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Spinning My Tires   is one man's view of the world of cars. Random thoughts, ideas and comments pop up here, all of them related to owning, driving and restoring cars. I've been doing this car thing as long as I can remember, and have enjoyed a great many car-related experiences, some of which I hope to share with you here. And I always have an opinion one way or another. Enjoy.

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Additional Spinning My Tires editorials can be found on the Archives page.

9/6/04

A Tribute  

We Harwoods are a notably small clan, and we’re sadly smaller today. I have only one brother, and neither of us have children. My father was also one of two siblings. His only brother, Jon Anthony Harwood, passed away two weeks ago after a long bout with esophageal cancer. He was 54.

If you’re a regular reader, you know I don’t typically use this space to go off on tangents unrelated to cars, and I’ll bring this one around, don’t worry. But I certainly believe that “Uncle Jonny” deserves a few kind words and they belong here for reasons you’ll see in a moment.

Jon was a lifelong writer and journalist whose work spanned three decades, starting with the Three Mile Island disaster while he was just a rookie with the Harrisburg Patriot and culminating as the press secretary for the Governor of Pennsylvania. He loved sports, particularly baseball, and amassed what has to be one of the most significant collections of baseball cards anywhere. He was also a lifetime bachelor with a fantastic circle of friends who kept him busy constantly—he was certainly beloved by those around him.

As a writer myself, I sent everything I wrote to him and he was one of my toughest and most effective critics. We saw each other at major holidays when he would come to town, “just in time to wreck the holidays” as he would say (this was very funny to us—he had quite a dry and quick sense of humor). These visits became somewhat less frequent after his mother passed in the mid-90s, but we tried to stay in touch as much as possible.

There was one time most years when we did see each other pretty reliably: early October. Hershey. The world’s biggest car-show and swap meet. Miles and miles of vendors, parts and, usually, mud. Conveniently, Jonny lived in Hershey, and though he could only offer a couch or floor as accommodations, it was close and free. Perfect.

Did I mention that Jonny knew nothing of cars and had much less than a passing interest in them? He purchased a new Honda Accord, usually a beige one, approximately every 5 years, drove it into the ground, then bought another. So you can see what a major event the Hershey car-show was to him.

Nevertheless, he would walk every swampy mile with us, watch us pick through rusty scrap piles with a sense of perhaps bemused curiosity, and brave the elements no matter what Mother Nature threw at us (I recall one year was golf ball-sized hail). We’d each buy some impossibly strange-looking piece of mystery junk at some point during the first day, just to carry around so we would look like we knew what we were doing. At lunch, we’d compare our finds and the winner ate free. Even Jonny would sometimes get into the act, and even won once in a while. I still have one of his finds in my garage, still unidentified to this day, but I believe it to be part of the oiling system from a 1923 Star or the tuner from an old Magnavox TV.

Whether he thought it was his obligation as host to accompany us into the marshes of Hershey, or because he just wanted to hang out with the only family he had, I don’t know. But I always appreciated it and I’ll miss it a lot next time I go.

We all have people who endure this hobby with us, whether they have any interest or not. This might be a friend, a spouse or an uncle. They know it is important to you, and attend the madness for the opportunity to spend time with you. I think this is what was important to Jonny, and if you have such a person in your life, remember how important you are to them, not the cars. Let your appreciation be known before it’s too late.

Jonny beat the cancer the first time around. He felt a little guilty about it, actually; he overcame one of the most deadly forms of cancer without losing his hair! He was looking forward to getting back to work and went into the office whenever he felt up to it. When he started feeling sick again, he held onto his faith that he’d rest, get strong enough for more chemotherapy, and beat it again. Five days later, he was dead.

I was there when it happened. The doctors called my father on Monday to tell him that Jonny would probably not last the night. We left immediately to be by his side. I spent that night watching baseball with an unconscious Jonny, calling the game for him. The next morning we walked into his room, said good morning and not more than 30 seconds later, he passed. I’m going to think that he waited for us so he could say goodbye and not have to face the unknown alone. Though he was unconscious, I think he heard us talking to him and knew we were there. We were his family—both of us.

There’s going to be a hole in my life where Jonny lived. I don’t know when or if I’ll go back to the Hershey show. It won’t be the same for me, even though I now have a project that can benefit from it. It was less a car-show and more a reunion each year—look out, Hershey, the Harwood boys are here.

When I finish the Century and perhaps take it to Hershey in hopes of winning a prize, it’ll be a smaller victory without Jonny there to share it. With that in mind, I’m dedicating the rest of the project to him, in his honor. I think he’d appreciate some of the strange-looking parts that come off of it.

Uncle Jonny and "Aunt" Dingo

See you next month.