What brought on the bad dream was, of all things, an old-time Buick. Sam Fogel wasn’t into vehicles, certainly not collectibles. The forty-two-year-old college professor leaned more toward chamber music and theater and poetry as diversions, not expensive, environment-wrecking technology. But over breakfast one spring Saturday, Janie looked up from the Meadow Hills Observer and pointed to an article, suggesting that he take the children to the fairgrounds to see the auto show.
"Not even worth small$$"