There’s something inherently subversive about watching a 1942 Ford GPW trundle through modern Los Angeles traffic, its slab-sided body and exposed hardware standing in stark contrast to crossovers bloated with screens and sensors. When Jay Leno pilots a WWII Jeep down LA streets, it’s not nostalgia cosplay. It’s a rolling reminder that the modern automotive world was forged under far harsher, more purposeful conditions.
The GPW was never meant to be admired; it was meant to work, survive, and keep moving under fire. Seeing one alive in a city built on image and excess forces a recalibration of what “automotive significance” really means. This isn’t about rarity or price tags. It’s about relevance.
A Tool of War Rolling Through a City of Spectacle
The 1942 Ford GPW represents one of the most important industrial collaborations in American history. Built to Willys-Overland specifications, Ford-produced GPWs used the same 134-cubic-inch “Go Devil” inline-four, good for roughly 60 horsepower and about 105 lb-ft of torque. Those numbers sound quaint today, but paired with a lightweight ladder frame, solid axles, and a two-speed transfer case, they delivered unstoppable low-speed mobility where roads didn’t exist.
In WWII, the Jeep became the mechanical backbone of Allied forces, hauling troops, towing artillery, serving as ambulances, radios, and command vehicles. Eisenhower himself credited it as one of the key tools that won the war. Driving that same machine past palm trees and studio gates isn’t irony; it’s historical continuity playing out in real time.
Why Jay Leno Is the Right Steward for This Moment
Leno’s involvement matters because he treats machines as machines, not props. He understands combustion, gearing, and mechanical honesty, and he drives his cars the way they were intended to be driven. Watching him handle a GPW in traffic highlights the Jeep’s slow steering ratio, crashy leaf-spring ride, and unassisted drum brakes, not as flaws, but as educational artifacts.
Modern LA traffic exposes just how raw the GPW experience is. There’s no insulation from noise, no power assist, no safety net beyond mechanical sympathy and situational awareness. Yet the Jeep’s simplicity makes it strangely calming, forcing driver and environment into direct conversation. In a city obsessed with the next thing, that kind of mechanical clarity feels almost radical.
Why This Drive Matters to Automotive History
Taking a wartime Jeep onto modern streets reframes the entire idea of what a car is supposed to be. The GPW wasn’t designed around comfort, branding, or planned obsolescence. It was engineered for durability, ease of repair, and function under extreme conditions, principles that still underpin serious off-road vehicles today.
By driving it publicly, Leno turns LA into a living museum without velvet ropes. The GPW isn’t frozen in time; it’s still doing what it was built to do, moving under its own power, decades later. That’s not just history being preserved. That’s history still working.
Born for War: The Urgent Creation of the Ford GPW and America’s WWII Mobilization
To understand why Jay Leno piloting a 1942 Ford GPW through Los Angeles matters, you have to rewind to a moment when the United States was racing against history itself. This Jeep wasn’t born from market research or brand strategy. It was forged in crisis, under a military deadline that left no room for ego or inefficiency.
A 49-Day Deadline That Changed Automotive History
In the summer of 1940, the U.S. Army issued an urgent request: a lightweight reconnaissance vehicle capable of carrying 600 pounds, surviving brutal terrain, and being built fast. American Bantam responded first, but lacked the production capacity to meet wartime demand. Willys-Overland refined the design with its robust 134-cubic-inch Go Devil inline-four, and Ford was brought in to scale production immediately.
The result was an unprecedented collaboration between competitors, driven by necessity rather than pride. Ford’s version became the GPW: Government contract vehicle, 80-inch wheelbase, Willys-designed powertrain. It was industrial pragmatism at its most ruthless and effective.
What Made the GPW a Weapon, Not a Car
The GPW’s engineering reads like a checklist for survival. The 60-horsepower Go Devil engine didn’t impress on paper, but its flat torque curve made it unstoppable at low speeds. A three-speed manual, a two-speed transfer case, and 5.38:1 axle gearing prioritized control over speed, exactly what soldiers needed off-road and under fire.
Everything was overbuilt, simple, and standardized. Flat body panels could be hammered back into shape. Mechanical brakes could be serviced in the field. Even Ford’s manufacturing differences, like its stamped “F” markings on bolts and components, reflected the scale and speed of wartime production rather than cosmetic distinction.
