Kate’s Story

My Granddaddy was my best pal. I was pretty sure he walked on water. And he had the coolest car in the world—a 1952 MG TD. It arrived in his garage before I arrived on the planet so I guess I would say I’ve known MGs my whole life.

Sometime around 1977, my dad found a red 1960 MGA Twin Cam in a barn in Decatur, Illinois. He bought it for $750 and towed it home on a Friday. By Sunday, the carbs were rebuilt, the engine was humming, and it was cleaned up and waxed. He sold it three months later for $3500. I was three years old at the time, but I have vivid memories of being absolutely fascinated by pulling the cord in the side pocket to open the doors.

When my Granddaddy died in 1984, his TD came to live with us. At the ripe old age of 13, my dad took me to a school parking lot and taught me how to drive it. I was pretty sure, after that day, that I ruled the world. My dad and I spent a lot of hours working on that car. I was generally in charge of holding the flashlight—a skill not to be underestimated. I learned how the engine worked, which tools did what, and how badly Lucas electrics stunk. I learned more than a few bad words. I heard stories galore of my dad’s history with cars and in my eyes there was no one smarter or cooler in the world. Keep in mind I was a teenager and loved spending this time with my dad. I also watched my mom roll her eyes and smile, putting up slight resistance for show, each time a new part was purchased. So I learned a bit about marriage, too.

One evening in 1990, my dad pulled into the driveway in a bright banana yellow 1977 MGB. It needed “some work,” and he launched a plan to perfect it. My older brother, Andy, was 16 and about to get his license. My dad made it very clear that it was his car, but he would let Andy drive it. I helped a lot as dad overhauled the brakes, replaced the clutch, cleaned, tuned, etc., and at last, had it painted dark green. It was absolutely beautiful. My brother was a wild man who didn’t care much for rules so he thought nothing of handing me the keys. In the event that my dad reads this, I will not divulge just how much I drove that car before I got my license, but suffice it to say when I did, I was well practiced! Thanks to my brother’s knack for rule breaking and subpar grades at that time, I got to drive most days. I learned how to drive on snow and ice in that car, and can now handle any road conditions nature throws at me. No one had a car like ours and I was so proud. The occasional mechanical issue never instilled panic. In fact, I calmly showed the auto-shop teacher at Carmel High School how, with a couple of taps with a ball peen hammer (stored in the trunk) on the starter, I could get it running just fine on my own, thank you very much! Wish I had a picture of the look on that guy’s face! Driving that car was truly the highlight of my adolescence. Then I went to Purdue. And my dad SOLD MY CAR! He called me on a Saturday morning and told me about the brand new convertible Z28 that he bought for my mom…and how it needed to be in the garage. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Somehow, I managed to forgive my dad, but I never stopped wishing I had that car back. Time passed and three kids later, I ended up with a minivan—my worst nightmare. When kid number four came along, on more than one occasion I almost drove off the road as an MG went by. I said to myself, “Someday!”

Fast forward. I am 42 years old, my son and my daughter are both driving. My second daughter will have her permit soon. I’m driving down Rangeline Road one day and see a gold MGB for sale. I begin scheming … we would need an extra car with all these teenagers driving! I stopped in a few days later to check it out. It had 90K miles on it and a large puddle of oil on the crosspiece under the engine. I took my 16-year-old daughter for a test drive just for fun. Just like riding a bike, it all came back to me and she was surprised by my driving skill. These kids have never ridden in a manual transmission car! Tragic! The car didn’t run well, the oil leak was a concern, and the mileage was high. I took it back to the dealer and told him the price was ridiculous. Long story short, he was rude and treated me like a dumb girl. I walked away with burning determination to find myself a great MGB. I get this trait from my dad, who was in my corner. I hit Google immediately.

In my search I happened upon a small ad in the Hoosier MG’s flea market. It was a 1979. It was Green. It had only 15,000 original miles! I called my dad and the two of us went to take a look. It wasn’t running, had been sitting for three years, but man oh man, she was beautiful! It belonged to the man’s father who had passed away and he knew absolutely nothing about the car. He had no idea what it was worth and just wanted it to go to “a good home.” God is funny sometimes. I believe in “meant to be”—or that could just be my above average justification skills which I learned from my mother?!

After some work, my MGB is running. There are still some kinks to work out but nothing too complicated. My dad is 68, suffers from COPD, and is easily in my top ten favorite people in the world. We have had a blast strolling down memory lane while working on my car. Even better than that, my daughter is learning how to drive a stick (although she hasn’t yet been brave enough to go past second gear), my son is learning about how it all works and is anxious to help me fix some things, my 15 year-old wants me to pick her up at school in the MG so her friends can see it, and my 9 year-old daughter knows how to change the fuel filter!

And I can’t forget my dear, sweet husband, John. He knows better than to stand in my way when I decide I’m going to do something. He patiently deals with my financially irresponsible impulse decisions. He repeatedly says, “Whatever you want.” And, bless his heart, he is genuinely happy that I have my car back. An MGB was the car I was driving the day I met him. I am confident I will talk him into new, all-black interior very soon!

I posted a picture on Facebook the day I had the “new” MG towed to my house. I simply said, “She’s Home!” My old friends came out of the woodwork with funny stories and memories of my first MGB. Maybe it’s “just a car” to a lot of people. To me, it’s the best of my past and my future all rolled up in a tiny green package.

We bought the car last year, late August. On September 1st, my middle daughter, Jess, was stricken with what would become a very long and mysterious neurological illness. (She is going to be fine.) We went through everything from looking for brain tumors to testing for parasites and heavy metal poisoning. Needless to say, it had been an incredibly stressful and difficult journey. And unfortunately, there was nothing anyone could do. Now, my father adores my children…especially this one. Dads need things they can fix. I don’t know what he would’ve done without my little MGB over the last year. When Jess was at her worst, my dad was in my garage fixing the things he could fix. My mom commented several times how she thanked God for putting that car in our path at just the right time. Funny how life works out.