Noel Osborn's Motorama Story
Here's a Motorama "human interest" story, an experience I had along the Motorama way:
On Friday going into Flint with the caravan from Bowling Green, I developed a noise under the '92 that seemed to be vibration, like a loose muffler. I called in to Les Stanford Chevy in Dearborn to make an appointment for the following Monday in the afternoon when I knew we'd be hosted there.
By the time we had registered in the hotel in Warren on Monday, it was well into the afternoon, and I rushed out to Dearborn for the appointment. I was low on gas, but thought I could make it -- my "range" gauge on the '92 said 30 miles, and the directions to Les Stanford's said 17miles. However, a couple of exits before Les Stanford's, the gauge went suddenly to "low" and the car sputtered. I managed to get off the freeway and into a parking lot, about a block from the nearest gas station, before the engine cut off. Now that was lucky enough, given my own stupidity about pushing the limit on gasoline. But just then, a couple stopped behind me and offered a ride to the station, which I gladly accepted, and I got a gallon of gas which got me to Stanford's.
Brent Hestand, Service Advisor at the dealership, was expecting me and was most courteous. The '92 went immediately into the shop, and I settled into the waiting room to make a couple of phone calls -- except I couldn't find my cell phone. When I got the '92 back (bolts checked and tightened, my noise fixed), it wasn't there either, so I retraced my track to the gas station, but no luck finding the phone.
Then at 3 a.m. I get a call in my hotel room from my assistant at the office in San Antonio: someone had called to report she found my cellphone in her car -- of course, it was the woman who had given me the emergency ride to the gas station. She worked the night shift at the local hospital and had ingeniously found my assistant's home number in my in-phone directory.
So at 7 a.m. I was on my way to downtown Detroit to recover my property. "Michelle" -- that was her name -- and her sister met me at a convenient location, and by 8:30, I was on my way to join the Motorama caravan toward Corvette Central in Sawyer, MI.
Now why did a stupid mistake on my part turn out so well? Why would people of a totally different background and ethnicity so genuinely help out a bearded, bald guy in a flashy Corvette convertible? Was it because I was a "foreigner" with Texas (and Kentucky) plates? Was it because I WAS driving a Corvette, completely defenseless in a rather rough part of Detroit, someone and something that needed protection and care? I don't know, and maybe even Michelle wouldn't be able to explain if I asked her. But here's my thought: maybe the Corvette brings out the best in people, just as it did for us in the Motorama, for Michelle, and for so many of the folks who saw us along the route. Maybe the Corvette is in some way a symbol of a better America, a diversified America which has, against the odds, produced 5 generations of a beautiful automobile that people of nearly all ethnicities recognize. Maybe it's about 50 years of lots of folks across color, racial, ethnic, and income lines working together to build, service, restore, maintain, drive, race and enjoy a single piece of automotive history. Whatever it is or was, I was proud to be an American that day, and more than proud, even humbled, to be a Corvette owner!
And maybe that's what the Motorama was about: a celebration of togetherness, of common destiny, of American-ness, and of pride and beauty and craftmanship. We all pulled off the road that last day when Al Hill's '53 had a flat tire, and we waited and cheered when he resumed the lead and we all fell in line behind. It felt so good and right to do so, didn't it? What a day for America that was!
Noel Osborn
'92 Historic Motorama Corvette
It felt so good and right to do so, didn't it? What a day for America that was!
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