Mass Mobilization on Four 16-Inch Wheels
By 1942, America’s industrial base was fully mobilized, and the GPW became rolling proof of that transformation. Ford alone built over 280,000 of them, each one a moving piece of logistical infrastructure. These Jeeps weren’t just transportation; they were force multipliers, enabling communication, mobility, and coordination across every theater of war.
The GPW helped redefine what a vehicle could be. It blurred the line between machine and tool, influencing everything from postwar agricultural equipment to modern off-roaders. When soldiers trusted their lives to a Jeep, durability stopped being a selling point and became a moral obligation.
Driving a Wartime Machine Through a Modern City
Seen through Jay Leno’s LA drive, that legacy becomes tangible. The GPW’s narrow track, manual steering, and short wheelbase feel alien among crossovers and EVs, yet the Jeep never feels out of place. It was designed to operate anywhere humans needed to go, and that includes a sunlit boulevard far removed from a European battlefield.
Every clatter of the drivetrain and every deliberate steering correction is a reminder of its origin. This isn’t nostalgia theater; it’s mechanical truth. Leno isn’t reenacting history so much as continuing it, proving that a vehicle born for war can still function, honestly and unapologetically, in a world it was never meant to see but somehow still understands.
Ford vs. Willys: How the GPW Fit Into the Jeep’s Complex Wartime Family Tree
To understand what Jay Leno is driving through modern Los Angeles, you have to untangle one of the most unusual origin stories in automotive history. The Jeep wasn’t a single brand’s triumph but a wartime collaboration forged under brutal time pressure. The 1942 Ford GPW sits squarely at the center of that story, equal parts Willys design and Ford execution.
A Design Born at Willys, Built by Everyone
The Jeep concept began with Bantam, but it was Willys-Overland that delivered the winning formula: the MA and later the MB. Willys’ 134-cubic-inch Go Devil engine, making roughly 60 horsepower and strong low-end torque, sealed the deal by outperforming early Ford and Bantam powerplants. Once the U.S. Army standardized the design, production volume became the real enemy, and Willys alone couldn’t meet demand.
That’s where Ford entered, not as a rival reinventing the Jeep, but as an industrial partner tasked with duplicating it at scale. The GPW designation itself tells the story: G for government contract, P for the 80-inch wheelbase reconnaissance vehicle, and W for Willys-supplied design. What looks like a Ford product is, mechanically and dimensionally, a Willys MB in uniform.
Ford’s Industrial Fingerprints
Despite strict standardization, Ford couldn’t help leaving subtle traces of its manufacturing culture. GPWs often featured slightly different frame crossmembers, distinctive gusset shapes, and those famous script “F” markings stamped on bolts, brackets, and castings. None of this was about branding; it was about traceability and quality control across a massive supply chain.
In Jay Leno’s GPW, those details aren’t museum trivia, they’re tactile realities. Every time the clutch engages or the gearbox clunks into second, you’re feeling Ford’s production discipline wrapped around Willys’ mechanical blueprint. It’s a rare case where manufacturing philosophy becomes part of the driving experience.
Interchangeability as a Weapon of War
One of the Jeep’s greatest wartime strengths was that a Ford-built GPW and a Willys MB could share parts almost interchangeably. Axles, transmissions, transfer cases, and even body panels could be swapped in the field with minimal fuss. That level of standardization was revolutionary and directly influenced postwar thinking about global vehicle platforms.
On modern LA streets, that philosophy still echoes. Leno isn’t piloting a fragile artifact but a machine designed to be repaired anywhere, by anyone, with whatever was available. The Jeep’s agricultural simplicity feels almost rebellious in a city obsessed with software updates and sensor calibration.
Why the GPW Matters Today
The GPW isn’t a footnote to Willys’ success; it’s proof that the Jeep was bigger than any single company. Ford’s ability to replicate, refine, and mass-produce the design helped turn the Jeep into a global symbol of Allied mobility. Without GPW production, the Jeep’s wartime impact would have been dramatically smaller.
Watching Leno thread that 1942 GPW through modern traffic drives the point home. This isn’t just a Willys story or a Ford story, it’s an American industrial story, told through steel, grease, and gear whine. The GPW embodies a moment when competition took a back seat to capability, and the road it drives today still carries the weight of that decision.
