e silent agony of their fate. Sold, resold
and sold again, used until exhaustion set in, they reached Solomon's for
a last brave stand. No matter what beauties they were to Solomon's
prejudiced eyes; missing fenders, rusted body panels, broken wheels and
rotted woodwork bespoke the utter impossibility of restoration.

"See, Dad, aren't they great?" Georgie gleefully asked. He could just
imagine shaking the guys at school with the old Packard, after Dad
restored it.

"Are you kidding?" Georgie's Dad exploded, "Those wrecks aren't good for
anything but shooting at the moon. Let's go." Not another word did he
say. Heading back to the car parked outside Solomon's office, his
footsteps were echoed by those of a crestfallen boy. Solomon, a figure
of lonely dejection in the gloom overshadowing his unloved old cars, was
troubled with smog causing his eyes to water as tired feet aimlessly
found their way back to his seat in the sun.

That night, to take his mind off worrisome old cars, Solomon began
reading the previous Sunday's newspaper. There were pictures of moon
shots, rockets and astronauts, which started Solomon to thinking; "So,
my classics are good only for shooting at the moon. This thing called an
ion engine, which creates a force field to move satellites, seems like a
lot of equipment. Could do it easier with one of my old engines, I bet."

As Solomon told the people in Washington several months later, he was
only resting his eyes, thinking about shop manuals and parts in the back
yard. When suddenly he figured there was an easier way to build a
satellite power plant. But, as it was past his bedtime, he'd put one
together tomorrow.

It was late the next afternoon before Solomon had a chance to try his
satellite power plant idea. Customers were gone and he was free of
interruption. The engine of his elderly Moreland tow-truck was brought
to life by Solomon almost hidden behind the huge wooden steering wheel.
The truck lumbered carefully down rows of cars to an almost completely
stripped wreck holding only a broken engine. In a few minutes, Solomon
had the engine waving behind the truck while he reversed to a clear
space near the center of his yard.

Once the broken engine was blocked upright on the ground, Solomon backed
his Moreland out of the way, carried a tray of tools to the engine and
squatted in the dirt to work. First, the intake manifold came off and
was bolted to the clutch housing so the carburetor mo