By Mike Weavers

After graduation from college and employment, the MG traveled with me, though alas none of the apartments I lived in nor the little starter home I finally purchased in 1977) had a warm, dry place for the MG to live. Since the A was not practical to continue to be my daily driver with the miles mounting up, other cars came and went including a cantankerous 68 MGB-GT followed by a frightfully exhilarating 1976 280Z (the only new car I will ever own). Both were Fun Cars but never in the same league with the A.

The thrill of driving with the top down and the engine purring (most of the time) never diminished. And let it be known, if it wasn’t raining or snowing/hailing, the top was down.

To be honest, occasionally I would think it was time to part with the A but then I’d remember on so many occasions while on an outing in the A being approached by someone in a parking lot or at a gasoline station with the comment, “Hi, nice car! It’s a ‘60, isn’t it? I used to have an MGA. I sure wish I had kept it. God, I loved that car.”

These repeated genuinely wistful laments stayed with me. Didn’t want to be in that position in another 40 years so me and the A hung together.

Remember the other “love at first sight” mentioned earlier? Met my wife (to be) where we worked in Virginia and found that miraculously she once had an Austin Healey Sprite in high school and thus loved the MG (almost) as much as I did. Big bonus...she also preferred the top down and if it was cold, by George, she had jacket, hat and gloves! Another keeper, if she’d have me, and thankfully she would.

With the marriage came a home (though still no garage) and a barn for her horse. Happily, there was an extra stall so finally the MG had a place to stay out of the elements, where the concern shifted to diligence concerning rodent residence control. Finally, I could start doing some of the cosmetic upkeep and addressing wear and tear of parts which had been neglected over the years.

Through mutual friends, we found a guy who loved to do body work and not-quite restorations as a side hobby and was delighted to have the opportunity to work on freshening up an MG in his shop. We targeted a completion date in time for me to drive the A with a friend to the Chimney Rock Hill Climb the last year it was held. I brought it home the night before and parked it where unfortunately the other love of my life failed to see it while backing up and crammed the right rear fender, taking out the taillights and rendering it undrivable for the immediate future.

When our kids came along, they loved riding in the MG. When they were old enough to earn their drivers’ licenses, they didn’t care for my insistence in teaching them to drive a stick, flogging my old manual drive Civic around the high school parking lot, but it was worth it to each of them when they moved up to driving the MG. As much joy as I still have in driving the A, there is even more in seeing either of the kids crank up the MG and take her out for a drive.

Happy ending for MG accommodations. We finally purchased an outbuilding which would hold one MG-sized car and put it in a location near the house where the A finally (after 54 years with me) has a place to live out of the elements where even the mousies have not found where she lives.

Over the years I would often think of the guy who originally sold me the A so long ago. After Mom and Dad passed away, little brother (he of the wayward minibike) and I did the sad job of sorting through their hoarded papers and cherished belongings to decide what to keep and what to rehome. What a job, for they kept everything. It was both an ordeal and a bonding experience for us both.

During this process, deep in a basement box, I found that Mom had kept my first passbook savings and checkbook from 1966 showing those weekly deposits of earnings from Central Food Market in high school, and there found some cancelled checks including the one made out to the guy in Charlotte NC for $550 on May 4, 1968 for his MGA! FINALLY I had the name I had been trying so hard to remember. An internet search gave me his address just one state away. Sent a card explaining who I was and who I thought HE was, and gave my contact information. Just a few days later he called me confirming he was the guy, and, unsurprisingly, he wished he still had the MG. However, he was tickled pink that their MG was still ticking and not rusting away in a junkyard. We’ve corresponded often over the last few years, sharing war stories about our respective adventures in the MG.

As much as possible, over the years I’ve tried to just polish and refurbish the original parts on the MG just for sentimentality, but frequently something just has to be replaced. When the spokes of the original steering wheel finally almost separated from the hub and I was told by a respected authority that I was in danger of losing the capability of steering the car, I replaced it. Always looking to rehome instead of discard, I asked the original owner if he would like his steering wheel as a memento. He was delighted to have it and put it on the wall in his basement as a keepsake of the car of his youth.

Since high school the A has been an enduring part of my identity. It’s unreasonable to expect to drive her forever but as long as there is petrol and parts, and friends to coach me through addressing the ailments that pop up in the old girl, I will. If that old thrill hasn’t gone by now, it won’t. Someone recently described our age as approaching the “fourth quarter” (age 75, assuming one is working toward lasting a century) and I find there’s a quiet but intense satisfaction to see our kids love the car as well, to continue the MG adventure started so long ago.