Yesterday the friends of Tony Hart gathered at his shop, Gobees Auto Body, to remember and celebrate the life of a man who made our vehicles look good and our laughter sing often. Cancer took him from us, so we grieved; however, his faith gave him a place to spend eternity.

I have been asked to post what was written for his memorial by my old truck and translated by me from the ancient language of Detroitians. So with appropriate apologies to King David:

 

Psalm by a 19-year-old Suburban

Tony Hart is my body shepherd; I shall not rust.

He maketh me to drive down to First Avenue for repairs; he leadeth me into a clean (if not quiet) garage.

He restoreth my exterior; he leadeth me in the paths of deer and icy roads for his profit’s sake.

Yea, though I speed through the Spokane Valley in the shadow of construction, I will fear no collision: for Tony art with me; his parts store and his staff, they comfort me.

Tony prepareth a table before me in the presence of his adult beverages and photos: he anointest my fenders with paint; my insurance estimate runneth over.

Surely scratches and dents shall follow me all the days of my life: then I will dwell in the junk yard of Spaldings forever.