MY MOM’S AUNT ESTHER was a slim woman who always dressed to the nines and drove a chestnut-colored 1963 Chevrolet Impala Sport Sedan. One memory so strong to my 8-year-old self was running my eyes up and down the length of the car, captivated by its chrome, white painted top, and that expansive bench seat. Right away, it became a car that I hoped would be in my future, somehow, some way. I recall that, at age 11, I said, “I’d really like to have that car someday,” to which my great-aunt replied with a warm smile.
By the time I was 12, I was fully infected with the car bug and began riding my bike downtown, where all the primary dealerships were located. Not one of them is there…
