Listen to Spencer and Marilyn Bohren talk about the seven years spent touring the country in the Chevy and Airstream

How's the Chevy?

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How's the Chevy?

"I heard about the hurricane... HOW'S THE CHEVY?"

I can't tell you how many times I've heard these words in the past few months. The next line is usually a slightly embarrassed, "Oh, and your kids... how're your kids... and your wife?"

The Chevy in question is, of course, the Bohren Family's legendary red & white '55 Chevy Bel-Air. The one with all the chrome. The one that towed an Airstream trailer full of guitars and children all over the country through the '80s and into the '90s. The one that's approaching 900,000 miles on the odometer. Yes, she's a mythical beast, and to be truthful, she's in trouble.

A couple years ago our Chevy was involved in a hit and run accident, and I foolishly thought I could parley the insurance money into a minimal restoration of the whole body.

I failed.

Along the way, however, I met a wonderful guy, a mechanic and auto body man named Tevis DeLaundro, who took the Chevy to his shop in New Orleans East, almost as a mission of mercy. I gave him the remaining insurance money for starters, and over time sold a few treasured instruments and amps to keep the project moving. The last time I saw the Chevy, she was runnin' good and stopping well (which is significant for any fifties car). She had new upholstery on the seats and door panels, and all the chrome and windows had been removed. Tevis had the body smooth as glass, primered, and ready for paint. That was August 25th.

On the morning of August 29th, Hurricane Katrina visited New Orleans and left in her wake a disaster of biblical proportions. New Orleans East was one of the hardest-hit areas, and we naturally assumed that the Chevy was lost.

And make no mistake, the Chevy has indeed sustained considerable water damage. Tevis, however, once I finally managed to track him down, refused to let it go. His family's house had ten feet of water in it for two weeks; his wife and kids are evacuated indefinitely to Jackson, Mississippi; most of his tools, equipment and office are ruined; his shop is seriously damaged, and still, he refuses to let the Chevy go.

When I say, "My house is ruined and I have no money to spend on the Chevy," he says, "You already paid me."

I say, "That was before the hurricane added all this water and mud into the equation."

He says, "But I made a promise."

I say, "I'm letting you off the hook." He gets frustrated and replies, "That car can be fixed!:

Tevis tells me he has a vision. "I see that shiny red & white 1955 Bel-Air driving out of the muddy ruins of New Orleans East," he says with a faraway look in his eyes, and I can't help but think of the mighty Phoenix rising from the ashes, or Pegasus unfolding his powerful wings. And I know there's nothing I can do to stop him.

But I can't let him do it alone.

And so, for all of those good people who inquire about the Chevy before they inquire about my kids, I've started a fund with hopes of raising enough cash to allow Tevis to do the job right. God knows he can use the work. If we're successful, I promise to drive the Chevy on the next few tours, and she just may clock that million miles yet.

Those who include an address with their donation will receive as a token of our appreciation a button depicting our beloved Bel-Air. That little button will also signify membership in this elite club that will, with a little bit of luck, restore an important relic from one of the greatest periods of America's automotive history.

Thank you. And cross your fingers.

Lovingly,

Spencer Bohren

Listen to Spencer and Marilyn Bohren talk about the seven years spent touring the country in the Chevy and Airstream