1943 Willys MB & '44 MBT
1942 Harley-Davidson WLA
1942 Harley-Davidson XA (two)
MVPA Member #14803 - Member MVCG (France)
http://www.freehomepages.com/antoine
http://www.powow.com/Harley42XA
----- Original Message -----
From: William R. Benson <Benson@plg.com>
To: <HMVWF97@aol.com>
Cc: <Mil-Veh@skylee.com>
Sent: Thursday, September 02, 1999 1:58 PM
Subject: [MV] The First Night (Was:SCORE! M-37 is in the bag!)
>
>
> The recovery vehicle had disappeared down the road in a cloud
of diesel
> exhaust and the grin of the buddy who loaned its services.
The neighbors,
> who had come out to gawk at this new "thing" had bid their
"good-nights"
> and headed inside to eat dinner, watch Jeopardy", or put the
kids to bed.
> The day faded into night, and the world filled with the serene
silent that
> lay like a comforting blanket over all.
>
> It sat there, a shape in the darkness, illuminated by only the
light
> spilling off of the porch. Even in its dilapidated shape, it
commanded
> respect, like an old soldier trying to straighten to the
position of
> attention for the flag he fought for so long ago. The newer
vehicles
> around it seemed to bow to its presence, as if understanding
that they
> served a daily and useful purpose, but that this newcomer
would perform a
> more noble deed.
>
> I looked at this tired old survivor, and didn't think of the
many hours it
> would take to get it up and running. I'd do that tomorrow.
>
> Not tonight...
>
> Tonight was a night to rest. It was a night for me to shed
all of the
> feelings of anxiety and worry. A night for me to take a deep
breath and
> accept that this old war-horse was all mine, with the title in
my pocket.
>
> Tonight was a night for the spirit of this vehicle to accept
that it was
> now in the care of a pair of hands that who treat it with
respect, and
> maybe even a little love. It would never sit in a barn,
covered in
> garbage. It would never sit in the middle of a field, lonely
and rotting
> away, it would never feel the hands of some uncaring driver
who looked at
> it as "just another farm truck". It seemed to breathe a deep
sigh of
> relief, like that of a rescued soul...
>
> Tonight was a night for ghosts. A time for all those spirit
of warriors
> past to find this vehicle, to invest in it there own stories,
which would
> be revealed as I researched its past decades of faithful
service...
>
> I watched it for a little while, and then put my hands on the
dented hood.
> I could feel the energy over the span of time. How many hands
had touched
> this very place. I walked around it, my finger trailing along
its fenders,
> its doors, its sides, its tailgate, all the while wondering at
the places
> it had been, of the men and women it had carried, and of the
events it had
> witnessed.
>
> Here, in the darkness, I could almost see the faces of the
young men,
> dressed out in their combat gear, riding in the back, on their
way to meet
> their destiny, be it the front lines, or simply from the field
to the
> chowhall.
>
> Tomorrow I would begin to restore this diamond in the rough to
its youthful
> livery. Tomorrow I would work my will upon it.
>
> Tonight, however, I would be still, and let it work its will
upon me...
>
> Bill Benson
>
> ...to all of us...
>
>
>
> ===
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