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Late fall 1986 found Valentina Taylor’s United Nations Estonian Dance Team including a strapping Jack Oja boarding a flight from New York’s JFK Airport to Finland’s Helsinki Airport. It represented the first and by far the longest leg of an official U.N. mission to Estonia and a surreptitious collaboration to return Mihkel Oja home. Sharing the same flight would be John Taylor’s Lamont-Doherty geological research team, sponsored by Estonian state-owned energy company, Eesti Energia. Part of Taylor’s research team would be Technical Specialist “Mike” Oja. Once in Helsinki a ferry ride to Tallinn, capital of Estonia would complete one journey and commence a clandestine second.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 14 – The Beautiful Beast Poised at the Threshold of Discovery)

Helsinki Ferry

FINLAND 1986

Pudgy with a few days growth, a squinty eyed round faced man well into his cups stumbled towards Valentina as the ferryboat pitched. Jack quietly sensing a potentially unpleasant turn of events repositioned his sturdy frame between her and the approaching and severely listing celebrant. Upon contact with Jack, the squinty eyed man slurred his apologies to Jack, patted him on the chest and shambled off.

Mikhail Gorbachev

Old and tired the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn moaned and creaked. Both Valentina’s and John’s groups retreated to quiet corners in a best attempt to keep a low profile. It proved a greater challenge than one might expect. A large dank open space packed to the gills like a subway car afforded far too many opportunities to meet inebriated Baltic And Scandinavian  passengers up close and personal. Truly the last thing both groups needed would be some public spectacle drawing the attention of authorities. If all went as planned Valentina’s U.N. credentials and history with the Estonian authorities and John’s government approved pedigree would hopefully speed passage through customs. With Mikhail Gorbachev’s elevation to Soviet Premier a subtle yet discernible loosening of the great Russian bear’s grip had been felt in Estonia. Valentina’s dance team had been welcomed the prior year. John as head of the geological research team enjoyed the favor of Estonian officialdom. His success would be their success. Since the 1960s, Estonia had been the largest oil shale producer and consumer in the world. In the 1980s, Estonia accounted for close to two-thirds of the world’s oil shale production. John’s expertise dovetailed with the efficient discovery and development of shale resources. The recently introduced Estonian technical publication, Oil Shale had written glowingly of John and his research team.

ESTONIA 1986

The scene upon arrival at Tallinn did not comfort the Americans. Long lines trailed back from custom’s check points. The stony tension made everyone, even the most innocent grandmother, project a scent of guilty nervousness. The two teams from the United States were not immune. Dour uniformed Soviet soldiers functioning as border guards opened every bag and every pocket in every purse. Everyone received a form requiring the declaration of anything of value being brought into the country. John claimed his Compaq Deskpro 386 computer that contained his research notes. John would forget to claim the $20,000 secreted in his secure computer travel case. The cash could be useful in any effort to get Mihkel’s father out of the country. Soldiers in grey uniforms carrying serious weapons stood everywhere. No one smiled. Sweat gathered on the brows of Americans slowly yielding to the mounting stress of their circumstances.

The mounting pressure and terror gathering in the cluster of Americans vaporized as a man and woman both in depressingly styleless official garb emerged from the tangle of travelers and troops. Incongruously, considering the sterile and severe surroundings, they waved and smiled in approaching to welcome the Americans. Far more genial than their attire would imply, they directed the two groups away from the customs assembly lines to an anteroom. Native Estonians rather than Soviet transplants, both the man and woman expressed a genuine joy to welcome the returning UN representative, Ms. Taylor and the “very smart” Dr. John Taylor.

As a courtesy the traveler’s luggage would be taken to the hotel. John apologized for being a quirky scientist but asked that he keep his computer with him because of its important contents. Everyone understood, or thought they did.

Hotel Viru

Tallinn from a distance on the Helsinki ferry presented a charming view featuring the majestic towers of the old town and the churches. However, driving through Tallinn on the way to the hotel presented a city decidedly grey, dirty and sad. Both groups would initially be housed in the Hotel Viru. For the group, entering the hotel with its dark paneled walls felt like walking into the 1960s. However, for Estonia the Hotel Viru served as a showplace for visitors that provided a level of food and service basically unavailable to the people of Estonia. It also provided women on the lobby of every floor whose job consisted of keeping track of who came and went. Secret spaces located between pairs of hotel rooms facilitated government agents’ ability to observe occupants’ actions and conversations. As past visits had educated Valentina as to the intense scrutiny, everyone in her group understood the game.

Soviet Police electronic eavesdropping facility at top floor of Hotel Viru

As a small but proud nation Estonia suffered greatly under the Soviet efforts to destroy their culture and character. Understandably little love loss existed between the native Estonians and the occupying Soviets. For Estonians attuned to the informal but powerful network connecting trusted family members and friends, much could be accomplished below the awareness of the Soviet oppressors. As a daughter of respected and trusted Estonians Valentina was dialed in, respected and trusted.

As a UN diplomat Valentina enjoyed a level of officially approved freedom that when combined with Estonian family loyalties created a level of access and influence possessed by few. A savvy and skilled diplomat, she discretely began working the levers of influence and the power of the American dollar. She walked past the native Estonian watcher on her floor as the woman averted her gaze while bending for an extended period of time to secure the American $20 bill in her purse. Valentina exited the hotel together with Jack to meet her equally savvy husband John accompanied by Mihkel. John and Mihkel waited in an Eesti Energia company vehicle. Quickly, the four departed. Destination the Oja farm. Though over 40 years had passed since last here, much had not changed. Mihkel knew the way.

Moskvitch sedan

A thundering silence surrounded the four passengers as the car approached its destination. Son Jack had never seen his father Mihkel so deep inside himself. Mihkel simply clenched his heart and soul as prepared to return to a life and place once familiar, then lost; and now, what? His mother gone and his father? Mihkel could not even grasp the inconceivable moment about to reveal itself. He began to choke up inside. His heart could not wait to get there while his body sat paralyzed by the thought. The familiar house and barn yard appeared. A few horse drawn wagons and a faded Moskvitch 4-door sedan populated the barn yard.

Voices could be heard inside. Enlisting all of the fortitude that had carried him through life’s travails to this point, Mihkel knocked on the door. The room went quiet. With a neutral but firm timber, a voice called out questioning who knocked. At this point, not caring who would hear whether friend or Soviet foe he answered, “Mihkel, Jaak Oja’s son. I am here to see my father.” With a sharp creak the door flew open. Astonished faces embraced the man as he entered the room. Seated in a rocking chair by a fireplace a slender, elderly but not frail man gasped and with the gravelly voice of age uttered, “My son.”

Tears rolled freely from all eyes in the room. Heads shook in disbelief. Myriad questions first poised on the tips of tongues suddenly seemed unnecessary. All present had been captured by the power of the moment, by the return, as if from the dead, of “their” Mihkel. Everyone cried and laughed and sang and hugged. Oh how hard they hugged. Mihkel could not have timed his return better. In Estonia, especially communist Estonia, family is everything. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces had made a routine of stopping in to keep Jaak company since Ann had passed. Today would have been her birthday so everyone had come to celebrate her life. Many in the room had yet to be born when Mihkel had fled his homeland. He quickly became aware that while he did not know everyone in the room. They all knew him. His father, Jaak, had for decades made sure. All in the family revered the brave and patriotic son of Jaak Oja. They all grew up listening to Jaak’s stories of his son’s heroic efforts in the cause of Estonian independence. Jaak had ensured that Mihkel’s rightful place in the family ranks had been established and preserved.

As the day too swiftly drew to a close Valentina and John knew they had to return to town before their power to disappear suffered challenge. They had established cover stories for their respective team members who would spend the night at the Oja farm in a joyous celebration of family. Into the wee hours Mihkel and son established family bonds of trust and love that would last many lifetimes. Jaak spoke honestly and openly of his hatred for the occupying Soviets. He could speak so openly because all present were family members. All there held an allegiance to the Oja family blood line that knew no limits when surreptitiously challenging their Soviet oppressors.

For a week, every minute that could be stolen from a their “cover story responsibilities” day found father, son and grandson reliving the Estonian life together they had missed. Jack spoke of Estonian independence. He dreamed of a time where with the Russians gone, there could be a trade school when young Estonian boys and girls could learn the technical skills needed to bring an independent Estonia back to life. Mihkel recalled warm memories of his mother. Jaak spoke of the bountiful love they shared that warmed the sturdy farm house he still called home. But for Jaak home had lost its heart. He had lost his Ann. While the joy of being reunited with his son and meeting his grandson helped to mask the pain of losing Ann it could not cure it.

Late into the night as the fire burned low, Jaak confessed to Mihkel that despite the wretched Russians, his time on earth had been blessed because of his wife, Ann. He confided that he, now, ached for nothing more than to be reunited with her. Jaak shared a wistful smile that conveyed both an inner peace and a welcome acceptance of his soon to be granted wish. Jaak apologized to Mihkel for feeling so deeply tired. Mihkel reached out as Jaak made a weary effort to rise from his chair. Mihkel braced Jaak as they both shuffled towards the bedroom. At the bedroom doorway entrance Jaak turned to Mihkel. He flashed a smile brimming with the triumphant satisfaction of an underdog’s hard earned victory. Placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, Jaak promised to reveal a surprise the next day that would become Jaak’s to keep. When Mihkel asked what, Jaak simply grinned slyly and told him that “the Elephant was still in the barn.” He then hugged his son with a loving firmness that conveyed all the missed hugs of the past 40 years. Jaak turned and retreated to bed. The scuffing of slippers on the wooden floor the only sound.

UKRAINE, 1986

Tanned and carefree Yuri Petrov returned from his Black Sea adventure on the “Russian Riviera” at Yalta. He dropped his suitcase on the bed. Checking his answering machine, he heard the voice of his Aunt Yvonne Smirnov in France. He would return her call, just not right now.

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Like a large and complex gear train slowly picking up speed, events, forces and lives in America had been set into motion by the death of Ann Oja. Four thousand miles to the east local family and friends gathered at the rural Oja farm east of Tallinn, Estonia to comfort, Jaak, her husband of 68 years whom they all loved dearly. For most in attendance change of a profound nature approached just beyond the visible horizon. No one could see it coming.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 13- Return to a Heart of Darkness)

Estonian Forest Brothers

ESTONIA 1986

Unknown to the world, the 7^th Royale radiated a glorious presence with lines that bore the signature of Jean Bugatti’s unique genius. His creative gifts seasoned through years of inspired expression had manifested itself in ever greater iconic automobile designs through the 1930s. The 7^th Royale capped a brilliant body of work sadly cut short by the young Bugatti’s untimely death. The sculpted lines penned by Bugatti imparted a breathtaking visual expression of motion, power and elegance. The Royale’s velvet smooth 12.7-liter 400 plus horsepower 8-cyl. engine stamped an equally resounding exclamation point with performance capabilities that did the incomparable aesthetics justice. For almost half a century this Olympian masterpiece had stood stoically in silence and darkness under an accumulating blanket of fine dust.

As he had for almost half a century, Jaak Oja, now stooped and bearing a veil of grief, slipped past the barn’s false rear wall to dutifully minister a dose of oil to the eight cylinders of his beautiful beast. With the loss of his beloved wife Ann, Jaak felt the imminence of approaching change. He saw no better plan than to wait for it to come.

NEW JERSEY 1986

News of his mother, Ann Oja’s, death savaged areas in Mihkel’s heart and soul possessing no capability for defense. Like a cruel mind game, death had ripped a scab off emotions Mihkel had long repressed. It had abruptly brought to the forefront of his mind his beloved mother. Then, just as suddenly, ripped her away with cruel finality. Further adding to his sorrow, Mihkel had to face the question of what about his elderly and, now, widowed father?

Though sealed off from Estonia by the Soviet Iron Curtain of the post WWII years, Mihkel had exerted his best efforts to stay connected with his parents. Letters bland enough to be read by the oppressive Soviet KGB censors without incident could be exchanged. At times, packages sent from America bearing what appeared to be scraps and basic necessities would reach the Oja farm. Always the soul numbing Soviet repression hung over all exchanges like a toxic cloud. Mihkel knew that with his mother’s passing his father’s time would surely be near. Now, for Mihkel it was Soviet oppression be damned. He had to see his father, but how?

ESTONIA 1945

In one of those serendipitous circles of life, the means for returning Mihkel to his father’s Estonian farm had its roots anchored in the painful past of WWII Soviet deportation of native Estonians. During the war years Juri Varnik, Mihkel’s boyhood friend, had become one of the many thousands of valiant Estonian men known as the “Forest Brothers.” These Estonian patriots had armed themselves and blended into the dense Estonian forests. From there, as a powerful guerrilla force, they attacked occupying Soviet troops. Towards the war’s end Juri had been part of a “Forest Brothers” scouting unit that had set upon a Soviet truck convoy. Each truck with its canvas top drumming in the wind was carrying Estonian women and children to a local railhead. There east bound freight trains encircled by a malevolent cloud of locomotive smoke, snorts, hisses, and haunting whistles impatiently waited. Upon arrival these terror struck bewildered women and children would be squeezed into freight cars destined for Siberian gulags and, most likely, death. Freed by the Forest Brothers’ deadly assault, the women and children fled in all directions. Amidst the horror and chaos a beautiful though fleeting encounter changed the lives of two young Estonians and in so doing rippled through lives of loved ones decades later.

