One fine day

A man's man. Corvette collector, pipe smoker, meat packing plant employee. John was 'the corvette guy'. He collected them. Quite a thing to collect, corvettes. His wife left him according to the neighborhood women's gossip I eavesdropped on because he loved his cars more than he loved her. I'll admit, as a young child, I loved seeing his '55 or '56 red and white convertible gliding up the street in the parades. I still couldn't grasp him loving his cars more than his wife. Years later I know there must have been other things, but I'm not here to talk about relationships today.

The backyard of his house, just down my ally turned into a monster garage over the course of a few weeks one summer. 6 cars fit in the shine to automative perfection. As I reflect back on that garage today, I wonder just how he got a building permit for such an ugly structure, but he stored his favorite babies in that garage. He had more than 20 other corvettes stashed away somewhere else.

There was a white birch tree perched in his front yard. A large beautiful tree that dominated the neighborhood with it's unique look. White bark gleaming in the evenings when we'd sit outside and watch the sun go to bed for the night. I'd often smell John before I'd see him on those nights. He had a routine of walking the neighborhood sidewalk with his pipe. You could smell the perfect scent of pipe tobacco from a few hundred yards away. A distinct masculine smell that went with his rugged good looks and 70's mustache.