Bronco

The Ford Bronco made its first appearance in 1966. It was a result, though indirectly, of WWII. Theodore “Ted” Hoffstetter made his appearance in 1967. He was the result, though indirectly, of the conflict in Vietnam.

The story of the Bronco begins with the Jeep. A civilian alternative to the all-purpose vehicle that won the war, Willy’s Jeep was an instant classic. Bronco was the Ford Motor Company saying, “Yeah, we could do that.” The moment Ted’s father first saw the Bronco, he was hooked. He took every dollar he had saved straight to the dealership and put his down payment on a brand new, teal-green, 6-cylinder beauty. The moment he saw Ted, was less auspicious.

Sure, there was affection. There was certainly wonder. Frank Hoffstetter may even have felt love. But all of these emotions were drowned out by a raging torrent of pure, unadulterated fear. Within 6 months, he was gone. Ted was 13 when he met his father again. He was 47 when he began to forgive him. In that time, Frank had changed. He still looked at a Ford with the same fervor he’d had at 22. But the rest of him had simmered. He gained perspective. And regrets. It took time and resources, but he was determined to make things – if not right – at least better. He found Ted. After a few years and a thousand slammed doors, he found an opening. Eventually, he found grace.

Which brings us to the present. Somewhere in Ohio, in a city that Ted thinks is pronounced “Caillou Hygge”, there’s an auction. And Ted is in the front row, completely out of his element. He’s been sitting here for an hour, flicking the edge of his paddle with his fingernail, listening to the auctioneer rattle off a large selection of miscellany. It’s an estate auction, and so far he’s seen a set of 8 vases, a wooden farmhouse table, and the entirety of the deceased’s fine China collection. But these aren’t what he came for.

“Going once, going twice. SOLD to the man in the blue shirt.”

Ted’s muscles tense. The moment is here. The next item on the block is #47. It looks a little worse for wear. The teal-green paint has peeled and scratched in more than one place and there’s more rust than there was in ’66. But there’s no doubt. This is what he came for. After a brief introduction, the bidding begins. Ted’s hand jumps in the air hardly hearing the number, desperately hoping for an easy win. Like his father before him, he’s collected his savings for this one shot. But that doesn't mean he wants to go head-to-head with any serious spenders.

At first, the bidding was incremental. Two or three other guys were throwing their paddles in the air. Most of them petered off after 20K. Not Ted. This was just too important. He’d missed his Dad making him hold a flashlight while he changed the oil, missed his Dad taking him to practice, missed his Dad teaching him to drive. He couldn’t afford to miss this too.

After a few more volleys, it was down to Ted and the Man in The Gray Hat. With each suggestion from the auctioneer, Gray Hat was keeping pace. Ted wondered what his fascination was. Was he just a wealthy enthusiast? Or did he have the same skin in the game that Ted did? Well, not the same skin. After all, THIS had been Frank’s car. Even if 3 years of mental decline meant he couldn’t remember it anymore.

The auctioneer kept going, ruthlessly daring the price to go higher. Ted’s hands shook every time he raised the paddle, but Gray Hat was looking sweaty. He began to have hope that he just might be able to pull through. Back and forth they went, nervously rallying for the lead. Finally, the auctioneer called out, “31,000! Do I hear 31,000?” This was the number that Ted knew would be his limit. He raised his hand in the air and looked across the audience at his opponent, half daring, half pleading with him not to raise the price again.

The auctioneer confirmed. “31,500! Can I get 31,500?” With a subtle head shake, Gray Hat recused himself.

“31,000 going once!”

Ted was giddy.

“31,000 going twice!”

Finally, closure. Finally, redemption for all those missed years. Finally –

“31,500! 31,500 to the Man in the Black Denim.”

And it all came crashing down.

Ted tried to catch up with Black Denim. Explain the situation. Strike some sort of a deal. But the crowd that gathered for the first edition George Forman grill was more substantial than he expected. The high bidder was already queued up to leave when Ted first made his approach. By the time he’d got through the hamburger enthusiasts, the man in black had already walked the line straight out the door.

Ted’s drive home was a long one. So much had been riding on this car. When people asked, why he had planned a 12-hour trip to Ohio, he kept telling them it was for the scenery. When they asked, “No, really, why are you doing this?” He would say, it was for the adventure. Traversing the Midwest to buy back his Dad’s first car? Priceless. When he asked himself the same question, the answer was slightly different. He’d say it was for his Dad. After all, if you only have one Birthday left, why not make it a big one? But even then, that still wasn’t quite the truth. When the pedal hit the floor, what he really wanted was a do-over. He wanted to make up for all those memories he’d never had.

Walking into the assisted living facility a few days later, he was greeted by the familiar. The smell of talcum powder, the sight of wheelchairs and oxygen caddies crowding the hall, and the sound of Agatha yelling “BINGO!” with a fervor known only by those who have literally nothing better to do. As he entered room 208, he still struggled with the sense of loss. Loss for something he’d never had, but desperately wanted. The Bronco wasn’t all that, but it felt like a start.

“Who’s there?” croaked the voice inside, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hey, Frank.” came the practiced reply.

The face that greeted him looked innocently puzzled. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have we met? I have so much trouble remembering these days.”

“I think so, Frank” was the patient, well-rehearsed reply.  Though he mourned the loss of the moments he would never have, there was still a choice. There was still this moment. And the next. And however many more till Frank’s maker called him home. “My name’s Ted.”

“Well, Ted, ya like cars?”