Train to Soviet Gulag

Fleeing into the forest a distance from the railhead, young “Forest Brother” Juri Varnik helped one of the freed women, Katariina Jakobson find shelter. Not yet twenty, Katariina, a bright and comely seamstress harbored beautiful dreams despite the presently ugly world surrounding her. Katariina shared her dreams with Juri. Mesmerized he would sit attentively as she spoke. The rich poetry of her words and gentle voice cast a spell to which Juri joyfully succumbed. He marveled at the wisdom, insight and passion for someone so young…and beautiful.

Though only knowing each other for a handful of days in this happenstance encounter of 1945, the young Estonian couple knew they had found love. Their love would last, their time together would not. While fetching water in a nearby stream Katariina encountered Soviet guards. Concerned by her failure to return, Juri, following her trail, saw her, under guard and being returned to the railhead. In an act of ultimate love and sacrifice, Juri dispatched the two guards and with a final kiss hid Katariina on a west bound train heading to what he hoped would be an allied “Displaced Persons Camp”. He then distracted approaching Soviet guards and led them away in chase. Katariina never saw him again nor ever learned of his fate. She always hoped for one thing but knew another. Nine months later in early 1946, Katariina gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom she named Valentina Varnik.

UKRAINE 1986

Leonid Brezhnev’s 1973 Lincoln Towncar

Even for a member of the Soviet hierarchy, life had been especially good for Colonel Yuri Petrov. With his patron Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev holding the reins of power for 18 years, Petrov developed a political momentum that carried him in grand style through the years following Brezhnev’s death in 1982. In the later 1970s as the Premier had sunk into an alcohol and drug fed haze, the great care Petrov exhibited in overseeing Brezhnev’s significant car collection and personal needs earned Petrov handsome rewards such as his 200-acre country estate in the Ukraine. This wooded retreat near the Black Sea afforded an ideal setting for driving the classic cars he had collected. Many of his cars had been skillfully extracted from the Brezhnev Collection while leaving no record of their disappearance. Other vintage vehicles had been added during numerous classic car search trips to wealthy venues outside of the Soviet Union. Petrov, in deftly employing the skills and connections honed in his service to Brezhnev endeared himself to other influential Russians possessing a comparable appetite for the “good things” in life.

On one trip that took him to France, he visited an elderly aunt, Yvonne Smirnov. She lived near the old Bugatti factory where she had worked as an office manager before WWII. In the midst of an idle conversion with his elderly aunt, Petrov snapped to when she recalled some big fancy secret high speed custom Bugatti and some nosey journalist who had come to ask questions about it. She apologized for her bad memory and for forgetting exactly where up north it had been shipped. She then drifted off to other stories and mourned the death of Mr. Bugatti’s lovely son. Petrov, however, could never free his mind of the possible existence of a mystery high performance custom Bugatti that disappeared just before WWII.

NEW JERSEY 1986

Mihkel had reached out to share the news of his mother’s passing with his best friend Ed Sikes. Ed, after leaving the service in the 1970s, had delighted Mihkel by choosing to open a business in nearby Greenwich, Connecticut. A savvy businessman who knew what he liked, Ed utilized his global contacts to launch a business that specialized in brokering the sale of vintage aircraft, primarily military and vintage luxury cars. He operated out of a renovated Cadillac dealership from the 1930s. He along with fellow local visionaries and WWII veterans Ed Jurist (Vintage Car Store in Nyack, NY) and Bob Grossman (Foreign Cars of Rockland in West Nyack, NY) served a marketplace comprised of knowledgeable collectors possessing considerable disposable income. Ed came from money and continued to attract it in his adult years. As Mihkel hung up the phone a vibrant blonde burst through the door.

“Hello Uncle Naali”. The bright and joyful voice came from one Valentina Varnik Taylor. She loved to use his sobriquet from his WWII exploits. Blonde, athletic and pretty, Valentina did not so much command a room when entering; more so, the room seemed to happily yield to her presence. As she sashayed into Mihkel’s office no one could foresee the pivotal role she would play in Mihkel’s return to the Oja farm and his father.

Katariina Varnik with young daughter Valentina had migrated to America in 1948. As a gifted seamstress she established a business in Englewood New Jersey, just across the George Washington Bridge from New York City. She soon gained renown for both bespoke women’s fashion and custom drapery.

Young Valentina had made many influential connections through her mother’s clientele. Now 40-year old, Valentina held a respected position at the United Nations in New York City as a multi-lingual translator, with Estonian and Russian languages among her fluencies. She also served as a member of the diplomatic corps. Her work focused on the Scandinavian and Baltic nations. As a pastime, Valentina’s passion for and mastery of Estonian Folk dance afforded her the opportunity to visit and immerse herself in the birthplace and culture of her parents. Interestingly, it would prove to play a critical role in facilitating Mihkel’s return home.

Happily  married, Valentina’s husband John Taylor, a geologist by education and trade, worked at the nearby renowned Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory. Much of his time, however, demanded conducting on-site research involving the significant oil and gas reserves in and around the Baltic nations. His work had created the opportunity to meet Valentina at a United Nations conference.

Apple 1984 TV ad

Shortly after relocating to New Jersey in 1965 Mihkel and Beth had attended a local Lutheran church with a appreciable membership with Estonian roots. It did not take long for the Oja and Varnik families to discover their bond. Thus, by sheer happenstance the life lines of old Estonian boyhood friends Mihkel and Juri reconnected at the spot marked by Valentina. Over the years Valentina had embraced Mihkel and Beth as her uncle and aunt. Both loved her like their own. They thought she looked just like the spirited blonde runner throwing the sledgehammer in the iconic Apple Mactintosh “1984” Super Bowl ad.

Mihkel shared with Valentina the news of his mother’s death and the imperative need for him to return to Estonia. In a blink her ebullient mood turned focused and task oriented. Clearly, Mihkel had enlisted the wholehearted support of one who would be a most wily, tough and resourceful co-conspirator. Mihkel with a tone of quiet reflection instructed all present to give thought to the challenge at hand. Valentina mentioned that with Mikhail Gorbachev now ruling the USSR and louder calls for self determination rumbling throughout the Soviet Union, some sensed the Iron Curtain around Estonia gaining a certain porosity.

A few days later Mihkel, wife Beth, son Jack, Valentina and husband John Taylor gathered at the hand hewn dinner table at Mihkel’s house. Son Jack spoke first. A wrestler while at Purdue University earning a degree in Mechanical Engineering, Jack, at six feet two inches and 210 pounds looked like a living action figure. Jack would be your guy if seeking the  archetype for “the strong silent type.” Standing tall at the table he simply stated that considering the fluidity of world events, returning his father to Estonia would not be a question of if but how. In speaking next, Valentina bearing an unusually impish expression explained how she and husband John had evaluated the resources at Mihkel’s disposal and flushed out an idea. She then turned to Jack and asked if he liked to dance.

In the next few weeks a plan took shape. The international credentials of Valentina through her U.N. cultural exchange dance activities and husband John’s work involving the Estonian fracking fields could both provide cover for penetrating what appeared to be an increasingly permeable Estonian border security. Valentina had a number of times traveled to Estonia to reintroduce the traditional native Estonian folk dances that had been purged from the Estonian culture during the height of the Soviet occupation. Her passion, perfection and personality would ensure a warm  welcomed back. She thought Jack could more easily gain entry as part of her dance team. Jack while not enthused accepted his place in the plan. He made clear he would do anything for his father and the grandfather he had never met. Geologist John’s plan provided for Mihkel to be a technician on his research team. As the fruits of John’s work served to attract hard currency to Estonia, the presence of his team served everyone’s interest including the occupying Soviets. Late fall saw the two teams under cover of their professional guises depart America as separate and independent operations.

Ukraine 1986

The phone rang at the bedside of Yuri Petrov. Not there to answer, Petrov could be found luxuriating with a few well compensated and endowed companions on the fantail of a 174 ft. custom built Benetti yacht. Petrov basked in the sun as he sailed across the Black Sea to Yalta for a vacation on the Russian Riviera. The trip? A thank you gift to Petrov for facilitating the yacht owner’s purchase of a state owned oil company. Petrov wanted for nothing except for more of everything.

The answering machine clicked on. The raspy voice of Yvonne Smirnov, Petrov’s elderly aunt and one time Bugatti office manager could be heard. She said to give her a call. The machine clicked off.

War blazes in Europe. Scandinavia quakes under threats of Nazi invasion. Soviet armies march into Finland. Seeking to escape the deadly whirlwind stirred by Soviet troops to the east and Nazi forces to the west, Estonian freedom fighter Mihkel “Arctic Fox” Oja and American pilot Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes must flee the frozen battlefield. Both had volunteered to fight for Finland against the Soviets in the Winter War. Now they must retreat from the onrushing and victorious Soviet forces. Powered by Mihkel’s team of strong willed sled dogs they will brave the frozen hell of the Arctic Circle in a last ditch effort to reach neutral Sweden and avoid certain capture and, most assuredly, death. Then, in making their escape a downed allied bomber would change their lives.

With survival dominating his thoughts, Mihkel harbors no recollection of his father’s, tale of a dead Romanian playboy’s Bugatti abandoned at the Oja farm in rural Estonia.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 2 (Episode 12 – Two Heroes’ Dramatic and Divergent Paths to Freedom)

Balto Alaska rescue mission

KIRUNA, SWEDEN 1940

The fateful events surrounding the rescue of the allied Bristol Bomber air crew triggered startlingly unforeseen and profound opportunities for both Ed and Mihkel.

In their brief time together at the frozen airfield in Kiruna Sweden, Ed and Arctic flying legend Bernt Balchen had developed a bond that would last a lifetime. Ed had accepted Balchen’s invitation to join his team that supported the early British war effort by ferrying airplanes to England. Then, in the summer of 1941, Balchen joined the United States Army Air Force as a colonel and accepted the responsibility of overseeing construction of a major Air Force base in Greenland. At Col. Balchen’s urging and with the colonel’s personal recommendation Ed enlisted in the USAAF and in a few months become the youngest American pilot in the European theater. When America went to war Col. Balchen included Ed in the rescue air team responsible for a litany of dramatic, high risk rescue missions of allied fliers downed in the frozen arctic wilderness. Through the war years Ed flew fighters, bombers and PBY Catalina rescue sea planes. He served as one of the first pilots to test helicopters in battle conditions. Ed “Wonderfalk” served his country and its allies for decades. By way of his unflinching courage, brilliant airmanship, selfless sacrifice and relentless good spirits he earned respect, admiration and undying friendships on multiple continents.

As to the Fox and Hounds, Mihkel’s exploits gained significant recognition, certainly among those Swedes responsible for supporting the national efforts to protect the Swedish nation. He enjoyed significant government support for a facility that trained mushers and skilled dog teams capable of delivering supplies and conducting rescue missions. Mihkel named his training facility “Balto Alaska.” It honored the world’s most famous sled dog who had become an American national hero after leading the team that delivered desperately needed diphtheria serum to Nome, Alaska in 1925. The Alaska part paid tribute to a distant land that filled Mihkel’s dreams. He envisioned it as a glorious place where people lived in freedom and loved sled dogs.

ZWICKAU, GERMANY 1945

Auto Union Silver Arrow

By the end of WWII Yuri Petrov had solidified his place as a member of Leonid Brezhnev’s inner circle. As a trusted subordinate, Petrov could not believe how fate had smiled on him. Orders from Brezhnev took him to Zwickau, Germany, the site of the Auto Union factory and the location of the stored Grand Prix Silver Arrow cars of 1939. Petrov knew Brezhnev had a thing for fast cars but, now, he truly understood the extent of Brezhnev’s interest. Petrov insinuated himself into the process of shipping the Silver Arrows back to Russia for study. One evening he stole into the warehouse to actually sit in one of the 12-cylinder silver  brutes waiting for shipment. With his hands grasping the wheel he became in his imagination one of the racing gods of the Grand Prix circuit. Seated in silence and shadows he wondered, had the great Nuvolari sat where he now sat? He allowed himself to dream. Touching that Silver Arrow ignited a passion that would only build as the years passed.

SWEDEN  1945

The tumultuous war years provided a canvas upon which both Ed and Mihkel sketched lives both fulfilling yet unsettled. When the clouds of war cleared in 1945, it brought relief accompanied by a great awakening in Mihkel. With Estonia firmly in Soviet hands, he began serious consideration of where he could build a life. He wanted to leave Europe. He dreamed of coming to America but dreaming does not make it so. And what would he do with his beloved dog team? He continued his life in Sweden training dogs and developing the mechanical and metal fabrication skills inherited from his father.

