1965 or 66 a friend and I are sitting in the park in front of the Durant Hotel. I look over and see Mr. Mott. “Hey Terry, there’s Mr. Mott.” He is reading the paper legs crossed. I can see just a tiny bit of tether on his suit collar and a tiny wear in the sole of his shoe, showing just how frugal he was. “I think I’ll go shake his hand, and thank him for all he has done.” Before I could, Mr. Mott folded his paper, got up, walked over, and got in his Corvair. We were both kinda [sic] taken aback, thinking he would have been driving an Electra 225.