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Congratulations to our 2006 winners:
- 1st Place: Holding On by Bob Stanley, Sacramento, CA
- 2nd Place: Autotopsy by John M. Sowa, , Sacramento, CA
- 3rd Place: All I Want for Mother’s Day by Nancy J. Heggem, Palatine, IL
1st Place—Holding On By Bob Stanley
When we finally shut down Doc Levin's parts store, we found a few items left in the basement. We found a few items in the attic and on the handbuilt plywood mezzanine. We found parts in boxes with numbers, but no catalogs, no computer data to link with specific cars: carburetors, brake shoes, fenders, doors, fuel pumps, plugs.We found broken and unbroken mirrors: side view, rear-view, spot, angle, panorama. In dust-covered boxes underneath a crate of rebuilts we unearthed an old car polish: Professor Frye's Miracle Shine, in its garish glass bottles, separated back into primordial elements like a pousse-cafe of creamy protection. Six and a half cases of this noble product had waited since nineteen fifty-eight to find an Edsel, even a Rambler, to caress. We found glues and strips of rubber and metal rods, tractor filters and clothes hangers and neon pink steering wheels from the late sixties. Small things, too: nuts and bolts and drain plugs, chisels, punches and screws. If you took sixty-five cars, one from every year between `thirty-four and `ninety-nine and dismantled them all and put everything in boxes, bags, sleeves and cartons, you might approximate what we had left.
When the final close-out started - the lease had expired and old Doc Levin had done the same seven years before - I thought the stuff would sit around until the clearance agency came and picked it up. Most of it had been in the basement for thirty years, after all. But I jammed it into shopping carts, with hand-lettered signs - two bucks, five bucks, ten. And from somewhere in the city they started to arrive. Men in long coats, men covered with grease. Women with sharp eyes. Lean youngsters with tattoos. Old wanderers with wide hands. They looked serious, like accountants, turning things over in those hands, one after another. Fuel pumps for Torinos. Generators for Vauxhalls. Shim Stock. They picked up the parts, put them down, and picked them up again. In a week everything was gone. I don't know what they did with those parts, that junk, or the Miracle Shine, other than make me feel maybe Doc did something worthwhile all those years holding onto it.
2nd Place— Autotopsy By John M. Sowa
Last words about my Chevrolet
That died on me just yesterday
The on scene caroner supposes
Blockage in some major hoses
He also noted, maybe joking
Clearly automatic choking
His helper "Wrench," who also lubes
Found carusterol in other tubes
And balding tires, a back one popped,
The clock gone too, its ticker stopped
No chance resuscitating either
Carcinoma of the breather
They dragged the carcuss off today
Laid to rust South Sunrise way.
3rd Place— ALL I WANT FOR MOTHER’S DAY By Nancy J. Heggem
All I want for Mother’s Day is a ride on a Harley.
I want to feel the wind on my face and hear the twin pipes roar.
I want to ride behind my son who has grown so tall and lean,
It is hard to believe that 26 years ago he was my little babe.
No I am not a motorcycle Mama.
I am a very sedate suburban matron.
On most days I get up at six am, dress conservatively,
Then drive at the speed limit to an eleven story office building.
But then you asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day,
If you were three, I’d say a hug.
If you were five, I’d like a big bouquet of dandelions.
If you were thirteen, I’d yell PEACE and QUIET.
You are grown now, a handsome man, a caring man, a man who owns a Harley.
With money in your pocket, you could buy flowers or candy.
But you like wind rushing by and a road ahead and the freedom to be unique.
So you will understand when I say, “All I want for Mother’s Day is a ride on a Harley”
Honorable Mention
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