P-38 Lightning

During his war years in Sweden he and his team often received the call to locate and rescue downed airmen. He always preferred saving allied fliers. However, when called upon to save Nazi or Soviet airman he found that many were only too happy to have escaped the service of their dictator led homelands. Whether allied or Nazi, Mihkel would query every flier to unearth any news of Ed “Wonderfalk.” Many allied fliers had heard of him though few had any specifics.” One American pilot’s colorful comments made Mihkel laugh because he had no doubt of its truth. The pilot had no idea of Ed’s present whereabouts but he told Mihkel, “That boy can fly and wherever he is, he’s causing a shit load of trouble for the Germans.”

Downed German pilots who knew of “Wonderfalk” while not laudatory in their comments expressed a grudging respect. In piecing together bits of stories from both allied and German airman, Mihkel had assembled one apparently true story that unmistakably bore the mark of Ed “Wonderfalk.” In summer of 1943 three American P-38 “Lightening” twin engine high speed fighters surreptitiously undertook a long distance and blisteringly quick strafing of Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest “Summit of Power” positioned high above the town of Berchtesgaden. The attack much like the Doolittle raid over Tokyo accomplished little structural damage if any. Rather, the bold strike succeeded in delivering a message of vulnerability to Hitler on his doorstep. Mihkel thought the attack screamed of classic Wonderfalk. He would not be wrong.

Years passed producing a dull sense of sameness for Mihkel. It deepened his hunger for change. He got snippets of information indicating his parents were alive and still on the farm but with the Soviet occupation no means existed for him to see them. He dreamed of America. Sometimes dreams come true.

SWEDEN 1948

Ed “Wonderfalk Sikes strode confidently into the Balto Alaska office. Having grown into full manhood, now trim, poised and sharp in his Air Force uniform he threw both arms around a surprised and stunned Mihkel. Mihkel’s faltering efforts to ask a multitude of questions simultaneous devolved into the two men simply embracing. Ed spoke of how Col. Balchen after the war had been recalled to active duty and assigned to command the 10th Rescue Squadron in Alaska. Col. Balchen assigned Ed the responsibility of Chief of Rescue Operations. Ed described both the beauty and freedom found in Alaska. He also explained Col. Balchen’s considerable influence with The Alaskan Territorial Court System. The Court had the responsibility for processing immigration documents for individuals living in Alaska and wishing to be American citizens. Ed would be returning there. Then came the kicker. Ed asked if Mihkel would like to become an American citizen. Mihkel burst with excitement, an excitement that just as quickly extinguished. What about his sled dogs? Ed’s Response sealed the deal. As long as a vet certified their health, the Hounds could accompany the Fox.

DNEPROPETROVSK, UKRAINE 1948

In 1948 Brezhnev returned to his Ukrainian home town of Dnepropetrovsk to be the regional first party secretary. Accompanying Brezhnev, Petrov clung by his side like a pilot fish hugging its host shark. The comparison came much closer to reality than analogy. Petrov hung close to protect Brezhnev from political parasites while Brezhnev’s political power protected Petrov from bigger fish in the carnivorous Soviet political pond.

Nineteen fifty saw Brezhnev promoted and sent to Romania tasked with Sovietizing the population of the recently conquered country. While in Romania Petrov became acquainted with the stories of the Antonescu family wealth and their love affair with exotic cars. These stories represented but one dot of interesting information for the Soviet car enthusiast. Petrov, however, did not yet have enough dots to draw a line back to Estonia.

ALASKA, 1956

Since setting foot in Alaska in 1949, Mihkel had established himself as a respected participant in local sled dog racing. He found the skill level of competitive Alaskan mushers extremely high. That said, while never winning the prestigious NAC race, North American Championship, (The Indy 500 of dog sledding) he consistently placed high despite the advancing age of his dog team. The shared love and loyalty that existed between Mihkel and his team shaped his life in Alaska. In the early 1950s his beloved dogs began to pass. By 1956 none remained. Racing without his team no longer gave him the same joy. While a charter member of the Alaska Dog Musher’s Association, Mihkel stopped competing. By the mid-1950s his gift for mechanical troubleshooting and especially for metal fabrication had begun earning him a reputation that had spread beyond Alaska.

With the retirement of Colonel Balchen in 1955, Ed chose to leave the Air Force as well. He had been spoiled by Col. Balchen’s excellence and did not wish to answer to anyone less. He joined up with some WWII Air Force buddies who had started an air freight business called Flying Tiger Line. He flew routes all over the world including Alaska. The face-to-face opportunities it provided tightened the bond of friendship with Mihkel.

Around that time Ed, while in town, had reached out to introduced Mihkel to a longtime friend from back east named Johnny Santucci. Ed had met Johnny, whose real first name was Gianni, through Flying Tiger. Johnny, a WWII veteran and a hard working and savvy man of means, had earned his wealth and stature in the global shipping business. A widower, he had his 25-year old daughter Beth accompanying him. A free-spirited outdoorswoman and a bit of an adventurer herself, she wanted to experience the NAC dog sled race. Ed thought Mihkel would be the perfect guide. Apparently so did Beth. By Christmas 1956, Beth and Mihkel had married, set up a home in Anchorage and started a family with the addition of a son, Jack, named in honor of Mihkel’s father. Mihkel’s business grew quickly. So did young son Jack who spent most free hours at his father’s side honing the craft and creative skills found aplenty in the Oja gene pool. For the young Oja family, as the early rock band the “Crew Cuts” sang in 1954,  “Life is but a dream,” until it was not. It fell apart on March 27^th 1964.

Anchorage earthquake 1964

On that date the largest earthquake in the history of the United States, measuring a 9.2 on the Richter scale, and the second largest on record in the world hit Anchorage at 5:36 pm Alaska time. A land mass of roughly 46,000 square miles pitched up; in some places over 80 feet. Tsunamis swept down the west coast sweeping villages out to sea. The main street of Anchorage collapsed 20 feet into the earth. Locomotives were tossed up hillsides. For all intents and purposes Anchorage, as people knew it had been demolished. So, too, had the life built by Mihkel and Beth Oja.

ESTONIA 1964

Bitter at the communists for their decades of lies, oppression and treachery, 64-year old Jaak Oja gained his only solace from his loving wife, Ann; his tight knit community and the priceless secret hiding in his barn.

The communists had promised a better, richer life. Save for the Soviet apparatchiks ruling Jaak’s country, as with all other countries under the communist fist, the promise of a better life ranked as one of the greatest frauds perpetrated on mankind. Buoyed by the loved ones around him and his once a month visit behind the false wall in his barn with his oil can, Jaak Oja, more than most, found peace in a life lived under the communist’s radar.

NORTHVALE, NEW JERSEY USA 1964

Mihkel’s family had lost everything, his business, their home and most belongings. When Beth’s father, Johnny, suggested Mihkel move his family near Johnny’s home in Northern New Jersey it seemed a life altering but undeniably correct decision. With Mihkel’s English well polished from his time in the states, he could even tell jokes, as he did in accepting Johnny’s invitation by declaring that for he and wife Beth, earth-shaking experiences were nothing new.

NORTHVALE, NEW JERSEY USA 1986

Bob Seger’s new single “Like a rock” blasted out of the approaching 1979 Dodge Li’l Red Express pickup truck. It rumbled to a stop respectfully distanced from a 1984 Blue Metallic Porsche 911 Carrera Coupe. The two vehicles enjoyed significant company in the form of thoroughbred foreign cars of the performance kind and muscular domestic iron. The assemblage parked facing the workshop represented a broad range of vintages.

Low and handsome the workshop’s fascia and interior featured a handsome execution of stone and barn wood harvested from the fast disappearing local area farms. A cowboy boot emerged from the customer’s red hotrod pickup. Jack Oja flashed a thumbs up to his dad, Mihkel, seated inside his office.

Having left behind the earthquake savaged home of his auto specialty shop in Anchorage, Alaska, Mihkel with family in tow arrived in Northern New Jersey in 1965 with a dream and a plan. His new business, Fox and Hounds Performance Services would target discerning aficionados of high end performance vehicles.

Mihkel’s Thirty-year old son Jack filled the front door as he entered the shop. Earlier, when he had left to road test the truck, it seemed like just another fine late summer day at Fox and Hounds Performance. Now, entering the office and seeing his father, Jack sensed something wrong, very wrong. Jack just stared silently and waited. Mihkel, now 66-years old, seemed frozen. His elbows rested on his desk to steady the clenched weathered hands supporting his chin. His gaze vacant, a telegram hung down captive in his grip. The news? Mihkel’s mother Ann Oja had died. His parents seemingly timeless and indestructible family unit had been shattered leaving his father Jaak a widower. Mihkel knew the Soviets could have long memories, he also knew he would have to return home to Estonia.

Secreted away in his family’s barn in rural Estonia, the priceless Bugatti had not even crossed Mihkel Oja’s mind since he fled the pre-WWII turmoil gripping his Estonian homeland. It would remain a forgotten fact, now, as he fled from victorious Soviet occupation forces overrunning eastern Finland. With the Soviet/Finnish Winter War ended and Soviet power in ascendancy the prospects for he and fellow teenage warrior Ed Sikes loomed as dark and foreboding at best. Both had volunteered to fight for Finland against the, now victorious, Soviets. At this point, their only hope, in the bitter winter of 1940, resided in the ability of Mihkel’s 12 iron willed sled dogs to deliver the two young but hardened warriors to safety in neutral Sweden.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale  (Part 2, Episode 11 – A Wounded Bird Points the Way)

Wounded Bristol Blenheim bomber

LAPLAND, FINLAND 1940

Even as the dark smoke from the wounded British Bristol Blenheim bomber’s starboard engine hung in the frozen arctic air Mihkel knew his plan to reach Kiruna, Sweden had been profoundly altered. What Mihkel could not know was how this single event would impact his life’s path for all his years to come.

Just as he had felt compelled to rescue “Wonderfalk” when learning of Ed’s downing in the Finnish wilderness; so too Mihkel could not bear to turn away knowing that one or more of the wounded bomber’s air crew might have survived. Stranded and ill-equipped in a frozen wilderness and subject to Lapland’s deadly winter, anyone still alive stood little chance if not located quickly. Mihkel understood immediately what he had to do. He also knew he would have to do it alone. He tasked Ed with continuing on to Kiruna to rally more support. Ed’s success in his mission would come to play a vital role; one that that would shape his own future as well.

Andres Turi

Mihkel and Ed had quickly devised a rescue plan. With the sled already outfitted with provisions for the intended run to Kiruna, Mihkel, the master woodsman and musher, could turn his team north without delay. Ed, with the willing support of Andres Turi a Sami veteran of the Winter War, would continue the journey towards Kiruna via Andres’ reindeer sled. As soon as possible Ed would seek to connect with people willing and capable of supporting any success Mihkel’s immediate rescue efforts might achieve. Such resources might also be enlisted to aid the two young warriors long term plans for an escape to freedom. In short order Ed and Mihkel bid each other “safe journey” with an implicit understanding that they would reconnect in a matter of weeks if not days.

The acrid smell and soot that had rained down from the wayward bomber’s burning engine corrupted the pristine arctic air. It provided an olfactory foot print that Mihkel, with all his senses on full alert, relied on to help track the crippled plane’s flight path.

During a needed rest for his hard driving dogs, Mihkel momentarily relaxed finding himself lost in wonder as he viewed a spectacular “northern lights” display dancing across a crystal clear, star filled and brutally cold night sky. Contemplating the confluence of such beauty in a world experiencing such horror quickly exceeded his ability for personal reflection. A dog barking snapped his focus back to the immediate danger he faced. The call of a great Grey Owl had caught the barking dog’s attention.

Snapped tree tops made the distant ridgeline resemble a lower jaw with a tooth knocked out. Mihkel mushed the dogs to full stride, his ever more frenetic approach to the damaged trees revealed the source of the knockout punch. Pieces of airplane embedded themselves in the thick snow cover. Mihkel recognized a sheet metal shard torn from an engine cowling. Peaking the ridge he saw it. At rest in a large open field bordering a frozen lake. The plane’s shredded tail twisted grotesquely up and away from the plane’s fuselage. Its wings splayed wide and lifeless like a felled bird. A dark broad smudge extended from the starboard engine. A patch of snowless ground showed where an intense fire had melted the surrounding snow before the frozen resting place sucked the life out of the fire. As Mihkel approached the wreckage, a man’s halting hollow voice uttered two words, “Thank God.”

KIRUNA, SWEDEN 1940

With the bearing, savvy and stance of a battle tested winter warrior, which he was, Sami war veteran Andres Turi had delivered Ed to a frozen airfield on the distant outskirts of the Kiruna iron mines. The Swedes there initially did not know what to make of Ed this brash young American with Andres the indigenous chauffeur. However, being an airfield, it did not take long for the English speaking Swedes to grasp the situation and embrace the notorious Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes. There in their presence, stood Mr. “Death from above” in the flesh. While warmed by the welcome, Ed stayed on point. He set about prepping a rescue effort. In so doing he quickly became aware of the presence of a living legend and America’s greatest Arctic flight operations expert: Colonel Bernt Balchen a Norwegian by birth. Balchen had served as the pilot for several of the greatest polar adventures in human history including the Amundesen-Ellsworth-Nobile Polar Expedition, Admiral Byrd’s flight across the Atlantic and piloting the first airplane to fly across the South Pole. Ed felt awed but never veered from his focus on Mihkel. He worried about his dear friend, but then he would reassure himself by thinking, “Mihkel most certainly must have earned the nickname Arctic Fox for a reason.”

