The latest issue (emphasis on late) is at the printer now and should be in the mail this weekend. I ended up with a pile of material about the West Coast's 2008 regional meet, so most of the issue is devoted to coverage of the club's event.
I'm not a joiner. I was in the Tennis Club for about two days in high school, and my folks stuck me in Demolay (a Masonic youth group- and no, they didn't tell us the true identity of Jack the Ripper) when I was 13 or so, but that's about it. For whatever reasons, organized groups never really clicked with me.
Except for the Crosley Club. I joined way back in 1997 when I met a few local guys who heard about my ads looking for a Crosley. They were unequivocal: join the Crosley Club. I did.... first the national group, and then the West Coast Regional group. Becoming part of those two clubs opened a whole world to me. Unlike most car clubs, where there is at least some element of machismo, one-upmanship or class snobbery, the Crosley Club is almost perversely welcoming and supportive of anybody who cares about these cars. Machismo? Not with 26 horses under the hood. One-upmanship? With what?... another Crosley? Class snobbery? With the 'Car for the Forgotten Man'?
I found myself in a brotherhood of oddballs who had a deep and genuine devotion to an absurdly humble little car that had been forgotten for nearly half a century, and was regarded as a joke by most of those who remembered. From the moment i joined the club, I was in. People I'd never met offered help, advice, and even rare parts that they'd been hoarding since the Eisenhower adminstration. I've never met a group of people as sincere, helpful and, well, uh, peculiar as the members of the Crosley Club. I'm proud to be a member.