 1850s and the lessons learned during his life prior to and during the Civil War. I have, also, kept Maury’s letters from Vietnam written in the late 1960s.
Each letter provided four or five pages of casual but well composed
reports in his voice from the engine room of the southeast Asia war machine. Their content expressed details all at once funny, intensely personal and profound in their worldly perspective.
On a beautiful bright and crisp autumn day, the O’Brien brothers and I gathered at a local restaurant. I immediately recognized old friends viewed through a filter of passing years. We toasted Maury and each in attendance did their best to compress decades of lives well lived into bite size chunks for easy group consumption.
Oldest brother Vince’s effort to recollect sports cars he had owned afforded a perfect segue into introducing Maury’s letters from Vietnam in 1969. In one letter Maury had mentioned Vince’s recent purchase of a 1968 Corvette.
Maury’s letters possessed a signature rhythm and pace. Casual references to friends and events in our hometown and requests for the latest local news would be supplemented with accounts of personal events in his life occurring beneath the tumult of a huge war. He expressed delight at the availability of Nikon camera equipment for roughly half what it would cost back home.
His observations of the world around him in 1969 are worth quoting. He wrote, “I find it hard to believe these people (South Vietnamese) are in a great period of national strife. Life goes on the same for them except the males are donning a uniform and the women work at the army base. They do not appear to know the why and the how of this war. I feel only pity for them. The only hope for a finish to this stupid thing will be an increase in pressure in North Vietnam to bring this thing to an end. At that point and that point only will the peace talks become fruitful.”
Every letter would concludes with an honest expression of need for written contact from home.
The day after meeting with Maury’s brothers I received a note from John. He wrote, “Hey Burton, thanks again for bringing the car up and sharing the letters. If you find any more letters, please let me know. My wife and I got kind of emotional reading the letters again last night. Maury was a Very Special Man! The connection between you, Maury, and that car is forever!
Clearly, both classic cars and personal letters provide vehicles capable of transporting us to good places.


icturesque ribbon of highway, Route 742 weaved through the rural Piedmont region of North Carolina. My personal directional instincts fortified by happenstance, hope and blind luck (We don’t need no stinkin’ GPS) had once again struck pay dirt.
of tangible relics saved from long ago. Affixed to the gate a large “For Sale” sign offered a number for anyone interested. Driving on with this treasure trove of who-knows-what disappearing behind us, we both looked at each other and said, “Let’s call.” By the time we got back to the gate it was open.
Approaching us with an easy gate, a full bodied man, an avuncular sort greeted us with a friendly welcome delivered with that unhurried regional tone of the Southeast that reminds one that it’s not New Jersey. He introduced himself as Mike Hinson. With a neatly trimmed beard, and a neighborly smile, Mike with his wide brimmed hat and clean bib overalls presented an image of a proprietor rather than a laborer.
, “They must have spent a full eight hours here to get the 10 minutes of film they ultimately wanted.” Mike really enjoyed working with Mike Wolfe. “Appearing on American Pickers gave me the best advertising in the world and it did not cost me a penny,” says Mike.


are bone jarringly violent and louder than you would expect. All of a sudden it gets real, very real,” says Tom. Lori recalls, “walking in, I was cool with it.” Then the announcer called attention to someone lining up another car for a violent rear bumper to mid-ship T-bone special. Ooooh, ooooh, BOOM! Then she realized “that’s my son’s car,” She says, “On the video you could hear me screaming.”

I lunge forward and hit my alleged teammate. I immediately get nailed on the side and my battery breaks free from its mooring. With my ignition hot-wired, the loose battery rips of the wire to the ignition. I initially did not realize why my Honda would not start. Finally I find the problem. As I fumble to reattach the wire my hands are shaking as sparks shock my finger tips. Throwing my gloves off, I finally attached the wire. I figure, what the hell. I slam my foot to the floor and look for something to hit. The first car I see, I smash nose first. My target had an “old school” heavy bumper. I did more damage to my car than my target. My Honda’s plastic front literally disintegrates. If you watch the video you see people laughing in the background. I am learning.”





Bunny interviewing and supervision clearly qualified as woman’s work performed by the Playboy Club Bunny Mother. At that time at Great Gorge, Bunny Mother and former Bunny Sandra Schiffer ruled the hutch and made the decisions. Years later Ms. Schiffer’s daughter would follow in her mother’s Bunny tracks as a Playboy Bunny. At the interview a Bunny Mother selected from a large number of applicants with an eye to proportions and confidence that those chosen would maintain the Bunny image of the doe-eyed, adrenaline generating girl-next-door with lady-like discretion and the iron will of a Buckingham Palace Guard.
accessory. The day moved on till our work was done. I thanked them for their time, effort and grace.


, does anyone else find it curious when seeing solo drivers motoring along wearing face masks? Just sayin’.
ver, while formal events have vanished from the schedule, casual gatherings seem to be popping up like mushrooms on a dead log. This drive being one small example. For the participants, the drive served up a delicious slice of “driving with friends.”














If, when aimed to where the exhaust manifold outlets meet the head, the temperature of one outlet exceeds the others by one hundred degrees or more it could indicate a mis-adjusted valve, a burned valve or a lean cylinder caused by a malfunctioning injector. Being M-B exclusive Larry has a mastery of the idiosyncrasies and nuances of the vintage models in which he specializes. Together with his “intuitive wizardry” he often divines high probability problems before really attempting any invasive procedure.



Lately stories have been exchanged with other men and women, friends and strangers describing their “dog of my life.” If the stories are told in past tense regardless of the teller’s stern countenance, sand gets in their eyes. If the stories are in present tense, accompanying the joy comes a universal acknowledgment of how lucky they are and the immense respect they have for their canine partner.
“Georgie was a special soul. A gentle, intelligent and beautiful girl. Her generous happy spirit was contagious as she shared her joy and kindness. She was a unique being with an almost saintly energy. You were blessed with the love and time you all had together. She changed your lives. Her goodness lives within you.”












