Hi Guest!
Hey - did you know if you click on the title of a thread it will take you to the first unread post since you last visited that thread?
but were afraid to ask: 
STOP!! Never post your email address in open forums. Bots can "harvest" your email! If you must share your email use a Private Message or use the 
smilie in place of the real @
Pretty Please - add it to our Events forum(s) and add to the calendar! >> 
Offline
REDLINE
[h=1]Widow prepares to say goodbye to an Austin-Healey that defined a life and a marriage[/h]PETER CHENEY
The Globe and Mail
Published Thursday, Nov. 19, 2015 5:00AM EST
Last updated Thursday, Nov. 19, 2015 8:24AM EST
When Joe Berecz parked his car for the final time, he did it with the same care and precision that he brought to the surgical suite: he placed rectangles of plywood under the tires to protect them from the moisture in the concrete floor, waxed the paint and covered his prized machine with a swaddling, custom-made cover.
Peter Cheney
Joeâs Austin-Healey 3000 wasnât just a car. It was a philosophical statement, a symbol of accomplishment, and a carrier of dreams. He bought it brand new in 1966 from a dealer in Montreal after finishing his medical residency. At the time, the Healey was state-of-the-sports car art: low slung body, a flat dash studded with aircraft-style toggle switches and racing-style wire wheels with knock-off hubs instead of lug nuts.
When he put the Healey away for the winter in the fall of 2010, Joe had no way of knowing that this would be the last time. A few months later, he died of a heart attack. Ever since, his beloved Healey has been parked in the garage of his daughterâs house, exactly as he left it. There are 32,000 miles on the odometer.
The Austin-Healey has always had a special mystique. With the possible exception of the Shelby 427 Cobra and the Jaguar E-Type, there has never been a more beautiful roadster than the Healey.
Peter Cheney
In Windsor, Joeâs hometown, Anita, his widow, took me to the garage where Joe parked the Healey five years ago. We pulled off the cover to reveal the car that her husband had loved for so long â a compact red machine that epitomized British style back in the days when the Beatles and Carnaby Street were changing the world.
Peter Cheney
The Healey had a lovely, human patina. I could see where Joeâs hands had worn the Bakelite steering wheel rim, and how his shoes had left their mark on the tiny pedals. This was a car filled with memories â and perhaps the ghost of the man who owned it.
Anita remembers the day when Joe brought the Healey home for the first time. It was a summer day in 1966. They were living in Montreal, where Joe had just completed his surgical internship. Anita was studying law, and they had three small children â two girls, one boy. Anita had no idea that her husband was planning to buy a car, and didnât understand the point of a tiny machine with a flip-down top, seats for two, and a trunk barely large enough to hold a suitcase.
Anita Berecz
The Healey became a fixture in their lives. Joe loaded the kids into the parcel shelf behind the seats (this was in the days before seat belts) and drove them around Notre Dame de Grace. In 1967, they left the kids with a baby sitter and drove the Healey to Boston, Rhode Island and Marthaâs Vineyard. Joe drove and Anita read the map, which wasnât easy in a roadster with the top down â it flapped in the wind like a flag. âI was a bad map reader,â Anita says. âWe went in circles all around Boston.â
In 1968, they moved to Albany, N.Y., so Joe could do a surgical residency at the Albany Medical Centre. They had two cars â the Healey and a Pontiac sedan. The kids wanted to ride in the Healey. They piled in and Joe dropped the top. Anita followed in the Pontiac, which was loaded with luggage. âThe kids wanted to be in the Healey,â Anita recalls. âThey loved that car. It was a toy for them. The only one who didnât love it was me.â
Anita Berecz
Anita and Joe met in 1957, in Windsor, where they were both born and raised. Joe was visiting a neighbour across the street from Anitaâs parentâs home, tinkering with a car in the driveway. Anita wandered over. Joe was a science student, dreaming about becoming a surgeon. He loved cars, especially British ones. They married in 1959.
By the mid-1960s, they were on their way to a dream existence: he was a doctor, she was a lawyer. Joe was noted for his surgical skills and a sublime sense of proportion that made him excellent at plastic surgery. And his talents werenât limited to medicine â Joe was also a concert violinist and a gifted saxophone player.
In 1969, they hit a speed bump. Joe had his first heart attack. There was no warning. âWe thought we were on the road to heaven,â Anita says. âEverything was perfect. Then it just stopped.â When he got home from the hospital, Joe couldnât go up and down the stairs. Six months later, he was back at work.