Under the Olive Drab Skin: Design, Mechanics, and Authenticity of a 1942 Ford GPW
Seen rolling through Los Angeles traffic, Jay Leno’s GPW looks deceptively simple. Strip away the olive drab paint and you find a vehicle engineered with ruthless clarity, where every component exists to solve a battlefield problem. This wasn’t minimalism for style; it was minimalism for survival.
The genius of the GPW is that nothing is hidden. You can see the mechanical logic at work from the driver’s seat, and that transparency is exactly what makes driving one today such a visceral, educational experience.
The Go-Devil Heart: Engine and Drivetrain
Powering the 1942 GPW is the Willys-designed L134 “Go-Devil” inline-four, displacing 134.2 cubic inches. Output was a modest 60 horsepower at around 4,000 rpm, but torque was the real story, roughly 105 lb-ft delivered low in the rev range where it mattered off-road. In wartime terms, that meant pulling artillery, climbing muddy grades, and crawling through terrain where speed was irrelevant.
That engine feeds a three-speed Borg-Warner T-84 manual transmission, paired with a Spicer 18 transfer case. Low range gearing transforms the Jeep from underpowered commuter to unstoppable crawler. On modern streets, especially in LA traffic, Leno isn’t chasing speed but managing momentum, short-shifting and letting torque do the work just as a GI would have eighty years ago.
Chassis, Suspension, and the Art of Controlled Abuse
The GPW rides on a simple ladder frame with solid axles front and rear, suspended by semi-elliptic leaf springs. There’s no articulation wizardry here, just brute strength and predictable movement. The steering is manual, slow, and heavy at parking speeds, but it delivers unfiltered feedback once rolling.
Drum brakes at all four corners demand anticipation rather than reaction. In modern traffic, this forces a different driving mindset, one rooted in mechanical sympathy. Leno’s LA drive becomes less about blending in and more about adapting, driving the GPW the way it was designed to be driven.
Ford-Specific DNA and Wartime Authenticity
What separates a true GPW from its Willys cousin lies in the details. Ford-built frames used different crossmember profiles, and the company’s obsession with traceability resulted in script “F” markings on bolts, pedals, pintle hooks, and even internal components. These weren’t decorative; they allowed inspectors to identify supplier and batch instantly.
Leno’s GPW wears those details honestly. The body tub, tool indents, and dash layout follow wartime spec, right down to the sparse instrumentation and blackout lighting provisions. Nothing feels over-restored, and that authenticity is crucial, because the GPW’s historical value lives in accuracy as much as condition.
Living History on Modern Roads
Driving a GPW in Los Angeles exposes the contrast between then and now in sharp relief. There’s no synchromesh on first gear, no power assist anywhere, and certainly no insulation from noise or vibration. Yet the Jeep feels coherent, purposeful, and oddly relaxing once you accept its pace.
That’s the magic of an authentic wartime vehicle. Leno isn’t just commuting; he’s time-traveling at 35 mph, experiencing the same mechanical sensations that shaped Allied logistics and postwar automotive thinking. The GPW’s design doesn’t ask to be admired, it asks to be used, and on modern streets, that honesty is its most radical feature.
From Battlefield to Boulevard: Driving a 1942 GPW on Today’s Los Angeles Streets
Seen through modern traffic, the GPW’s wartime logic becomes immediately apparent. Everything about the Jeep is optimized for clarity and function, not comfort or speed. As Leno eases it into LA’s flow, the GPW doesn’t so much challenge modern cars as ignore them, operating by a different set of priorities rooted in survival and service.
Designed for War, Not Traffic Lights
Under the hood sits Ford’s version of the Willys-designed 134-cubic-inch L-head inline-four, good for roughly 60 horsepower and about 105 lb-ft of torque. Those numbers sound anemic today, but torque arrives low and predictably, exactly what soldiers needed for crawling over terrain rather than merging onto freeways. In LA, that translates to steady, deliberate acceleration that rewards patience and planning.
The three-speed manual gearbox, paired with a dual-range transfer case, feels agricultural by modern standards. Shifts are long, mechanical, and deliberate, with gear whine always present. Leno drives it the way it demands, timing shifts carefully and letting the engine work within its narrow but usable power band.