LAPLAND FINLAND 1940

At the crash site Mihkel had found all three crew members alive. Some barely so, with two, the pilot and navigator, in rough shape. The third, the gunner, suffered a broken leg as the worst of his injuries. The crew had been flying a reconnaissance mission for a planned allied assault on Nazi forces positioned near the Norwegian coastal town of Narvik. This Norwegian harbor town would soon be the stage for a bloody land and sea tug-of-war between the allied and Nazi forces with victory slipping from the grasp of one side, then to the other and then back again. At last, victory came to rest in the tight grip of the Germans. Antiaircraft fire from a Nazi destroyer in the harbor took out the Bristol’s starboard engine. Too far from home the pilot had to bring it down, preferably over land. Heading east the rugged terrain did not provide any attractive opportunities until gravity made the decision for him.

While the plane’s fuselage provided some shelter and Mihkel’s presence and provisions elevated the crew’s spirits, Mihkel faced a devil’s choice as to how to evacuate the men, considering their injuries. As Mihkel pondered his poor choice of options the gunner startled him by loudly bemoaning his disappointment that the aircraft’s radio had been damaged. Mihkel snapped to. Radios had always fascinated him. So much so that as a child he would take them apart to see how they worked. Making a beeline to the cockpit, He climbed through the twisted wreckage to the instruments and the radio. Mihkel recognized the standard T1082 transmitter. Mihkel smiled.

ESTONIA 1940

Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev

Young lieutenant Yuri Petrov, though not considered remarkable in the performance of his duties, had no shortcomings when it came to personal ambition. However, in all honesty, when it came to personal attributes, he could take no credit for his single greatest asset, that being his place of birth. Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine did not exactly roll off the tongue, but it did claim as a native son one Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev. By 1936 the thirty-year old Brezhnev as a passionate pro-Stalinist had survived the bloody 1930s Soviet “Great Terror” purges. Recognized as a suitable candidate for the ranks of the Communist hierarchy, Brezhnev rose through those ranks quite quickly. During the early years of Brezhnev’s ascension he took a liking to a very solicitous young officer from the same hometown. Being that young officer, Petrov used his Brezhnev connection to transfer from the Estonian woods to the Transcaucasian Front as a direct report to Political Commissar Brezhnev.

Lenin’s 1922 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost

By the 1960s, Brezhnev would have risen to the leadership of the USSR. Then like many Soviet leaders past and present, Brezhnev enjoyed extensive privilege. For example, Vladimir Lenin, leader of the Bolshevik Peoples’ Revolution against the elite and rich, loved big expensive luxury cars. He rode in a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost chauffeured by Adolphe Kegresse, the deposed Tsar Nicholas II’s personal driver. Petrov quickly became attuned to Brezhnev’s tastes. He displayed skill at providing luxury vehicles, secretaries and nurses. All to serve the needs of Brezhnev when Brezhnev took a respite at one of his free villas, beach houses, and hunting and drinking parties. Over the subsequent years Brezhnev cultivated Petrov as a capable and attentive administrator for addressing Brezhnev’s interests which increasingly involved unique and luxurious automobiles.

KIRUNA, SWEDEN 1940

The young apple cheeked Swedish airman blew open the hangar office door aided by a stiff gust of frigid arctic air. The slamming impact of the runaway door on a file cabinet jarred Ed from an intense conversation with Balchen. The young Swede’s breathless message met with great huzzas. Mihkel had radioed in confirming that he had located the crash site. Even better, all crew members had survived. However, their precarious state put them in desperate need of evacuation.

Consolidated PBY Catalina

Col. Balchen spun back from the door, turned to Ed and uttered two words, “Let’s go!” that would change the trajectory of Ed’s life. A twin engine Consolidated PBY Catalina warmed in a hangar as Ed scrambled in preparation to fly with a legend. Airborne, Balchen startled Ed by suggesting that “Wonderfalk” assume the controls. Clearly, Balchen had taken to the young American pilot. Without hesitation Ed took over. As if born to fly the multi-engine PBY Catalina, a hyper-vigilant Ed cruised the rugged snow cover landscape with the directional guidance Mihkel had provided. With the help of a blazing signal fire below, Ed spotted the crash site. Clearly, Balchen had been so impressed by something he saw in the young pilot that he chose to be bet his life on it. Pointing to the frozen lake, he turned to Ed and told him to “put ‘er down.” Ed caught his breath then locked on to the job at hand. He banked, turned and set the PBY down like a baby on a bassinette. At this moment Ed understood the stage upon which his life would be lived.

Though the PBY seated seven and a pilot, the need for additional space to accommodate the compromised condition of the three air crew members left Ed with the short straw. No worries. Certainly, there would be no room with the “Fox and Hounds.” For Mihkel, he had anticipated insufficient space for transporting his team and sled. For Ed he savored the thought of returning to his role as dog sled co-pilot.

Two days later the Fox, twelve happy hounds and Wonderfalk entered the air field grounds. Quonset huts disgorged cheering men with fur hoods and steaming breath delivering a hero’s welcome. Gloved hands clapped the sledder’s backs. Calls for celebratory drinks filled the cold air. Of course, Mihkel’s drink would have to wait. Twelve valiant dogs needed to be fed and loved up. The dogs basked in the warmth of blankets and Mihkel’s heartfelt affection.

ESTONIA 1940

As snow gently fell across the open family farm yard, Jaak Oja sat quietly in his rustic country kitchen warmed by a blazing wood fire. His wife Ann quietly occupied herself in another room stitching the sturdy work pants he had snagged on a nail. He savored a cup of strong black coffee as he quietly thought. The simple and hard life of an Estonian farmer did not so much appeal to Jaak Oja, as much as it met his needs. He entertained no alternative to this the only life he had ever known. While he personally did not aspire to greatness, he did have dreams. At night before falling to sleep he would envision the day when he learned his independence loving son Mihkel had escaped to freedom and lived a family life of love and abundance. This dream, shared with his wife Ann served to cement their close and loving marriage.

While accepting of the peasant life he lived, Jaak, also comfortably accepted his circumstances as the beneficiary of an unbelievable twist of fate in the face of stifling Soviet oppression. Jaak the Estonian peasant had been left in possession of what could well be the most visually compelling, desirable and valuable car in the world, a custom race-prepped Bugatti Royale; that is, should anyone discover his secret. But no one had as it remained protected by Jaak’s stubborn silence and a camouflaged hideaway on his farm. As the steam rose from his coffee cup Jaak tilted back his head, closed his eyes, thought of Mihkel and allowed his mind to wander to a better place.

KIRUNA, SWEDEN 1940

The wood fire crackled in the Quonset hut fireplace as its flickering golden light danced across the faces of Ed and Mihkel. They had talked. Now, they sat quietly. Mihkel and Ed had forged a bond of friendship that would endure regardless of what tomorrow would bring. And tomorrow had a lot in store for them.

A stiff bitter cold wind buffeted their creaking hut.

February 1940 saw the signing of the Moscow Peace Treaty that ended the Winter War between the Soviets and Finland. However, unlike the war, Finland’s punishing unrelenting bitter winter continued unabated. An uneasy peace hung in the frigid Baltic air. Fueling a blanketing dread, a great gathering storm malevolently churned on the horizon. The near future seemed explosively ripe and ready to unleash what seemed an inevitable whirlwind of death and destruction. All knew peace stood no chance. None more so than two freedom fighters revered in Finland but foreign to that frozen land. Brothers in arms, both keenly sensed the rapidly shrinking window available for their escape from an ever tightening Nazi/Soviet vice.

Neither yet 21-years old, Estonian Mihkel Oja and American Ed Sikes, possessed many friends but no roots in the gallant Finnish land for which they had fought. Like the jagged bitter cold that pierced their flesh, the prospects of the coming apocalypse shredded their sense of well being. Neither possessed a sliver of doubt as to their future. Their only hope would reside in fleeing the forests of Finland, NOW!

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 2 (Episode 10 – Harrowing Escape into an Unknown Future)

FINLAND 1940

With the changing political climate and boiling clouds of war, every minute Mihkel and Ed remained in Finland hardened their shared ominous sense of imminent doom. Neither could dispel haunting thoughts of a tightening noose about to choke off any means of escape. Tomorrow they would be gone. As they stood together overlooking a map of the Scandinavian countries, Mihkel’s finger pointed to a town in the north of neutral Sweden. “Kiruna,” said Mihkel. He had pinned their hopes on reaching a Swedish mining town in the Arctic Circle.

Mihkel believed escaping to Sweden offered the best opportunity to avoid capture by the Soviets and most likely death. And in all honesty Sweden presented the only apparent opportunity offering any chance of success. In its favor, Sweden had declared itself neutral in the blossoming global conflict. As well, by being a willing trading partner with Germany, Sweden lessened its attractiveness to the Nazi’s as a subject of occupation. Mihkel also took heart in Sweden’s treatment of Allied air crews forced to land crippled aircraft in Sweden. Crewmen while not permitted to leave Sweden had free reign to explore the country and interact with the Swedish people. To the delight of downed airmen that included Swedish women. Other positive things factored in to brighten Mihkel’s outlook as well. During Finland’s Winter War with the Soviets, Sweden contributed thousands of army and air force volunteers to support the Finnish war effort. Unknown to Mihkel his “Arctic Fox” reputation returned home with the Swedish volunteers as did that of Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes, the “Peregrine Falcon” known by Soviet pilots as “death from above.

ESTONIA 1940

Back in Estonia young Soviet Lieutenant Yuri Petrov had many free moments. For him, too many. Eastern Estonia bored him horribly. It consisted of little more than a few farmers, loggers and dense forest, dense, dense forest. Yes, he had discovered a strange abandoned warehouse with some Bugatti parts but it amounted to nothing. Desperate for excitement, he had  fantasized that it had held a “Super Auto.” He found race cars fascinating, especially the German grand prix cars. Of course, while Petrov loved fast cars, he could only dream of owning one.

So fast and powerful and dominating, the sleek yet brutish supercharged 500-horsepower V16 Silver Arrows of the Nazi backed German Grand Prix teams had ignited a passion for “Super Autos” in the heart of young Petrov. Starving for excitement in the Estonian woods he did his best to stay current with the German Siler Arrows. “These magnificent mechanical beasts,” as Petrov viewed them, crushed all competitors foolish enough to mount a challenge. Even while he served the needs of the Soviet people in the “God awful” forests of Estonia in 1939, he reveled in Auto Union’s great victory in the 1939 Belgrade Grand prix. That same day, September 3^rd 1939, Germany invaded Poland and the United Kingdom and France declared war on Germany. In confident reflection, Petrov assured himself that the Soviets could build comparable Super Autos…but, of course, “Iron” Joe Stalin had to first focus on serving the needs of the Soviet people. Often before going to sleep at night young Petrov would allow himself to dream of a time when the people’s work back home would be done and he could own a great car maybe even a Silver Arrow.

FINLAND 1940

Mihkel’s team of sled dogs, in possessing no sense of political realities or apparently any fear, energetically pranced in place eager to face whatever adventure lay ahead. Intelligent and keenly aware, the dog team took its cues from Mihkel. On this dark bitter winter morning he had prepared the sled exhibiting extra care. The dogs sensed importance. Mihkel knew the challenge of the additional passenger would test the dogs. The dogs themselves seemed nonplussed by the added burden. As a group, the dogs displayed an eager intent to devour whatever challenge awaited them like a good reindeer stew. Vapor boiled off and swirled about the excited sled dogs.

Mihkel, barely able to sleep the night before, had spent tortured hours exhaustively modeling every detail that, if mishandled, could diminish their chances of survival much less success. At best, he knew that at least a week traversing a frozen snow-blanketed hell stood between Ed, him and any hope of surviving as free men.

Mihkel allowed himself a moment of reflection, the skilled woodsman and warrior understood what awaited. Before him loomed a frozen and desolate expansive wilderness of barely penetrable evergreen forest mixed with barren glacial scrubbed fells (highlands). There, temperatures above zero would qualify as a heat wave. Traveling in near darkness through the Arctic Circle they would face temperatures capable of plunging to a potentially deadly -45°F. On a good day his team could cover 85 miles. A bad day with bad terrain might be a reach to hope for 20 miles. Of course, all bets would be off if, as could happen at any moment, they encountered heavily armed scout teams from the massive Soviet army that he and his overmatched Finnish army comrades had just fought to a standstill.