Over the years, Joe bought and sold a long series of Jaguars. He loved British cars. âThe insurance bills were crazy,â says Anita. âBut this was his passion.â
Anita Berecz
And the Healey was always there. They moved back to Windsor, where Joe was on call for four different hospitals. Joe would drive the Healey and take one of the kids with him when he could. He drove the kids to soccer practice in the Healey, took it to his golf club and tooled around on weekends with the top down. âIt was his tranquilizer,â Anita says. âIt was his pride and joy. When it was here, my car had to sit outside.â
When their son Steven was a teenager, they took a weekend trip to Point Pelee, Ont., in the Healey. Steven was taller than Anita, so she rode in the jump seat. Her hair was flying, bugs were hitting her like buckshot and she was sitting in an unpadded metal compartment. The Healeyâs lever-action shock absorbers did little to cushion the ride. Anita remembers the conversation: âTheyâd turn and say, âIsnât this fun?â And Iâd say, âHow many more miles till we get home?ââ
Anita Berecz
Only after Joe died did Anita really come to understand why her husband had loved the little red car so much.
âIâm not a creative person,â she says. âIâm a linear thinker. Thatâs what made me a good lawyer. But Joe was an aesthetic man. He had an eye for it. He loved vehicles and he loved design. He was deeply creative. Thatâs what made him a good surgeon. The Healey was the symbol of our beginnings, our future. When Joe got it, all we thought about was the end of exams and the beginning of our adult lives.â
As we sat in Anitaâs kitchen, the table was covered with papers that documented Joeâs obsession with his Healey. There was the original bill of sale, stacks of carefully filed service records and a stack of catalogues from a place in the United States called Healey Heaven â a place where Joe had spent a considerable amount of money over the years on parts and accessories. Then there were the bills from a 1997 restoration, where Joe flew to the United States to buy a second Healey that he cannibalized for parts.
âIt made me crazy sometimes,â Anita says. âBut this was his baby.â
After Joe died, several people suggested that Anita sell the Healey. But she couldnât. The car she never really liked was a powerful symbol of her husband. And so it stayed in the garage, wrapped in its cover, its tires protected by the plywood squares Joe had placed beneath them. But now, almost five years later, sheâs decided itâs time. Some time soon, she will place an advertisement. It could read: âCar for sale. Memories included.â
Anita Berecz
From: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/glo...ies-over-nearly-five-decades/article27316597/
[h=1]Widow prepares to say goodbye to an Austin-Healey that defined a life and a marriage[/h]PETER CHENEY
The Globe and Mail
Published Thursday, Nov. 19, 2015 5:00AM EST
Last updated Thursday, Nov. 19, 2015 8:24AM EST
When Joe Berecz parked his car for the final time, he did it with the same care and precision that he brought to the surgical suite: he placed rectangles of plywood under the tires to protect them from the moisture in the concrete floor, waxed the paint and covered his prized machine with a swaddling, custom-made cover.
Joeâs Austin-Healey 3000 wasnât just a car. It was a philosophical statement, a symbol of accomplishment, and a carrier of dreams. He bought it brand new in 1966 from a dealer in Montreal after finishing his medical residency. At the time, the Healey was state-of-the-sports car art: low slung body, a flat dash studded with aircraft-style toggle switches and racing-style wire wheels with knock-off hubs instead of lug nuts.
When he put the Healey away for the winter in the fall of 2010, Joe had no way of knowing that this would be the last time. A few months later, he died of a heart attack. Ever since, his beloved Healey has been parked in the garage of his daughterâs house, exactly as he left it. There are 32,000 miles on the odometer.
The Austin-Healey has always had a special mystique. With the possible exception of the Shelby 427 Cobra and the Jaguar E-Type, there has never been a more beautiful roadster than the Healey.
In Windsor, Joeâs hometown, Anita, his widow, took me to the garage where Joe parked the Healey five years ago. We pulled off the cover to reveal the car that her husband had loved for so long â a compact red machine that epitomized British style back in the days when the Beatles and Carnaby Street were changing the world.
The Healey had a lovely, human patina. I could see where Joeâs hands had worn the Bakelite steering wheel rim, and how his shoes had left their mark on the tiny pedals. This was a car filled with memories â and perhaps the ghost of the man who owned it.
