By Skip Peterson

It's hard to imagine that Tony Pareseau is gone. The guy with boundless enthusiasm, always willing to lend a hand, a guy whose word was as good as gold. If Tony said it, you could take it to the bank. Life can be so precious, and all too often, so short. Taken away at 54 years old, but we do have great memories.

Peggy and Tony were usually together, rarely do I remember his brilliant purple "B" without Peggy in the passenger seat. Oh yes, there are those early mornings as we set up for BCD, Tony driving the RV and Peggy in the B. She told me that was the only day each year she got to drive it.

And about BCD, Tony helping set up the concession stand, Tony cooking burgers on the grill, Tony helping park cars, Tony taking down the row markers, Tony helping pack away the concession stand, Tony picking up trash. I hope you get the point, he would do anything, usually without being asked, and then ask if you needed something else done. On the road, Tony and Peggy went on lots of the club cruises and overnight trips. If anything broke down, Tony's trunk was open first, and he was right in there. He had great mechanical skills, along with the common sense on how to patch something to get a car back home. He didn't care whose car it was, how hot it was or how dirty he got. He was keepin' em on the road and loved every minute of it.

Last year's trip to the NAMGAR convention in Cleveland has some moments that Tony played a part in. On Friday, while most of us were having lunch across the street from the hotel, we though we heard thunder. A quick look outside the window indicated lots more than thunder. It was pouring, and all of our cars were in the hotel lot with the tops down. Most of the guys bolted to secure the cars, dodging traffic on the four-lane road to get to the hotel. Tony was just finishing putting up the last top when we arrived, he had a towel in had to dry the interiors.

And then, on the ride home Sunday morning, we got the call on the radio from Tony, "I think my clutch is going out!" We cruised a little further, and Tony finally pulled off into a restaurant parking lot. Gribler wielding a floor jack, Tony grabbing tools, and we doing a NASCAR style pit stop. Turned out to be a leaking slave cylinder line, and with some duct tape and a hose clamp, we were back on the road. Tony bailed out on I-70 to get home with the least amount of shifts possible. He and Peggy made it with no problems. We'll hang onto all of those fond memories of Tony. We were honored to have him as a friend, and we'll miss him terribly.