Chassis Dynamics Born of Necessity
On pavement, the GPW’s short wheelbase and narrow track keep the driver alert. Solid axles and leaf springs transmit every expansion joint and camber change directly to the seat. Yet there’s a surprising sense of balance at city speeds, a reminder that this chassis was designed to carry men, gear, and weapons without complaint.
Steering effort remains high, especially during low-speed maneuvers, but once rolling, the front axle communicates constantly. Leno isn’t carving canyon roads; he’s reading the surface, feeling grip through the wheel, and adjusting with small, measured inputs. It’s slow driving, but deeply engaging in a way modern isolation simply can’t replicate.
A Rolling Lesson in WWII Logistics
The GPW wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a logistical breakthrough. Built to be simple, repairable, and interchangeable across manufacturers, it helped standardize Allied mobility during World War II. Driving it through Los Angeles, past glass towers and hybrid commuters, underscores how foundational this design was to everything that followed, from postwar SUVs to modern off-roaders.
Leno’s drive turns heads not because of celebrity, but because the Jeep is visually and mechanically honest. Flat fenders, upright windshield, exposed hinges, and utilitarian proportions make it instantly recognizable. On city streets, it becomes a moving artifact, reminding onlookers that global victory once depended on machines this basic and this robust.
Adapting a Soldier’s Tool to Civilian Streets
Modern traffic demands compromises from a GPW. Braking distances are long, visibility relies on flat glass and small mirrors, and top speed is more theoretical than practical. Leno compensates by driving defensively, leaving space, and embracing the Jeep’s natural rhythm rather than forcing it to keep up.
That adjustment is the real experience. Driving a 1942 GPW in LA isn’t about nostalgia; it’s about understanding how purpose-built engineering feels when removed from its original context. On today’s streets, the GPW doesn’t pretend to be modern, and that refusal is exactly what makes the drive so compelling.
Behind the Wheel with Jay Leno: What a Seasoned Enthusiast Notices That Others Miss
For someone like Jay Leno, the GPW isn’t judged by modern metrics. He’s not thinking in terms of zero-to-sixty or lateral Gs; he’s evaluating intent. Every noise, vibration, and mechanical quirk is information, not a flaw, and that mindset changes the entire driving experience.
Where a casual driver might fixate on how slow or crude the Jeep feels, Leno is listening to the machinery. The faint gear whine from the T-84 transmission, the deliberate cadence of the Go-Devil four-cylinder, and the way the chassis loads and unloads over pavement all tell a story about wartime priorities. This is a vehicle designed for clarity of function, not comfort.
Feeling the Engineering, Not Fighting It
Leno understands that the GPW rewards cooperation. The 134-cubic-inch flathead four makes roughly 60 horsepower, but torque delivery is immediate and usable, especially at low RPM. He short-shifts, keeps revs modest, and lets the engine work within its intended band, exactly how it would have been driven by a soldier in 1942.
The unsynchronized first gear demands patience, and Leno gives it. Double-clutching isn’t a party trick here; it’s part of the mechanical dialogue. By matching engine speed to gear speed, he reduces stress on components that were never designed for aggressive civilian driving, preserving both authenticity and longevity.
Reading the Chassis Like a Map
The GPW’s ladder frame and solid axles telegraph everything. Expansion joints, camber changes, and patched asphalt all come straight through the steering column and seat base. Leno reads these signals instinctively, adjusting his line and throttle with subtlety rather than correction.
What stands out is how balanced the Jeep feels at moderate speeds. Weight distribution is honest, and body roll builds progressively, not suddenly. To an experienced driver, that predictability is confidence-inspiring, even if ultimate grip is limited by narrow bias-ply tires and wartime suspension geometry.
Historical Context in Every Control Input
Leno also notices what’s absent. There’s no power assist, no sound deadening, no electronic safety net. That absence is the point, because the GPW was built to be maintained under fire, by minimally trained personnel, with basic tools.
Driving it through Los Angeles highlights just how revolutionary that simplicity was. The GPW set the template for global light utility vehicles, influencing everything from postwar agricultural Jeeps to modern military transports. In Leno’s hands, each careful input becomes a reminder that this machine wasn’t just transportation; it was a force multiplier that helped shape the outcome of a world war.
Raw, Loud, and Honest: Performance, Handling, and Comfort in a Pre-Interstate World
Experiencing the GPW in motion completes the picture that static history can’t provide. On modern Los Angeles streets, surrounded by traffic engineered for triple-digit capability, the Jeep’s limitations become its most revealing traits. This is not nostalgia at idle; it’s history at 35 miles per hour, working exactly as intended.