ESTONIA 1940

Typical of Estonian winter, a howling wind piled drifting snow against the large sturdy barn across the barnyard from Jaak Oja’s equally sturdy home. Alive with the sounds of creaking beams withstanding the winter fury and comfortably ensconced well fed farm animals, the barn’s very existence represented a monument to Jaak’s determination and animal husbandry skills. Incongruously a spectacular custom one-of-a-kind Bugatti Royale hid in dark silent seclusion behind the barn’s skillfully crafted false rear wall. It represented a breathtaking anomaly: valuable beyond estimation, yet, unknown to an otherwise covetous world that would claim it. This historic and priceless king of Olympian vehicles, instead, served as a silent tribute to Jaak Oja’s stubborn determination to defy Estonia’s oppressive political order. In an otherwise somber and repressive political landscape the sequestered Royale represented Jaak’s one man defiance of a political culture for which he could only express his total disdain in silence. Even in this bitter cold grey world the Bugatti’s  existence warmed his heart. Jaak called it his inside joke. Jaak’s “subversive” joy made his wife Ann smile.

FINLAND 1940

With the first pale rays of light bleeding into the bitter March morning sky Mihkel with stern resolve set his beloved team to task. Like hunting dogs on point each team member focused on the job at hand. No barking, no wasted energy, the Fox and Hounds with passenger Ed Wonderfalk made their move. With Kiruna as a destination and stealth worthy of a stalking cat, the team moved out betrayed only by a faint whisper of compressing snow easily mistaken for a light breeze in the surrounding pines.

Early on Mihkel chose to avoid the logging trails. Though these trails would afford the dog team the best opportunity to make good time, logging roads served as a magnet attracting Soviet troops. Being ill equipped and poorly trained for fighting in the dense frozen forest, Soviet scouting parties found the cleared trails very much to their liking. As the nearby town of Salla had seen fierce fighting, and with the Soviets now claiming Finish land, Mihkel welcomed the forest as an ally. He skillfully wove his energetic dog team through the pine scented landscape. Suddenly Mihkel’s caution paid dividends. A Soviet scouting party came into view. Slumping soldiers in dark wool coats heading east moved from left to right across Mihkel’s field of vision. With Ed and Mihkel nearly invisible in their white winter warrior uniforms and the battle wizened sled dogs silent and alert, the enemy soldiers moved unknowingly off into the distance.

In heading west away from Salla and deeper into Lapland the threat of enemy troops lessened as the danger posed by nature itself grew ever greater. Ed felt awe struck by the simultaneous beauty and terror that increasingly consumed his every thought. Alone the two men and twelve dogs had chosen to challenge an arctic landscape of frozen lakes, towering peaks, glacial scrubbed highlands and frozen forests readily capable of eloquently communicating how beauty and pain could share the same canvas.

By the second day Ed felt compelled to express his admiration for how well and wisely Mihkel had packed and how much Mihkel loved the dogs. Stopping to eat meant the dogs ate first. Stopping for the night meant unhooking the dogs first, feeding the dogs first and every dog got a blanket before attention turned to the humans. The first night, feeling safe from Soviet troops, a camp fire warmed everyone’s food and the men. When it came to sleeping, each dog burrowed a hole in the snow and each got covered with a blanket. While experienced thick furred sled dogs can sleep comfortably without a blanket in frozen climes, Mihkel by bringing each dog a blanket seemed to make them all rest better.

Sami people

Good fortune travelled with the team. Uncharacteristically only one day brought harsh weather and fortunately Mihkel had found a hunter’s cabin to ride out the storm. The days rest did everyone, man and beast alike well. By the sixth day out, though, food supplies needed to be replenished. Again good fortune brought the team into contact with a gathering of the indigenous people of Lapland, the Sami Nomads. A friendly and hospitable people, the Sami, known primarily as reindeer herders welcomed Mihkel, Ed and the dogs. Valiant defenders of their Lapland home during the “Winter War” some of the Sami men had heard of Mihkel the “Arctic Fox.” Fortified by a rest day of warmth, good food and navigational guidance the restocked team set out with Kiruna in their sites.

Mihkel had just hooked up the last of the dog team. Then he heard it. With a start, his eyes shot skyward. He saw nothing, but he recognized the sputtering cough right away. Then low in the sky he saw it. A British twin engine Bristol Blenheim bomber, all shot to hell. It disappeared over the rugged white horizon.

Kiruna would have to wait.

Winter of 1939 found Estonian native son and freedom fighter, teenager Mihkel Oja seeking refuge from a tempest that would soon engulf all of the world he knew and much of the world in total. Clinging to a sled behind his team of powerful Malamutes and Siberian Huskies, his hunched and bundled frame cleaved the bitter Baltic night. Fleeing across the uncharted recently frozen surface of the Gulf of Finland offered his only hope. He would surely be killed if he stayed in Estonia. Better to make this desperate attempt to cross 50 miles of dark uncertainty and danger to reach Finland and sanctuary. To do otherwise would expose him and, worse, his family to the brutish retribution common to life lived at the cruel crossroads where Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia battled for dominance over a tiny nation alive with individual dreams of freedom.

Certainly at this moment Mihkel harbored no thoughts of a priceless Bugatti unknown to the world and hidden on his father’s rural Estonian farm, but decades later he would.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale  (Part 2 – Episode 9 – Priceless Bugatti Lost in the Fog of War)

FINLAND 1940

Distant flashes of artillery fire lit the far horizon. What became known as the “Winter War of 1939 to 1940 had escalated to widespread pitched conflicts producing battlefield bloodbaths across frozen forested terrain. At stake, Russia’s attempt to take control of large swaths of Finland. It pitted a massed and massive Russian armed force of about a million men against a far smaller and largely ill-equipped Finnish military and civilian force intent on defending their homeland.

Winter War

Warmed by the anxiety born of the distant sounds of war that carried across the great dark expanse of ice, Mihkel tried to concentrate his thoughts solely on reaching Finland. He envied the singular focus of his disciplined dog team. Thoughts crept into his consciousness bringing to mind questions of fight or flight. He allowed himself a half smile, half grimace in recognizing the irony of his apparent fleeing into harm’s way. He quickly snapped to, recognizing that worrying about the myriad things that could go wrong served no purpose. Life would provide answers soon enough. With a hushed “Tchk, Tchk” he spurred on the canine co-conspirators enabling his escape to freedom, he hoped.

A soft moonlight diffused by a gentle mist obscured the sled’s presence without obliterating the celestial beacons by which the young but skilled outdoorsman navigated his escape. Deep into the hollow hours of his silent journey, a thickening fog instilled in Mihkel both hope and trepidation. A significantly reduced visibility forced him to rely on his compass, watch, and estimated speed to orient his whereabouts. He could be close to land but how would he know. In a short time an answer came, abruptly. With startling immediacy his sled bucked high then tipped violently to the right sending both Mihkel and the sled spinning on their sides across the ice. A rock protruding through the ice had caught a sled runner. Without his life on the line, the scene would have been comical. He looked up to see his dogs, apparently unfazed, displaying “well let’s get going” expressions as they stood poised and ready to continue. Checking for damage Mihkel felt relief that the spill harmed neither the sled nor its passenger. With the sled righted and proceeding slowly, Mihkel found himself at the shoreline of a rocky beach. He had reached Finland.

He exhaled in deep relief. Then he heard it, the metallic draw and lock of a bolt action rifle. His body froze. His mind raced. Russian or Finn? His life or the loss thereof would be determined by the answer. Mihkel rolled the dice and spoke up in both Estonian and Finnish declaring his flight from the Russians. A gruff voice responded in Finnish. Mihkel, in translating as best he could understood something like “He’s some crazy, lucky Estonian son-of–a-bitch if he’s telling the truth.” Two more men came out of the woods. One cracked no smile. Clearly in charge, he displayed no intention of believing Mihkel without proof.

In a circle with a campfire and Mihkel at its center, twenty or so unshaven men in white uniforms sat silently as the leader quizzed Mihkel. It helped immeasurably that the leader, Ahti Heikkinen, during time spent in Tallinn had become acquainted with members of the Estonian freedom movement and, now, recognized Mihkel’s name. With Mihkel having been invited to share his story, the tenor of the conversation relaxed considerably. As he tended to his dog team under the respectful eyes of his new Finnish friends, they shared much about the hated invading Russians and the terror and destruction being visited upon their homeland. Mihkel listened intently as his dogs gathered like children at his feet. The Finnish soldiers’ stories inflamed his Estonian freedom fighter’s soul. He would join their fight.

MOLSHIEM, FRANCE 1939

Earlier in 1939, British automotive journalist John Daley could not quite get his hands around a haunting story of a very special Bugatti alluded to in hushed exchanges he overheard while visiting the Bugatti factory in Molsheim.

Daley, a writer for the widely respected British publication, The Autocar had come to Europe in the summer of 1939 to cover an extraordinary event. British sports car maker MG had boldly come to Germany to set land speed records with a special aerodynamic, supercharged 200 mph MG. After the successful event and before returning home to Britain, Daley had taken a side trip to visit his friend Jean Bugatti at Bugatti’s Molsheim headquarters. Always possessing a good feel for a great story, and a working knowledge of French, Daley while sharing a cup of coffee on the Bugatti factory floor overheard workers referencing a special Royale. Employing a perfect poker face and trained ear he listened for more, to no avail. With his interest piqued, Daley brought it up to Jean Bugatti in conversation. Bugatti acknowledge that in 1939 a Royale had been fitted with a new body for a French politician. Bugatti then abruptly changed the subject and said no more. Having fabricated the Royale re-body story as a cover for the Antonescu special project, Bugatti had no desire to continue the discussion.

Jean Bugatti accident

When Daley, as a naturally curious journalist followed up with the French politician, the politician denied ever owning a Bugatti much less a Royale. For Daley, this whetted his appetite for more information. Sadly for him, this hunger would never be satiated. In one final effort Daley reached out to the Bugatti main office and spoke with Accounts Manager Yvonne Smirnov. She had no information to offer. She had been well compensated to ensure her silence even though she had never actually seen the car. However, Daley’s interest and persistence always struck her as curious. As, frankly, did the hush money. The intensity of Daley’s interest, though, would remain with her for the rest of her life. As to Daley, with Jean Bugatti’s tragic death occurring weeks later, he lost interest and never chose to pursue the matter again.

ESTONIA 1940

A bitter cold wind rattled Jaak Oja’s house. Startled by a knock at the door, Jack’s wife Ann opened it to see the white breath and red face of their closest neighbor Endel. Good neighbor that he was, he had stopped to share some of his catch from ice fishing. Ann sat him down and went about fixing a cup of tea and some still warm freshly baked bread and jam. The three sat around the table catching up. Endel seemed slightly disturbed by an encounter by the lake with a very self-important young Soviet officer, a lieutenant Petrov. The fact that Soviet Russian soldiers had established camp in the Estonian forest caused sufficient concern. Worse, this young officer started questioning him about some warehouse or garage with car parts discovered in the nearby woods. Endel thought the officer must be crazy. Totally bewildered, Endel confessed that he had no idea what a Bugatti was. Jaak’s heart sunk. Ann’s tea cup clattered to the table as she momentarily lost her grip. Recovering quickly she apologized for her clumsiness and wiped up the spill. The conversation carried on drifting from topic to topic, though Jaak and Ann could not dispel the chilling fear that, for both, gripped their very being. Feeling warm and reinvigorated Endel rose to leave and head home. With thanks offered and hugs shared Endel departed through the cold and windswept farm yard. The shutting front door sealed out the blustery wind. Jaak exhaled deeply and looked to the heavens. Turning to Ann he embraced his visibly shaken wife.

FINLAND 1940

Molotov Cocktail

Mihkel had earned the warm acceptance of his Finnish comrades thanks to his passionate commitment to their cause. Mihkel and his dog team, armed with a Finnish creation called the “Molotov Cocktail,” quickly gained stature as a uniquely potent weapon that the badly outgunned and out-manned Finns could deploy against Soviet tanks.

The etymology of the homemade incendiary device called the “Molotov Cocktail”, traced back to the “Winter War” of 1939.  Vyacheslav Molotov, a particularly despised Soviet official of the time found his name attached to a very simple yet potent anti-Soviet tank weapon. A device that Mihkel employed with devastating and deadly skill.

A stealthy outdoorsman, Mihkel would work his way close to one of the lumbering Soviet T-26 and T-28 tanks pinned to the few passable roads by the dense surrounding Finnish forest. Once in close range he would set the tank ablaze by smashing the Molotov Cocktail’s flaming glass bottle against the tank’s vulnerable fuel tank or engine compartment. By the time his presence became know, he had fled the area behind his silent and powerful dog team. Honoring his speed, his silence and his savvy tactics, the Finns nickname him, “Naali,” which meant Arctic Fox.

Destruction of Soviet tank column

The character of Mihkel and his dog team dovetailed seamlessly with the undermanned Finnish strategy designed to leverage the Finns’ few advantages against the outsized Soviet troop strength. The strengths the Finns did have, they maximized. Their familiarity with the forested and rugged landscape as well as their skill as adept skiers provided huge benefits. Unlike the Russians, the Finns outfitted in white uniforms, could move largely unseen with deadly speed and silence while seemingly immune to the bitter winter conditions. Their mobility and cunning when applied with stunningly shrewd hit-and-run tactics equipped them to carve up larger and ineptly commanded Soviet troop formations with devastating results.

