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The World According To Ben ..Lusting After A Long Lost Lincoln

Thru the years we have had many customers, friends and fans of Vintage Auto Appraisal. One of our biggest supporters has been our friend Benjamin Neideigh. Not only a lover of quirky classic vehicles he is also an author and poet. We are honored to be adding one of Ben’s poems to Vintage Auto Appraisal Magazine. We hope he lets us share more of his wonderful bombastic intelligent writings to these pages. Why do you ask are we adding poetry or sonnets to Vintage Auto Appraisal Magazine? ..Hey we are trying to “Class Up” the place. Thanks again Ben.

The Long Car”..

The Long Car was, well… long. I can’t imagine it could ever belong In any single modern parking space. A sad fact must be faced: Cars aren’t like that anymore. In many ways, they’ve become a snore. Sleek and smooth? Gadgets galore? Yes… but hardly style. Certainly not enough to stretch a quarter-mile Like The Long Car did. You’d agree If you’d been back there back then with me

The Long Car was long on everything: Stretched white sheet metal… fins as big as wings… Chrome encrustations, Plus even more ostentatious decorations Plated to resemble gold… Vast soft top that, into trunk, would fold… Jagged four-pointed star on the hood… Inside, blue leather, buttons, plastic wood… As Fifties as a Fifties car could be. Always filled me with glee. What a sight to see.

The Long Car fueled my dreams. Quick hops for cheeseburgers and ice cream Became motorcades. I rode, an imaginary boy king in crown and brocade, In the back seat, being too young to drive. But ah, that dream? Long kept it alive. In bad times, that dream helped me thrive. It was something almost real for which I could strive. Me, behind the wheel Of a vast, bombastic, American automobile.

The Long Car dream came true in Sixty-Eight. What I’d feared mere fantasy was, in fact, fate. Top down, rolling from Locust onto Second Avenue, It was all that I could do Not to push the gas pedal through The floorboard. But that would have been rather untoward, And gotten me grounded to boot. So, the point being anything but moot,

We wafted through town and out Into the country circling all about. Cruising past fields of alfalfa, tobacco, corn… This was the reason I was born: To drive this car, smiling, recently Eddie-shorn, A “decent” kid with an indecently fine ride. It was a ride I could much more than abide, An experiential taste that would always be delicious. And… such were my wishes.

The Long Car drive? Sadly, the only one. Too soon, the dream was done. The owner was unhealthy, Underinsured and hardly wealthy. He needed the money. Nothing about the situation was funny, Save for the fact that he replaced This ride befitting a bonafide ace With a Rambler. Had I been a gambler, I would have never bet on that. From automotive nirvana to mere function, flat, Plain, uncomplicated, somewhat dumb… And, of course, I was numb. That was to be my car. There had been discussions. But, after the sale, there weren’t even repercussions. No conversation. No consolation. It was simply gone. Automotively speaking, I had to go on.

The Long Car lives in memory. Perhaps someday, if all factors can agree, I’ll own something similar. Long drink of wine after decades of vinegar. Oh, of course, it hasn’t been that bad. It’s just that I never really had The car that I thought would be mine. That car so fine.