Flathead Reality: Speed Was Never the Mission
With about 60 horsepower pushing roughly 2,300 pounds, the GPW’s performance envelope is narrow but purposeful. Acceleration is deliberate, not slow so much as unhurried, driven by torque rather than revs. Leno keeps the throttle measured, aware that this engine was designed to pull loads, not chase speedometers.
Top speed hovers around 60 mph on paper, but real-world comfort settles closer to 45. That wasn’t a flaw in 1942; it was a tactical choice. The GPW needed to climb, crawl, and endure, and its gearing reflects a battlefield where momentum mattered less than reliability.
Steering Feel and Handling: No Filter, No Forgiveness
The Ross cam-and-lever steering is heavy at low speeds and constantly communicative once rolling. There’s play on center, as expected, but every correction feeds back immediately through the thin steering wheel. Leno works with it rather than against it, letting the Jeep wander slightly instead of forcing precision it was never designed to deliver.
Cornering is an exercise in anticipation. Narrow bias-ply tires, short wheelbase, and leaf springs mean grip builds gradually and breaks early. In LA traffic circles and surface streets, the GPW demands respect, rewarding smooth inputs and punishing abrupt ones.
Ride Quality: Built for Ruts, Not Freeways
Leaf springs at all four corners transmit the road directly to the occupants. On patched asphalt and concrete seams, the GPW bucks and chatters, reminding you it was engineered for dirt tracks and bombed-out roads. Leno absorbs it with a grin, understanding that compliance was sacrificed for durability.
Comfort, as we define it today, simply wasn’t part of the brief. Seats are thin, upright, and utilitarian, designed for hours of alert driving rather than relaxed cruising. In that context, the GPW excels, keeping the driver engaged and aware at all times.
Noise, Heat, and the Unfiltered Experience
The soundtrack is mechanical and constant. Gear whine, driveline chatter, and the flathead’s steady bark dominate the cabin, unmuted by insulation. At speed, conversation is optional, and situational awareness comes through sound as much as sight.
Heat from the engine and transmission seeps into the cabin, especially at lower speeds. In wartime service, that warmth was tolerable, even welcome. In modern LA traffic, it becomes another reminder that this Jeep belongs to a world before climate control and convenience.
A Rolling Lesson in Automotive and Military History
Driving the GPW today underscores its significance beyond nostalgia. This vehicle standardized the concept of the light military 4×4, influencing postwar civilian Jeeps, global off-road design, and military logistics for decades. Its simplicity wasn’t crude; it was strategic.
Through Leno’s drive, the GPW reveals itself not as an antique, but as a functional artifact. Every vibration, every limitation, reinforces why this machine mattered in 1942 and why it still commands respect on streets it was never meant to travel.
Preserving History in Motion: Restoration Challenges and Historical Responsibility
Driving a wartime Jeep on modern streets raises a bigger question than performance or comfort. How do you keep a machine this historically loaded alive without erasing what made it matter? Leno’s GPW answers that by existing not as a resto-mod or museum piece, but as a working artifact, used carefully and maintained with intent.
Restoration Versus Rewriting History
Restoring a 1942 Ford GPW isn’t about chasing perfection; it’s about chasing correctness. Panel gaps, paint texture, fastener styles, and even casting marks matter because they tell the story of wartime production pressure. These Jeeps were built fast, often by hand-guided processes, and uniformity was secondary to output.
Over-restoration is the enemy of authenticity. Powder-coated frames, modern wiring looms, or hidden disc brakes may improve reliability, but they fundamentally alter the vehicle’s historical voice. Leno’s GPW retains the mechanical roughness that defined these trucks, accepting minor inconvenience in service of historical truth.
GPW-Specific Challenges: Ford DNA in a Willys World
The GPW presents unique restoration hurdles because it sits at the intersection of Ford and Willys engineering. While the design was standardized, Ford used its own suppliers, casting methods, and part numbering system. Details like the “F” marked bolts, frame gussets, and crossmembers are subtle, but essential to authenticity.
Sourcing correct components is neither easy nor cheap. Original GPW parts often require rebuilding rather than replacement, especially drivetrain pieces like the T-84 transmission or Spicer axles. Keeping those components operational while preserving original metallurgy demands both mechanical sympathy and deep historical knowledge.