Found to be invaluable as well for transportation of needed supplies, reconnaissance and evacuation of wounded, Mihkel and his team’s performance elevated Finnish troop respect for dog teams. One especially dangerous rescue would have a profound impact on Mihkel’s life.

In the years just prior to WWII, a group of Americans had volunteered to fly with Britain’s RAF against the Nazi’s. A much smaller number chose to come to Finland to fight the Soviets. Upon arriving many volunteers found it most disconcerting that all Finnish aircraft wore a blue swastika. The Finns made this  unfortunate choice in 1918 well before it became the eternal emblem of Nazi evil. The Finns feeling that they had adopted the swastika first would continue its use into the early 21^st century.

Gloster Gladiator

One American volunteer, Ed Sikes arrived in Finland as a self confident rawboned cocky kid and a gifted flyer since his early teens. Though still a teenager Ed lied about his age and with money from his wealthy and adventurous father came to fly for Finland. And fly he did, like a bat out of hell.

Admired by comrades and feared by foes. Ed had acquired the sobriquet “Wonderfalk’ courtesy of a German pilot who witnessed the American’s daring “dog fighting” tactics. In English the German word “Wanderfalk” translated into “Peregrine Falcon,” the world’s fastest bird known to dive on its prey at speeds up to 240 mph. Fearful Soviet pilots simply referred to Ed as “death from above.”

War hardened Finns, even other pilots shook their heads at Ed’s exploits in a Gloster Gladiator biplane. They marveled at the things he got away with. Until the day that all changed.

Flying above enemy troop encampments and gun placements in Soviet occupied Finland south of the Mannerheim battle line, enemy ground fire brought Ed down in an isolated expanse of densely forested land. Ed’s wingman reported seeing him climb out of the smoldering wreck and wave. Upon hearing the wingman’s account Mihkel harnessed his team. He would find the downed flier before the Soviets did. Blessed with a rising full moon Mihkel set out immediately. He knew the area well enough. Certainly better than the Russians.

Surely brazen. In a different situation, probably stupid. But for Ed in the sub freezing arctic cold, the fire delivered life sustaining warmth. Even better it provided a beacon that brought 12 eager dogs and an Estonian teenager to his rescue. The little English Mihkel had acquired in school together with Ed’s stumbling Finnish supplemented by their shared skill at gesturing provided all they needed to bond as a team on a mission.

The camp exploded in cheers as the dawn brought the return of Ed and Mihkel, very possibly two of Finland’s favorite foreign sons. Sitting near a roaring fire Ed expressed his warmest gratitude in this the coldest damn place. Upon hearing this Mihkel’s nickname of Naali, the Arctic Fox, Ed coined his rescuers the “Fox and Hounds.”

The coming weeks found that, with new and better Soviet leadership commanding fresh troops, the tide of war had begun to turn. The Finns signed a negotiated peace with the Soviets that cost them land but preserved their freedom. Both Mihkel and Ed sensed the time had arrived for them to go. Tomorrow they would plan their escape. The following morning the “Fox and Hounds” and “Wonderfalk” would retreat through a frozen hell in hopes of reaching neutral Sweden.

Having lovingly tended his team, Mihkel found his hopeful thoughts for better days ahead to be interrupted by aching memories of the father, mother, friends and country he loved and left behind in a time that seemed like forever in the past. He exhaled deeply. His dogs gathered by his feet.

Jaguar earned its place in the pantheon of great marques with sports cars boasting an illustrious history of racing success. Jaguar’s high performance road cars featured sculpted often sensuous exteriors with interiors that cosseted occupants with fine leather seating and handsome exotic wood trim. In sum, Jaguar has a history of producing cars possessing charismatic character that punched way above their market share in defining driving pleasure. However, recent times have not been kind. The glorious and storied Jaguar brand has more than fallen on hard times. It has imploded.

A resurrection when in such desperate straits demands a strong vision and bold action. Clearly the bold new brand message set by Jaguar Managing Director Rawdon Glover calls for delivery by a RuPaul band of stoics strutting in a Crayola parade. Its stated intention calls to generate buzz and attract buyers for a new, soon to be revealed EV Jaguar. This new Jaguar sports a price tag double the MSRP of a present day Jaguar. Jaguar’s expressed objective calls for moving up market to successfully battle with Bentley and the like while, at the same time, casting aside anyone who previously had the desire and money to purchase a Jaguar. Initial response would indicate that the latter, casting aside, part of the re-branding has been a grand success. Glover, proud parent of a campaign anchored in ideology rather than marketing savvy, lashed out at detractors decrying their “Vile hatred and intolerance.”

As I do not feel any more vile or intolerant than the next guy, I would like to take a fair look at Glover’s Candy Land campaign.

Jaguar’s Trans-formation into the New Coke of Automobile Re-branding

Historically Jaguar does not stand alone in suffering withering criticism of an automobile branding effort. Nissan’s 1989 introduction of its new Infiniti brand experienced almost universal ridicule. At the top of the complaint list loomed the ultimate sacrilege in automobile advertising. Commercials never showed the car. Like an albatross hung around Infiniti’s neck critics mockingly tattooed the whole effort the “Rocks and Trees” campaign. Word had it that Izusu even considered but never produced an Infiniti parody ad with Joe Izusu perched on a big rock playing a flute while a soothing voice off-camera softly uttered Zen-like reflections on nature. Some say Infiniti has never recovered.

Cadillac that Zigs ad

1n 1997 Cadillac introduced the Catera an entry level sedan intended to compete with the BMW 3 series and Audi A4 using the line “The Caddy that Zigs.” For a brand whose name once stood proudly as the very definition of preeminent quality, the “Zigs” tag line and its accompanying cartoon character suffered harsh criticism. Critics savaged the campaign saying that in striving to be different it came across as giddy and misaligned from the historically cultivated expectation of a Cadillac as a luxury vehicle. A prospective customer’s comment expressed on a Cadillac forum sums up the Zigs campaign’s failure. He wrote, “Cadillac’s stupid Ziggy promotion was embarrassing. I know they wanted to attract a younger demographic, but a cartoon character? It made a joke of the car before it had a chance to establish itself in the market. Not even Cindy Crawford’s ad presence could make up for that. BMW advertised its cars as the “Ultimate Driving Machines”, but GM decided to sell the Catera as “The Caddy that Zigs”? Why would I buy a car that wasn’t respected by its own manufacturer? Why would anyone?” And indeed they did not. Today does anyone even remember the Catera?

The early 1990s saw Subaru car sales stumbling badly. In a plan to reverse the company’s fortunes by moving up market, Subaru hired trendy, award winning agency du jour Wieden + Kennedy. As described in Randall Rothenberg’s excellent book “Where the Suckers Moon” Subaru and the agency  created a match made in anywhere but advertising heaven. Born of this union, the resulting “What to Drive” and “Lack of Pretense” campaign can best be described as an advertising car crash. As Rothenburg in his book pointed out, “What hurt Wieden + Kennedy more than anything else was its collective lack of passion for automobiles. Wieden + Kennedy treated the subject of automobiles offhandedly.” Being tone deaf to the automobile industry the agency created head scratching ads that ridiculed car marketing and presented ads that the agency felt spoke unvarnished “truth.” A TV spot for the Subaru SVX sports car highlighted the car’s 140 mph top speed, but then asked if it mattered in a world with “extended urban gridlock, costly gas at $1.38 a gallon and highways full of patrolmen?” Another SVX spot boasted “You can drive it so fast, you’ll get so many tickets, you’ll lose your license. This one got Subaru unneeded and passionately negative safety activist attention. The final denouement came on Super Bowl Sunday 1993. Possibly the only one who took a bigger beating than the Buffalo Bills in their 52 to 17 loss was Subaru who the USA Today survey of viewer reactions placed its advertising dead last. Subaru fired the agency and instead of competing directly with high volume car makers, it pivoted to focus on marketing Subaru cars to niche groups where Subaru had historically proven to perform best. It has since experienced a strong climb to profitability.

So, as to Jaguar’s latest effort let’s start with a simple question. Does it qualify as genius?

One web maven advocated in favor of the TV spot by invoking the old adage, “It doesn’t matter what people are saying about you as long as they are talking.” Maybe in some context, but certainly not all. Instead I think back to wise counsel afforded me by a high school teacher. The advice? Spend time and effort when writing the introduction to a term paper. He believed that a well constructed introduction can establish an expectation as to what to expect in the subsequent body of work. He posited that a poorly written introduction would leave the reader seeking confirmation of poor quality throughout the rest of the paper. An engaging introduction would leave the reader searching for examples to confirm the high quality of the content. I believe the same holds true with product launches and none more so than a rebranding. I believe the total Jaguar rebranding effort instead of its intention to create a positive buzz has instead planted the seeds of doubt.

Simon Sinek motivational speaker and author of the bestselling book “Start with Why” has gained renown by advocating for a simple belief. He passionately advocates that whether forming a movement or re-branding an automobile the path to success must start with why. Sinek believes that success of a product such as those that Apple sells results from communicating Apple’s “Why” to a sufficiently large market segment that believe the same thing. The product itself then simply provides a manifestation of the shared beliefs. A successful brand represents a promise to be consistently faithful to its “Why.” Muddling the “Why” confuses and weakens a selling proposition. While on the subject of Apple, attention must be drawn to the re-branded Jaguar’s “Copy Nothing” Tag line. Maybe it should read “Copy Nothing, except maybe Apple.”

Apple’s 1984 Super Bowl ad introducing the new Mac Computer stands as one of the top 50 greatest TV commercials of all time. Clearly Jaguar deemed Apple’s “1984” athletic sledge hammer wielding female lead worthy of replication. This time, however, Jaguar chose to employ a sledge wielding androgyne as its champion. Furthermore, Jaguar headline copy such as “Live Vivid” and “Create Exuberant” present further evidence of the Jaguar ad not falling far from the Apple tree. It replicates Apple’s grammatically improper slogan that employed a wildly successful use of an adjective rather than the proper adverb form in its award winning 1997 “Think Different” campaign.

Jaguar 2024/ Apple 1997

Cars for a large segment of the buying public represent an extension of self. A fact especially true in the $100,000 plus segment where the New Jaguar has set its sights. Inn employing another old adage, “there exists but one chance to make a first impression.” Jaguar’s apparent “why” seems to target individuals with a gender dysphoria bias. If that correctly states Jaguar’s intention, so be it. However as a Unique Selling Proposition with the intention of launching a business into profitability it seems deeply flawed. I might even suggest it appears to promote a personal ideology rather than savvy marketing at the expense of brand aspirations.

I might suggest that Director Glover’s venomous response to criticism reflected a personal offense that exceeded even that generated by the most painful criticism of a professional’s creative marketing concept. It seemed to have the wounded passion of an ideologue rebuffed. One must question Director Glover’s “Why.” From the point of view of a Jaguar owner which I am, I can unequivocally say his campaign’s message did not speak to me in any way other than generating a pang of disappointment for a brand I revere.

Some might question what kind of belief system has gone into the creation of a re-branded Jaguar that has so missed the mark. Or conversely, in hitting its intended mark how it has totally misjudged the market. Re-branding campaigns do not formulate over night. In these fast moving times avant garde can quickly morph into passé garde. Such, I believe, represents the case here where the DEI theme and the whole “EVs only” product line has recently lost steam. Unfortunately for this campaign the woke boat has sailed and is taking on water. Interestingly the new Jaguar in seeking to navigate the road ahead may find its hope in roads traveled in the past.

Jaguar might find hope in the 30-year old success story of a small struggling brand seeking direction. That brand, Subaru, had hired a trendy Advertising agency to move it up market. The effort failed terribly. It then re-gathered itself choosing a new path that called for identifying niche groups willing to pay for 4-wheel drive and possessing values consistent with Subaru’s product line. Market research identified five groups that comprised a majority of Subaru’s North American sales. The first four consisted of teachers, healthcare professionals, IT professionals and rugged outdoors types. Interestingly and surprisingly the fifth consisted of lesbians. Research showed lesbians were 4-times more likely to buy a Subaru than the average customer. Subaru set about better understanding the Subaru features that attracted lesbians as a group. Subaru found they closely mirrored those of the other four groups. Subaru then set about crafting targeted ads with titles that played well to straight and gay 4-wheel fans alike. For example, “It’s Not a Choice. It is the Way We’re Built” and “Get Out. And Stay Out” successfully spoke to both fans of Subaru’s 100% rugged 4-wheel drive rough road friendly product lineup and gay identity.

In the end Jaguar’s success will hopefully be determined by the superior quality and desirability of its automobiles. However, being hamstrung by advertising that purposely excludes past customers seems to fly in the face of diversity and inclusion goals not to mention, good sense.

Long live Jaguar.

With the point of no return long gone, the all-out effort to successfully produce the nation’s first Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens proceeded at flank speed. Translating “flank” from nautical to automotive speak, the pedal had been firmly pinned to the metal. Thankfully with the help of a deft core of team leaders and a knowledgeable and committed team, the stars had aligned beautifully as the date approached. However, while the stars presented no concern, threatening clouds did. The approaching show date found me pointlessly glued to my weather app, as if my watchful eye could make a difference. I am sure my elevated spirits joined a cohort of September brides as the clouds disappeared from the Sunday forecast. Game on. And what a great game it would be.

