My love – no infatuation with automobiles and all things mechanical started at a very young age. I have a very early memory of my sitting in the car seat of my Mother’s yellow Chevy Malibu screaming bloody murder because she would not stop the car so I could look at a double-decker bus that was stopped near the curb. Living in the Midwestern U.S., double-decker busses are not a common site. I would venture to guess that I was probably about 3 years old at the time of this sighting. A sign of things to come... 

Growing up, I traveled quite extensively with my Grandmother. Several times per year, we would make a pilgrimage of sorts to our ancestral homeland of suburban Detroit, Michigan to visit her siblings. My Grandma was the oldest of three, having a slightly younger sister, and a MUCH younger brother – 30 years younger to be exact. It was the time that I spent with my Great-Aunt and her husband, my Great-Uncle that I treasured the most, and directly affected my passion for all things automotive.  

My Great-Uncle, who we learned to call Skunkle growing up due to the general difficulty of saying his proper name of Greg. For some of us, as toddlers, “Uncle Greg” was a tad difficult to get out, so he crowned himself with the moniker of “Uncle Skunkle” or just “Skunkle”. Anyway… Skunkle was a life-long auto industry veteran, having worked his way up through the design and drafting ranks of Ford and GM. In actuality, his exposure extends to a far earlier time, with his own father, who was an instrumental figure in the Nash-Hudson-AMC institutions having had a hand in the now common uni-body chassis in the form of the Hudson step-down chassis.  

My first memory of Skunkle extends way back to my own toddlership, and it was not a pleasant memory! Skunkle was an interesting elf of a man. Quite wacky, and at times loud. It was the loud bit that terrified me as a small child, but that terror quickly faded.  

By the time I was about 10 or so, my trips to Michigan became pretty regular. It was on my 10^th birthday that the deal between me and all things automotive were sealed. I distinctly recall my grandmother pulling into Skunkle’s driveway in the usual manner, in her 1987 Ford Crown Vic LTD. Skunkle was sitting in the opening of his garage in a lawn chair, his dog by his side. A pipe in one hand, and a snifter of scotch in the other… My Grandma ran into the house to see her sister, leaving me with Skunkle, who greeted me fondly with a pat on the head, and a handshake – a rare gesture for a 10 year old.  

He led me into his garage which was a supremely mysterious place. There was this odd little car, unlike anything I had ever seen parked there amongst a scattering of orphaned car and motorcycle parts with a vintage Lucas Lights poster looking on. The mysterious little machine was a 1968 MGB GT. It was blaze orange with a black interior. Now, I had heard and read about MGs, but up until that point, had never actually seen one. Seeing that I was in utter awe over the little hatch, Skunkle opened the driver’s side door and motioned for me to slide behind the wheel. Again, a rare offer for a 10 year old… I cautiously slid over the sill into the seat moving as if the vehicle were made of ancient glass. I distinctly recall running my hands over the various surfaces, later settling onto the beautiful Nardi wood steering wheel he had pulled out of a long gone Jaguar, and installed in the MG.  

They say that smells are the most effective way of recalling memories. The MG, and the garage had the most amazing aroma of gasoline, leather, oil, pipe smoke, scotch, and damp carpeting. As weird as it sounds, I would buy this fragrance by the case if it were on the market. I liken it now to the smell of church incense at Christmastime. The smell, has forever been engrained in my head.  

Next to the MG, under a grease spattered tarp was the form of a sedan, but something was amiss. The shape was completely foreign to me. After spending what felt like an eternity in the MG, and later examining all of the various rare automotive artifacts bestrewn across the garage, I build up some courage and asked Skunkle what was under the cover. Rather than answer, he impishly said “Oh, you’ll like this!” and with great drama, yanked the tarpaulin off the car. Now exposed before me was a complete contradiction to my 10 year old sensibilities. The nose of this machine said Rover, yet it was not a truck, as I knew Rovers to be. Skunkle explained to me that this car was exceedingly rare in this country, and was a Rover P6 3500. An upper middle class British sports sedan.  

In all its mysterious glory it sat there, gleaming, in a color reminiscent of a battle ship. A dark, non metallic grey, with a deep red leather interior… It was beautiful. A long low slim body with a roof suspended on impossibly thin stalks of stainless steel and acres of glass.  

Without saying a word, Skunkle slid behind the wheel and brought the Rover to life with a sound that is so uniquely British. The car eased back out of the garage onto the driveway where he yelled for me to “hop in”. In slack-jawed amazement, I stared at the dash and instruments while trying to locate the safety belt, which after a polite correction by Skunkle, was indicated not to be in its usual place near the shoulder, but rather, on the seat, like an airline seat. Actually, it was just like an airliner seat with the latch assembly, and means to tighten the belt manually.

Once settled in, Skunkle, without much regard, poored on the throttle and we sped off the driveway, down the road, and out into traffic. The combination of the smell, sound, and feel of the car moving under me was unlike anything I had experienced before. The Rover did not ride like any car I had ever ridden in till that point. It sort of floated and bobbed along, not like a boat, but more like a go-kart. Skunkle, being a bit of a daredevil, took the car to its limits, much to my delight. Everything outside the window was a blur.  

A while later, we returned to the house, I hopped out, and he eased the car back into the garage. He then opened the hood to make sure everything was where it belonged. He then spent a great deal of time showing me the engine, and telling me the story of how this engine, a V8 had a very unique story, with its origins here in the US in the late 1950’s as a GM unit that was later sold to British Leyland, etc. I was fascinated by his dialogue. A dialogue that showed me that these vehicles that we are so ready to treat much as appliances had a history and story; a story of development, and the people involved in bringing these machines “to life”. 

Fast forwarding to the near present time… Skunkle and I grew quite close. Kindred spirits of sorts… We communicated nearly constantly via e-mail, and were darn near joined at the hip when we were together. He was a sort of surrogate Grandfather to me. Our usual way of staying in touch was through our daily e-mail exchanges. We had exchanges on topics ranging from cars and design, to scotch and gardening.  

My fondest memories in life almost all in some way involve Skunkle. He taught me how to drive stick – when I was 14, none-the less. He bought (and sent) me my first bottle of booze when I turned 21. He advised me on the purchase of my first car.  

It is all of these things that we shared and loved together that made his passing so profound for me. Skunkle was more than just a car guy to me. He was the pope of all things automotive. His garage to this day is like a cathedral to me. Despite my knowledge being semi parallel to his now in my adulthood, there are still so many mysteries and eccentricities to it all. Every time I hear an engine come to life, or see a particularly interesting line on an automobile body, I will forever think of him. There are so many other aspects of everyday life that remind me of him and his influence on my life in ways other than automotive related. It is our common tie to all things auto, though, that are/were the strongest. He was a true philosopher of all things automotive, and I can only hope to fill a small portion of the shoes now left unfilled.  

It is as such that I have decided to start this Blog dedicated to his memory and to all those who fancy themselves philosophers of all things automotive. Future entries will not and need not be limited to such things as new cars, reviews, and specs, but will be open to such things as history, design, styling, and trivia as well as consumer automotive news and information. 

As time goes on, the blog will have more frequent entries, and will eventually feature entries from guest contributors and experts. Who knows, we may learn something and have some laughs along the way!

For the time being, I would like to dedicate this and future postings to a man who put the Great in Great Uncle, and the first Automotive Philosopher, Gregory “Skunkle”  Cenzer 1937-2009.