Mechanical Sympathy on Modern Roads
Taking a GPW into LA traffic isn’t just about bravery; it’s about restraint. The flathead four-cylinder, making roughly 60 HP on a good day, was never designed for sustained high-speed operation or stop-and-go congestion. Oil temperatures, cooling efficiency, and driveline stress all require constant monitoring.
Leno drives the Jeep the way it was meant to be driven: short bursts, mechanical awareness, and respect for its limits. That approach isn’t nostalgia; it’s preservation through use. Machines like this survive not by being sealed away, but by being exercised responsibly.
Historical Responsibility Comes With the Keys
Owning and driving a GPW carries a responsibility beyond personal enjoyment. This vehicle represents millions of service members and an industrial effort that reshaped global manufacturing. Every mile adds wear, but every public outing also educates and connects people to history in a way static displays never can.
Leno’s decision to run the GPW in period-correct form turns a casual LA drive into a rolling history lesson. It reinforces that preservation isn’t about freezing time, but about stewarding it. The Jeep remains alive, imperfect, and honest, exactly as it was when it helped change the world.
Why the GPW Still Matters: The Jeep’s Lasting Influence on Automotive and Military Culture
What makes Leno’s LA drive resonate isn’t celebrity novelty; it’s relevance. The Ford GPW isn’t just an old Jeep surviving on modern streets—it’s the genetic blueprint for entire categories of vehicles that followed. From military doctrine to civilian mobility, the GPW permanently altered how engineers, soldiers, and everyday drivers understood what a vehicle could be.
A Wartime Tool That Redefined the Automobile
Before the GPW, most cars were road-bound machines built for comfort, not adaptability. The Jeep changed that equation overnight with its body-on-frame construction, solid axles, two-speed transfer case, and compact footprint. It proved a vehicle could be light, rugged, easily repairable, and capable of operating where roads simply didn’t exist.
That formula became the foundation of the modern 4×4. Every Land Rover, Toyota Land Cruiser, and civilian Jeep traces its lineage back to this wartime necessity. The GPW wasn’t refined, but it was revolutionary, and revolutions rarely start polished.
The GPW as a Cultural and Industrial Catalyst
The GPW also reshaped American manufacturing culture. Ford’s ability to mass-produce a standardized military vehicle alongside Willys demonstrated how industrial scalability could directly influence battlefield outcomes. It was automotive engineering pressed into national service, with tolerance stack-ups and casting quality carrying real-world consequences.
That mindset carried forward into postwar America. Veterans returned home with firsthand experience of what a simple, durable vehicle could do, fueling demand for civilian off-roaders and utilitarian trucks. The SUV boom decades later didn’t emerge in a vacuum; it grew from the Jeep’s shadow.
Experiencing History at 45 MPH
Watching a GPW operate in modern LA traffic highlights just how purpose-built it was. Steering is slow, brakes are purely mechanical, and there’s no excess power to mask driver input. Every lane change and downshift requires intent, reinforcing how engaged wartime drivers had to be in far harsher conditions.
That sensory overload is the point. Leno isn’t chasing comfort or performance metrics; he’s experiencing automotive history at human scale. The GPW communicates through vibration, noise, and effort, reminding us that progress didn’t come easily or quietly.
The Jeep’s Enduring Military DNA
Modern military vehicles may be larger, armored, and digitized, but the GPW’s DNA is still present. Modularity, field serviceability, and mission flexibility remain core design principles. The idea that a vehicle must adapt to the operator, not the other way around, began here.
Even today, the GPW stands as a reminder that simplicity can be a strategic advantage. When systems fail, complexity is a liability. The Jeep’s brilliance was never about technology—it was about reliability under pressure.
Final Verdict: More Than a Drive, It’s a Statement
Jay Leno taking his 1942 Ford GPW onto LA streets isn’t a stunt; it’s a declaration of why these machines still matter. The Jeep isn’t relevant because it’s old—it’s relevant because its ideas refuse to age out. Every mile reinforces the GPW’s role as one of the most influential vehicles ever built.
The bottom line is simple. The GPW deserves to be driven, understood, and respected, not just admired behind ropes. In motion, it tells its story best, and that story still shapes the vehicles and culture we live with today.
