Driving Force
Letter from the Editor, January 2019
My love for magazines can be credited to my father. Though I mostly lived with my mother, every other weekend, I stuffed a duffle bag with enough outfits and shoes to last a few days with Dad — which almost always began at Barnes & Noble. While I’d peruse the women’s lifestyle section, Dad would stand transfixed by the rows of glossies in the auto department. We’d meet at the register, combining our selects into an eclectic stack of covers depicting women in fanciful dresses and poppy colored sports cars.
For this issue, we asked our contributors to recall their earliest auto-related memories. As I parsed through my own recollections of cars and road trips, each one was colored with experiences with my father.
There’s the sound of the radar detector that sat on the dashboard of his red Mazda RX-7 Turbo. Anytime we approached a police car, the device sounded an alarm prompting Dad to slow his pace. Then there was his pearly white Mitsubishi Galant. Before he’d even reach our door after a trip to the grocery store or a takeout run, I knew my father was home by the roar of his engine as he pulled into our driveway. That same car would later break down during my first trip to Michigan over 20 years ago. Dad and I took the 12-hour ride from New York City to East Lansing to visit his older sister. The poor Galant refused to rev up for our return trip, forcing us to stay with my aunt for several more days.
When I relocated to Detroit, I believe my father was excited for one reason only: The North American International Auto Show. For years, I joined him for the New York International Auto Show at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center on 34th Street, marveling at the flashy car displays. This month, we’ll voyage to the mecca of auto shows right here in the Motor City — yet another auto-related experience with Dad to commit to memory. — Lyndsay Green
