1981 came and the alarm goes through open car windows on The Meeting. The city’s hot rod painter number one, Calle Lundkvist, have the car out there with him!
– Gosh. The crashed, rusty car had been aligned, welded and striped down to the bare metal by Billström. Many drive out to the painting garage to see for themselves.
In late winter of 1981 a shiny blue and white car is picked up from paintwork. The father sucking on his pipe, and indeed appears there a little smile.
In the summer of 1981, the car wins first prize in an exhibition in the home town.
-Nahh, It was just because Aberg was the judge and he likes the fifties cars, apologizes the restorer 30 years later.
We roll the streets on stock rims with quiet diagonals. It smells great in the old car. The “lost item” neals quietly in the transition between the gravel road and asphalt. The three-speed box gets the car to accelerate by the leisurely dignity that only the really big Americans can muster. The record player plays Louie Louie by the Kingsmen. Outside the whitewalls are dancing one elbow length from the aged curbs. Inside the sun is playing in the chromed spokes of the steering wheel. We sit quietly just feeling the spirit and Billa wink’s at me. We’re 18 again. He remembers the winter of 1981. The car had just come from the paint and got the moldings mounted. Billa had his TV-puck jacket on.