A Secret Sauce & Successful Recipe for Mixing Kids and Classic Cars

Isetta microcar delivers maximum fun       (Photo: Tim Schwartz)

Gravel crackled under my 1961 Corvette’s whitewall tires as the, soon to be, show car crept down my driveway. A bright sun waited just below the horizon. Poised to heat the cool moist morning air with a brilliant light, it would quickly wipe dry the car’s veil of dew. Slowly accelerating, I held the 4-speed in first gear just to enjoy the engine’s

Youth judges in action

deep throated exhaust note as I rumbled down the narrow street. The show date had arrived at last. The awakening day felt rich with promise. The fading night’s cloudless sky had wiped the road free of any trace of the previous day’s rain. Free from road spray, my Corvette’s gleaming 60-year old Keystone mag wheels would remain unsoiled. On the road at 6:30am, I felt assured I would be the first to arrive.

Pulling up alongside the beautifully restored expansive white farmhouse that now housed the Hillsdale New Jersey Free Public Library, I paused for a moment to gaze over the large, but very soon not be, empty parking area. I left the rumbling Corvette to move the traffic cones that barred entrance to the lot. Now, having driven down to the lot, I backed into my assigned display location. Just then, the first of my talented team arrived. Chris Connolly, a recently retired lead detective for the New York City Auto Crimes Unit, strolled down the sloping driveway entrance. Moments later the day came to life as a trail of team members followed in his wake. The pace of the day quickly accelerated.

1886 Benz Patent-Motorwagen

The charge of excitement built as the show cars began to arrive. Confident that the Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens would be unlike any other car show, all the car owners and staff focused on delivering a hands-on experience to benefit a largely hands-off generation. The goal was to have fun and in so doing develop in our young attendees an appreciation for the innovation, beauty, culture and excitement of what many consider to be the greatest gift of the industrial age, the automobile.

Unlike the mostly passive stroll experienced at traditional car shows, the Hillsdale Library’s Collectible Car Fair, co-sponsored by the Hillsdale Library and the Drivin’ News website (www.drivin-news.com) offered parents and children alike an interactive treat. Those under 18 were welcome to sit in and experience each of the gleaming iconic automobiles as well, benefit from speaking with each car’s owner. These owners, men and women who volunteered their time and vehicles possessed a broad knowledge of their cars and the period in history when each car was new.

Slowly but steadily the field filled with members of a curated list comprising iconic members of the 20^th century’s the Golden Age of the automobile. A pristine 1974 DeTomaso Pantera, preceded an all original 1970 Plymouth Superbird. A flatbed bearing a 1928 Rolls-Royce Phantom 1 waited its turn while a muscular pick-up truck pulling a large trailer eased across the lot. With its power ramp lowered, the trailer delivered a spectacular Brass Era 1909 Pope Harford and a Mercedes-Benz-built replica of the 1886 Benz Patent-Motorwagen, recognized world-over as the first automobile. By 8:30 am the full complement of staff and cars had been assembled. By 9:00 am with all cars positioned and all team members comfortable in their roles, everyone descended on the beverage and bagel table. Things had come together perfectly. Interestingly perfection can sometimes produce discomfort.

Rory Sevajian’s 1931 Model A takes a first place from the youth judges

At 9:00 am the team, with everything completed to perfection and with their energy level peaking, hit a wall. Where they asked, was everybody? “Has a party been thrown to which no one will come?” Pumped and ready they stood as relaxed as a distance runner ready for the gun. Then the realization hit. They had been too good, if that is possible. The show would not start until 10:00 am. They would spend the next hour reminding each other of that fact. Most likely, nobody would be coming for an hour. Finally 10:00 am arrived and with it came waves of families with kids and unescorted teens. They arrived in droves. Child attendance ran into the healthy hundreds. Any fears of throwing a party and nobody showing up quickly vanished in a fog of questions and children asking permission to sit in the car.

Checking out a 1909 Pope Hartford

With any creative effort be it a book, song, movie, website or experience you can rarely predict what piece will capture the audience’s fancy. In the case of the Collectible Car Fair, the secret sauce that brought everything to life came in the form of a game called the “Fun Hunt for Car Facts,” a twenty question quiz.” The Fun Hunt posed questions relating to the cars on display. Children who got all the questions correct on a supplied answer sheet would have his or her photo taken sitting in their favorite car by the event photographer. Then, at a later date, the library would present the child with a large poster of that photograph.

In retrospect the Fun Hunt created a spacious open field of beautiful cars surrounded by kids clutching pens and quizzes in hand while flitting from one car and owner to the next like bees in a garden. Children interviewed owners and together with parents bonded into a research team working in search of answers. More than 50 children earned a poster that would capture a moment that could become a lifetime memory. But wait! More opportunities existed to engage young attendees. They could sign up to be a judge.

Backseat driver enjoying the 1965 GTO

The inspiration for the Collectible Car Fair came out of concerns expressed by members of my on-going Collectible Automobiles As A Passion class I began over a decade ago at the Ridgewood, New Jersey Community School. Members of the class expressed a concern about the future of the classic car culture. fueled by their concerns I suggested the Fair. The men and women immediately embraced the idea. Building on the concept the thought of children judging the cars attracted great support.

Bob Austin, a retired automobile industry executive and experienced concours judge who co-teaches the Collectible automobiles class volunteered to hold a class. Children could preregister with the library before the show. On the day of the show they could attend the class and learn the basics of judging. Children who attended the class each received a Certificate of Recognition before an applauding show audience. After the show Austin said, “They learned well, as demonstrated by the competency and focus they showed in selecting the best cars from an impressive field of historic automobiles.

One of 3 youth judging groups with their Certificates of Recognition. (L) Bob Austin (R) Burton Hall

In reflecting on the success of the event, Dave Franz, Director of the hosting Hillsdale Library says, “”I’ve always thought of libraries as ‘share’ spaces, where people pass on their knowledge and skills to others, whether it be books, exhibits, or lectures and workshops. To see the joyful owners of these historic automobiles sharing their passion with the youth of our community is to see the essence of learning in action at a public library. It was a great day.”

As to the vibe created by the event, Valerie Festa a class member involved in managing the Fun Hunt for Car Facts says, “The heartfelt gratitude expressed by the parents was profoundly moving. They were so happy and thankful.”

Dr. Charles Lennon, who brought his 1962 Lotus 7, says “I have judged at numerous concours and shown at many others. I must say, I have never experienced such an engaging opportunity to share the joy of classic automobiles with children. Even my grandchildren came. This event was definitely special for me and for them.”

Youth judges check out 1986 911 Porsche and 1961 Corvette

Betsy Gelotte, owner of a 1961 Triumph TR3A on display, says “The kids and parents were so excited and appreciative. The children embraced the responsibility of judging and the challenge of the Fun Hunt with such great enthusiasm!”

Galen Royer one of three accomplished and seasoned car enthusiasts who supervised a team of youth judges may have made the most insightful comment. While anecdotal, it remains impressive when Royer says, “Other than for taking a photograph, I did not observe anyone using their cell phone.”

In reflecting on what distinguished and differentiated the Collectible Car Fair from all other car shows, two things stand out. One  being the high quality of the individuals who hosted their cars and the individuals who manned the event functions. Secondly a factor unquestionably unique to this show resides in the value of partnering with a respected library featuring a bright and energetic director. When good people work together great things can happen. Clearly the case with the Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens.

Future car guy with 1993 Viper

As to what comes next, my hope is that the Collectible Car Fair idea Johnny Appleseeds its way across the country.” Anyone interested can contact the Hillsdale Free Public Library (info@hfpl.org). I have created a basic production guide describing how to run your own Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens.

Brimming with the unbridled enthusiasm of a true believer blind to the many pitfalls that could await, I plunged into the personal uncharted waters of classic car event planning. Together I and my cohort of equally eager enthusiasts, set forth to create a classic car interactive show targeted to those  eighteen years of age and under. This group represented an audience that we believed would be primed to embrace the culture, art and excitement of the  greatest gift of the industrial age, the automobile, if presented properly.

To the best of my knowledge such an event as the “Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens” has never been attempted, at least not in America. And if not here, the world’s most car-centric nation, then where else? As the show date of September 8^th fast approaches, an interested observer could rightfully ask “How’s it going?”

The answer might surprise you.

America’s First Car Show for Kids?

1886 Benz Patent-Motorwagen

So the phone rings. A gentleman named Joe (Not his real name. I will explain later.) says he heard that I needed a Model T for a Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens. He said he loved the idea of the event and wanted to lend his support. I thanked him but said that I had just found the Model T I wanted the day before. Joe responded saying, “What else do you need?” I asked, “What else do you have?” He answered saying, “I have everything.” My wall clock showed 9:30 am. By 11:45 my car sat in his driveway. Looking up from the engine bay of what I assessed to be a late 1930’s Ford Phaeton, Joe welcomed me. Middle aged with a big frame and friendly demeanor, His warm greeting and extended hand made me feel at ease right away. Shutting off the Ford, Joe, joined by his father, the originator of this stunning collection, directed me inside the building located behind him. Thus commenced a guided tour through multiple buildings.

1908 Pope Hartford

All featured walls and ceilings adorned with a priceless array of vintage automobilia, so tightly packed, it left little wall surface visible. The buildings, themselves, housed a literal Pantheon of early to mid-20th century significant automobiles packed chock-a-block shoulder to shoulder. Indeed for that era, he had everything and they pretty much all ran. Display vehicles included a curved dash Olds, Brass Era beauties, handsome brawny 30’s Packards, Mercedes-Benz 300 SLs and Corvettes to name a few. He spread his arms wide to include vehicles available to be viewed and sat in by the “Kids and Teens.” Joe then said he had a few suggestions, though I could name anything I felt best suited my needs. His suggestions filled critical gaps in a visual telling of 20^th century automobile history. He directed my attention to the rear of the large room to present suggestion number one. There stood a Brass Era beauty, a 1908 Pope Hartford. A splendid brass bedecked self-propelled white carriage suitable for Cinderella. Joe said that despite the considerable distance, he would drive His Pope Hartford to the show.

1941 Willys Jeep

After all he would be shipping it to California to participate in a driving tour. His second recommendation offered up a classic firmly planted in American history. He pointed to a perfect and authentically outfitted 1941 Willys WWII Jeep including mounted 50 caliber machine gun, yes the gun has been plugged. Saving the best for last, he directed me to a backroom where stood one of the 70 1886 Benz Patent-MotorWagen reproductions built by Mercedes-Benz to celebrate the first automobile. Thanks to the generosity of Joe and his father all three vehicles will be at the show. Indeed except for the 1886 Patent-MotorWagen, children will be free to sit in and experience these time machines as with all other cars on display. As to Joe’s false name, some degree of anonymity is appreciated when dealing with a collection like his.

Indeed surprises abounded. In calling upon my friend Henry to request he bring his stunning 1933 Packard, Henry politely demurred. He felt uneasy about bringing a car that had not been on the road much lately. He did, however, offer an alternative. He asked if it would be acceptable for him to bring his 1928 Rolls-Royce Phantom I? Absolutely! I had to remind him having the Rolls on display meant that a child would be allowed to sit in the car. Henry responded saying, “That’s what seats are for.” In the not necessarily unwarranted protective mindset of classic car ownership, the counterintuitive nature of Henry’s response reflected the mindset of the many participants bringing their cherished vehicles to share with new generations of potential car enthusiasts. Participating owner comments seemed to reflect an overriding sense of “passing on a baton” of stewardship that transcended material concerns.

Rolls-Royce Phantom 1

Dean who will be bringing his 1968 Mustang, rescheduled his overseas travel plans to accommodate the Collectible Car Fair date. I believe this depth of commitment to stewardship reflects a widely held concern in the car enthusiast community for the future well being of the classic automobile culture.

Being an event focused on school age children, I felt it natural to reach out to school systems in the surrounding area. Taking the direct approach I walked unannounced into the offices of the Superintendent of Schools for the regional high school district. Sometimes you just get lucky. I happened to walk in with everyone gathered in the conference room for a staff meeting. Inviting myself in, the genial gathering asked how they could be of help. I quickly delivered my best elevator speech. A lovely bright eyed and charming woman offered to be of help. As she directed me into her office I realized that I had just met Sarah Billotti Superintendent of Schools for the Pascack Valley Regional High School District. I quickly laid out my plan. The Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens would be as hands-on as you could get. Children would be welcome to sit in each vehicle on display and experience the living history of the greatest gift of the industrial age, the automobile. Through this hands-on experience students would have the opportunity to better understand the history, character, beauty, and excitement of the iconic vehicles that revolutionized individual lives and forever changed global culture in the 20^th century. Our goal: to create fertile ground for promoting probing questions from bright young minds. Ms. Bilotti embraced the idea and directed me to contact the principals at both high schools comprising the district. As I prepared to leave, a very brief but telling experience took place. It would be repeated numerous times in my efforts to connect with people in a position to support the event. As I headed for the door, Ms. Bilotti called my attention to her cell phone. She recalled a great time she had just spent in Paris with her daughters. The picture she shared showed the vehicle in which they toured Paris, a 1970s VW bus.

