Fall 1993 • Vol. XV No. 4 Nonfiction |

Panhard (A Memoir)

Father had a thing for cars. He owned two of them, one of which he could ill afford. He often expressed a sentiment that was common to his generation. "There are times," he would say, "when a classic automobile is more alluring than a dazzling woman. "Take our Panhard Dynamic, with its harmony, its timeless elegance, the subtle ambiguity; an innovative engine with an obliging temperament that responds to the practiced hand under her hood. The Dynamic," he'd gesture expansively, "will someday be enshrined in the annals of automotive history." Mother found these reveries amusing. She sometimes reminded him that in spite of an impassioned love for cars, his hands often found the time to wander elsewhere. It was the end of September 1938. I was ten. The Munich Pact had just been signed. The French and British Prime Ministers returned to their respective countries. Édouard Daladier, somewhat in a daze, waved his hat, a resolute Chamberlain brandished a piece of paper

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Ianvar

By James Vladimir Gill

Father had a thing for cars. He owned two of them, one of which he could ill afford. He often expressed a sentiment that was common to his generation. "There […]

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