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Old cars have always had an impact on my life. From my earliest of years come a veritable pallet of mechanical memories. My Father's encouragement was evident from praise administered when given an example of my early handy work, although on many occasions he made me aware of his lack of appreciation for my selection for dissection. It seems my abilitys at first were more suited for dissassembly than reassembly.

My keen imagination and curiosity in the art of mechanical operations inspired me to try to repair or invent with nearly every opportunity presented. When I was only three years old, I overheard Dad saying his pick-up's gas tank was nearly empty. In an attempt to raise his fuel level, it was our cinder driveway that produced the desired media. Dad and I later had a discussion concerning my eagerness to assist him without first seeking approval.

As I grew older, at the age of six, I recall my Dad handing me an old Ford flathead carburetor and requesting me to take it apart (to keep me out of his hair). With the necessary tools at hand, I proceeded to accomplish his desired task. When he asked if I had found anything wrong with it, I submitted a float with a bad solder-joint as being my prime suspect. He concurred with my synopsis and quickly produced a replacement . Looking me square in the eyes, he asked if I possessed the mechanical aptitude to re-assemble said carburetor. I assured him that if my skills were lacking at any point, I wound certainly petition his assistance.

Upon completion of my appointed task ( without major assistance), much to my Fathers delight, he was presented with a fully operational carburetor, and I didn't even tear a gasket!

Although pearls of memories of long ago are emblazoned in my brain, they are not always interpreted exactly the same by my dear old Dad, ''Buzz'' Taylor. Love you Dad.

Dave....