Anita remembers the day when Joe brought the Healey home for the first time. It was a summer day in 1966. They were living in Montreal, where Joe had just completed his surgical internship. Anita was studying law, and they had three small children â two girls, one boy. Anita had no idea that her husband was planning to buy a car, and didnât understand the point of a tiny machine with a flip-down top, seats for two, and a trunk barely large enough to hold a suitcase.
The Healey became a fixture in their lives. Joe loaded the kids into the parcel shelf behind the seats (this was in the days before seat belts) and drove them around Notre Dame de Grace. In 1967, they left the kids with a baby sitter and drove the Healey to Boston, Rhode Island and Marthaâs Vineyard. Joe drove and Anita read the map, which wasnât easy in a roadster with the top down â it flapped in the wind like a flag. âI was a bad map reader,â Anita says. âWe went in circles all around Boston.â
In 1968, they moved to Albany, N.Y., so Joe could do a surgical residency at the Albany Medical Centre. They had two cars â the Healey and a Pontiac sedan. The kids wanted to ride in the Healey. They piled in and Joe dropped the top. Anita followed in the Pontiac, which was loaded with luggage. âThe kids wanted to be in the Healey,â Anita recalls. âThey loved that car. It was a toy for them. The only one who didnât love it was me.â
Anita and Joe met in 1957, in Windsor, where they were both born and raised. Joe was visiting a neighbour across the street from Anitaâs parentâs home, tinkering with a car in the driveway. Anita wandered over. Joe was a science student, dreaming about becoming a surgeon. He loved cars, especially British ones. They married in 1959.
By the mid-1960s, they were on their way to a dream existence: he was a doctor, she was a lawyer. Joe was noted for his surgical skills and a sublime sense of proportion that made him excellent at plastic surgery. And his talents werenât limited to medicine â Joe was also a concert violinist and a gifted saxophone player.
In 1969, they hit a speed bump. Joe had his first heart attack. There was no warning. âWe thought we were on the road to heaven,â Anita says. âEverything was perfect. Then it just stopped.â When he got home from the hospital, Joe couldnât go up and down the stairs. Six months later, he was back at work.
Over the years, Joe bought and sold a long series of Jaguars. He loved British cars. âThe insurance bills were crazy,â says Anita. âBut this was his passion.â
And the Healey was always there. They moved back to Windsor, where Joe was on call for four different hospitals. Joe would drive the Healey and take one of the kids with him when he could. He drove the kids to soccer practice in the Healey, took it to his golf club and tooled around on weekends with the top down. âIt was his tranquilizer,â Anita says. âIt was his pride and joy. When it was here, my car had to sit outside.â
When their son Steven was a teenager, they took a weekend trip to Point Pelee, Ont., in the Healey. Steven was taller than Anita, so she rode in the jump seat. Her hair was flying, bugs were hitting her like buckshot and she was sitting in an unpadded metal compartment. The Healeyâs lever-action shock absorbers did little to cushion the ride. Anita remembers the conversation: âTheyâd turn and say, âIsnât this fun?â And Iâd say, âHow many more miles till we get home?ââ
Only after Joe died did Anita really come to understand why her husband had loved the little red car so much.
âIâm not a creative person,â she says. âIâm a linear thinker. Thatâs what made me a good lawyer. But Joe was an aesthetic man. He had an eye for it. He loved vehicles and he loved design. He was deeply creative. Thatâs what made him a good surgeon. The Healey was the symbol of our beginnings, our future. When Joe got it, all we thought about was the end of exams and the beginning of our adult lives.â
As we sat in Anitaâs kitchen, the table was covered with papers that documented Joeâs obsession with his Healey. There was the original bill of sale, stacks of carefully filed service records and a stack of catalogues from a place in the United States called Healey Heaven â a place where Joe had spent a considerable amount of money over the years on parts and accessories. Then there were the bills from a 1997 restoration, where Joe flew to the United States to buy a second Healey that he cannibalized for parts.
âIt made me crazy sometimes,â Anita says. âBut this was his baby.â
After Joe died, several people suggested that Anita sell the Healey. But she couldnât. The car she never really liked was a powerful symbol of her husband. And so it stayed in the garage, wrapped in its cover, its tires protected by the plywood squares Joe had placed beneath them. But now, almost five years later, sheâs decided itâs time. Some time soon, she will place an advertisement. It could read: âCar for sale. Memories included.â
From: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/glo...ies-over-nearly-five-decades/article27316597/
