ground to a halt, I decided to bail out of my neighbor's 1951 Hudson and start walking.
My husband had spent the previous year working on the show's planning committee, and when I located him, he told me the volunteer traffic coordinators hadn't shown up. Minutes later, I found myself stationed at the corner of Liberty and Fourth, trying every method of hand signaling I could remember to keep drivers from darting past the barricades to get a coveted spot on Main Street. My official Rolling Sculpture Crew T-shirt was having little effect on the guys in muscle cars, so I was glad to be relieved by two barrel-chested volunteers capable of eyeballing drivers into submission.
Rolling Sculpture, touted by founder Bob Elton as "the people's car show," is a place for proud owners of classic and not-so-classic cars to show up and be seen. The result is a kaleidoscope of automotive history. I walked by the following cars parked side by side: a modern Ferrari, an unrestored pre-World War I Renault, a recent-vintage Geo Metro convertible, and a 1960 Chevy done up in highway patrol livery with a cardboard Barney Fife at the wheel. Down the street, a Korean War MASH ambulance sat between a yacht-size 1960s Chrysler and a hot rod Morris Minor with a V-8 engine that seemed larger than the car containing it. The bits of conversation I caught often included reminiscences: "My Aunt Lucille used to drive a Cadillac just like this," "This was my first car in high school," "I always wanted one of these."
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