1993 Dodge Viper

Over the coming week I met with three local high school principals John Puccio, Tim Wieland and Troy Lederman. All three could not have been more supportive. All had stories relating to personal experiences or faculty involved with classic cars. They especially liked the “Careers in Restoration and Related Fields” class we would be holding after the Fair ended. Not very child should go to college and for those who seek a different path, significant opportunities exist. This was highlighted in a recent Wall Street Journal article “Gen-Z Skilled-Trade Workers Are Making #BlueCollar Cool” (June 12, 2024).

Local police have embraced the Fair as a great community outreach effort. Library Director Dave Franz and his staff at the co-sponsoring Hillsdale, NJ Library actively and creatively support the Fair as a means for exposing children to a great resource for discovering and exploring new interests. It is edifying to see how the Fair has captured the attention of these institutions dedicated to the education and growth of the children they serve.

Our efforts have produced an extraordinary curated stable of thirty historically significant cars running the gamut from the aforementioned Benz Patent-Motorwagen to a Ford GT. Equally impressive, the Fair will be staffed by a gifted team of knowledgeable and engaging car enthusiasts.

I must admit that I have not accepted all offers for support. The great folks at Hemmings asked about advertizing the Fair. I declined. Why? As I have explained to all of the team involved in this first effort, in preparing for their first flight Wilbur Wright did not suggest to Orville Wright that they fly to Los Angeles. Getting airborne for 100 feet would be considered a success. I want to get this off the ground for 100 feet. I would then like the car enthusiast community to embrace the idea of the Collectible Car Fair for Kids and Teens and spread it across the nation.

As I explained to the folks at Hemmings. Rather than invite the world and have it show up like a tsunami of interest, I would much rather publish a story after the event that describes its local success.

Carving a two-lane groove through verdant New England forests and farmland, Elaine and I had a morning’s worth of country miles under our belt. Having departed the Ira Allen House B&B in Sunderland Vt. and with Vermont now rapidly fading in the rear view mirror, a sharp left bend in the road revealed a sight that sent my foot off the gas. I found us fast approaching the tail of an post-war teal blue Studebaker pickup. Standing tall, proud and slow on its skinny bias-ply tires, it provided a window to yesterday on a timeless country road. Being in no particular hurry, I locked on to its 35 mph cruising speed and enjoyed the view. In a decision that would prove to significantly upgrade our planned day’s experience, I followed the truck as it exited the back road for a rural rest stop.

I was about to learn how to correctly pronounce Schaghticoke(?).

Classic Trucks Loaded with Memories

Don Dorr’s 1947 Studebaker Pickup

By the time I had pulled over and exited Elaine’s Honda Ridgeline, the man who I would later come to know as Don Dorr had the Studebaker’s hood up and his head buried in the engine bay. “It’s running hot,” said Don sensing my presence. “I think it’s a loose fan belt. You got a pry bar of sorts in your truck?” Don asked. Sadly, I had to say “No.” Though with the Ridgeline being Elaine’s truck, I did have a yoga mat at the ready if needed. Luckily Don carried a pocket full of wrenches and quickly tightened down the belt.

With the Studebaker returned to proper functionality, I took the opportunity to find out about the man. A spritely 88-years old, Don explained that he had been collecting trucks and cars for over 65 years. He recalled his first truck being a 1935 Ford pickup.

Don Dorr and friend with his Studebaker

Since then entries into his collection have ranged up to B61 and B53 Mack road tractors both of which he restored. In the case of the teal blue Studebaker, he has had it for the last 15 of those 65 years. “Why a Studebaker?” I ask. Don says, “I used to sell Studebakers in the 1960s until they went out of business. I bought this one for old time’s sake and I just like them.” When it comes to the cars Don has collected his tastes  run to the eclectic and clearly not main stream. In reflecting on cars he recalls owning Don says, “A couple of Nashs, four or five Crosleys and a Kaiser-Darrin come to mind.” As the morning sun edges higher in the sky, it’s time for both of us to get back on the road. Shaking hands, I ask his destination. Don responds saying, “The big Uncle Sam Chapter of the ATCA (Antique Truck Club of America) Show at the Schaghticoke (shag-ag-it-e co-kee – don’t think so), New York Fair Grounds. Intrigued, this information reprograms our itinerary. I love trucks, especially old trucks. Macks, Brockways, Whites, Autocars, Internationals, Corbitts, I love them all. I hustle back to the road first to get in front of rather than behind Don’s poky pickup. I am pumped for this country truck show.

I love serendipity. Snaking along back roads to Schaghticoke (sugar-hite-cookie?), Elaine sights a rural farmers market. We stop. Its early. The antique trucks will be in no hurry to leave the Schaghticoke (chuga-ticky?)  Fair grounds . Elaine mentions our truck show destination to a woman vendor. She energetically responds saying, “My girlfriend Tami runs that show.” Can’t make this up. We are on our way.

Rural New York State sits replete with destinations usually associated with the phrase “You can’t get there from here.” This most often translates into patchwork journeys packed with “Go a mile and take a turn” connections. The journey to Schaghticoke (Shaga-hata-coke?) served as the perfect poster child for such back road ramblings.

Elaine checking out the truck show

Not being in a hurry serves well as grease smoothing road trips that could otherwise be described as a grind. Finally the sprawling fair grounds come into view. Home to Stock Car Football Demo Derbies, Farm Tractor Pulls, Lucky E Rodeo and Monster truck events, I have a good feeling as I pull in and pay my four dollar entry fee. I am not disappointed either by the Uncle Sam Truck Show or the gracious and accommodating people involved.

Passing through the fair ground’s entrance gate we had the good fortune to meet the aforementioned Tami, the President of the Uncle Sam chapter of the ATCA. Against a broad vista of mostly pristine and often glistening Class 8 road tractors (Those comprising the pulling component of a semi) I sat down to ask the smiling affable Tami Elise Winch How a nice girl like her got in a place like this? It quickly became evident her answer would be “Just lucky, I guess.”

Tami Elise Winch with her Brockway 776

Energetic and engaging, Tami enjoys twin passions with one being fine art oil painting. Her award winning work employing a photo-realistic style with a wildlife theme has hung in galleries across New York state. Tami’s other passion, proudly on display here in Schaghticoke (shag-cookie?), resides in the promotion and preservation of vintage trucks in general and Brockway trucks, a product of Cortland, NY, in particular. Tami explains her affinity for big truck saying, “As a child my folks owned a truck stop. Big rigs and truckers comprised a large part of my early life experience. Those formative early years hold many good memories.” For good measure Tami’s trucking experience in her adult years has benefitted from her relationship with Andrew Hill, her husband of 16 years. Andrew’s truck passion clearly evidences itself in his role as the National Historian and Archivist for all things Brockway truck. Inspired by his uncle’s fleet of Brockways, Andrew, 54-years old, started researching and archiving Brockway history and reference materials at the age of 10. He has never stopped.

Tami’s and Andrew’s passion for Brockway trucks manifests itself in a collection of five Brockways two very clean restorations ,a 558 and a 776 presented very well at the show.

Tami’s path to the chapter’s presidency really qualifies more as a rescue mission than a coronation. Tami says, “The Uncle Sam Club chapter of the ATCA had been together for 22 years. Andrew had started the chapter in 2002. Unfortunately, the Covid years took a toll on public participation opportunities. Tami says, “It hurt our organization badly.” By 2023 the truck club stood on the brink of folding. Those who had been in charge were aging out of their leadership roles. Tami says, “With Covid and all, you could not blame them.” Timing however is everything. Tami says, ”I had been very active in the Uncle Sam Chapter for quite a while but had taken a few years off. Suddenly faced with the thought of this wonderful organization simply fading away pained me.” Tami decided to fan the embers of commitment that she believed remained. Member response proved her right. Members in rightly recognizing the good thing they had, voted Tami in as president of the Uncle Sam Chapter. Out of curiosity I asked  how did the chapter name “the Uncle Sam Chapter” come about? I expected a simple answer, I got an American history lesson. Uncle Sam, yes, that Uncle Sam really existed  and he grew up in nearby Troy, New York.

Samuel “Uncle Sam” Wilson

Now, boys and girls put on your history hats and prepare to return to the early years of the 19^th century and the War of 1812 fought with the British. During that time, Troy native son, the genial Samuel Wilson operated a local meat packing business. It employed many of his nephews and supplied provisions to the United States Army. With meat for American troops in short supply Samuel Wilson packed meat into barrels to be shipped to soldiers preparing for battle with the British troops stationed in Canada. As meat rations were a rare treat, soldiers receiving these most welcome supplies wanted to know who should be thanked. The answer came, “Uncle Sam.” As the barrels of meat had “US” stamped on them, it did not take long for soldiers to joke that the stamped US and Uncle Sam represented one in the same. And so Uncle Sam entered American lore. As long departed radio personality Paul Harvey used to say, “Now you know the rest of the story.” And now we will return to present day events in Schaghticoke (chauta-cookie?).

One of Tami’s first actions called for bringing the Uncle Sam Truck Show to Schaghticoke Fair Grounds. I asked her if she chose the sight because of its ease of pronunciation. Tami, with the feigned countenance of a frustrated teacher addressing a slow student,  says, “It’s pronounced Sha-Tuh-Kuk.” And with laughter in her eyes Tami adds, “It’s easy for folks raised around here.” Ouch! I deserved that.

Tami’s decision to move the Uncle Sam Chapter Show to Schaghticoke hit it out of the park. With 150 registered entries and additional same day show-ups, the 2024 show exceeded all expectations and surpassed any event turnout in the history of the club. Uncle Sam would be pleased. Well prepared by Tami to enjoy the show, I commenced to immerse myself in a bounty of primarily Class 8 truck motor muscle.

Ken Brower’s 1951 Mack A-51

A glistening ruby in the stark sunlight of the clear summer afternoon, a brilliant red 1951 A-51 Mack tandem axle tractor pulling a stainless steel tanker drew me like a moth to a glowing porch bulb. Its brightwork displayed like polished silver in a red jeweler’s case. Simply stunning. Even more astounding, this immaculate muscular gem shining in an upstate New York regional truck show came from North Haledon, NJ. I could not wait to talk to the owner. Sadly, I could not find him. So, Ken Brower wherever you are, You have a great truck. Moving on, I encountered a sight that delivered a double shot of happiness inducing Dopamine.

Tony Papa’s 1949 Mack LJ

Moving down the row a beautifully restored 1949 “LJ” Mack tandem axle tractor dominated my field of vision. To my further delight off in the distance sat Don Dorr’s 1947 Studebaker. No longer overheating, the teal blue pickup had made it to the show. Don saw me and gave a thumbs up.

Returning my attention to the handsome 1949 Mack, I had the pleasure of meeting its owner and restorer Tony Papa. A lifelong truck guy, Tony has been collecting trucks since he got out of high school in the 1980s. Tanned and fit, Tony explained that he had first set eyes on this Mack as it moldered in a neighbor’s nearby field. Only a true car, motorcycle or truck guy can understand the use of “Love at first sight” when referring to a vehicle. For Tony, this Mack pressed all the right buttons. A long running tale of unrequited love, the truck sat loved but unmoved for decades as Tony waited. With his, now, grown children in their pre-teen years the chance arrived. The owner stipulated if Tony could get that tired only Mack running, the owner would sell it to him. Tony did not hesitate. Surprise, he got it running. Shortly thereafter, In 2005, Tony flat-bedded it to his farm. There he rolled it into his 30 ft. by 100 ft. workshop garage and set it on jack stands. There it would reside in various states of condition for years as Tony embarked on a full body-off, chassis-up restoration.

Me, as a car guy who can pretty much physically move most parts associated with a car, I have always wondered how guys restored big Class 8 trucks containing a wealth of parts that could pin you to the mat like a 500-pound sumo wrestler. Tony, who looks like a wrestler, explained saying, “I’ve got a big gantry on wheels. I have two 5-ton chain falls suspended from the gantry.” He rigged up a system using four by fours that went through the cab doors. Rugs provided cushioning for protection. Tony Says, “With everything in position I just lifted the cab right off the frame. I’ve got transmission jacks to drop the transmission. Using the gantry I pulled the motor as well as the rears.”

Before saying good-bye to Tony and ending my time in Schaghticoke, I asked for one of his best memories associated with his Mack. Tony says, “It’s part of the memories with my kids. They helped me pull things apart.” He continued saying, “I told them you can’t hurt it. Just start unscrewing things. We had a lot of fun doing that back when they were young.”

I have read that the difference between pleasure and joy can be found in the fact joy that involves not only pleasure but the sharing of pleasure with other people in a way that produces happy memories. Clearly, for Tony, his Mack truck brings him joy.

Travel notes:

Ira Allen Inn, – Rustic, Historic, Next to Battenkill River, a premier trout stream in VT. nice location, great hospitality.

Look for the 2025 Uncle Sam Chapter Truck Show at Schaghticoke Fair Grounds next summer located a pleasant 40-minute drive from the Saratoga Springs Car Museum .