James D. Hogan

Cars

On August 8, 2024

Every car has a story. A list.

I have been reading The Autopian since it was founded. Really, I’ve been reading David Tracy for years, and he and his fellow wrenching enthusiasts have been sort of the gateway for me into caring for cars that Tony Bourdain was when it came to travel–a sort of acknowledgement that it’s a fine thing to do, wrenching, that normal, non-mechanical people can do it, that cars are machines, and every machine breaks now and again, and even if you can’t solve it, it’ll be okay.

Anyway, David Tracy put out an article this week about all of the cars he’s bought and sold, and it made me wonder if I could compile a list of the cars I’ve owned (including the ones Kelly and I have owned together). And here is just as good of a place as any to catalog them.

1979 Oldsmobile Cutlass Salon. My first car, inherited from my stepmother, Mary. When I earned my driver’s license in 1997, the car was 18 years old, but to my teenaged self, it felt 118. It was, admittedly, a car from another era. Its small block V8 ought to have provided tremendous power, but because it came from a time of fuel efficiency, it barely coughed up more than 115 horsepower. Mine was gold with a beige fiberglass top. Actually, gold is an exaggeration. The car I drove was dull brown. It consumed oil as greedily as it did fuel, which I thankfully could purchase for $0.95/gallon in those days. When I worked and saved and had enough money for a replacement when I graduated high school, we put the Olds in the front yard with a “for sale” sign in the windshield and a price of $800. A couple came by to test drive it and stole it. Later, we found it in a pay-by-the-week motel in Statesville. Mary felt so bad for the couple (who had apparently lived in the Oldsmobile for a while with their kid) that she just let them have it.

The 50 x 50 Project

By James D. Hogan

On July 5, 2024

In diary

Let’s go.

There are many accidental factors that contributed to my career change from teaching to college fundraising, but one of the most compelling reasons I remember was the fact my new fundraising position paid me to travel.

It was something I couldn’t afford to do very much on a high school teacher’s salary, and even when we had the money, we were more often than not bound to the school calendar. We traveled on school breaks–the time when it’s more expensive to travel. Getting paid to travel (and yes, do my job as a fundraiser) sounded like a dream.

I learned to travel efficiently. Even if I had fundraising work scheduled throughout the day, I could often sequester off a few hours on every trip to do something on my own agenda. Sometimes it was a baseball game (I visited lots of cities with ballparks), other times it was a museum or historic site. I tried to experience each place I visited with an open, curious mind. When I would call on donors, I asked about where we were and what made it special. What do you love about here? I wanted to know.

Of Thee I Sing

By James D. Hogan

On June 1, 2024

In writing

An extraordinary day, and a simple act of decency.

We are standing in a dark room where photography of any kind is prohibited. Before us, in a light and climate controlled room, is the original garrison flag raised over Fort McHenry in September of 1814 following a long night of British bombardment. In the early morning light, the sight of the flag inspired Francis Scott Key to compose words that eventually became The Star Spangled Banner.

Thomas and I are standing, a bit speechless, looking at its faded colors, its clearly hand-sewn composition, its tattered edges. In the years after the War of 1812, the flag was owned by a family, who scissored off snippets of fabric to give to war heroes and friends. It was eventually given to the Smithsonian in 1907, where we are viewing it. And of course, now we all sing about the flag. This flag. I think about how singing a song with others brings us together.

Minutes later, I pause to take a seat on a wooden bench while Thomas checks out another gallery of our nation’s artifacts. I’m nursing a fractured foot, and our day started early this morning as we hiked around the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and the U.S. Capitol Building. The day before we’d hoofed it more than 10 miles. My orthopedic boot was not the most comfortable footwear. As I sat, I glanced at my phone and saw I had a LinkedIn message, and for whatever reason I opened it, read it, and came to a startling conclusion.

I was missing my wallet.