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About New York City

Drivin’ one? Oh, honey, it’s a hoot! My cousin Buford had a beat-up ‘89 Escort, red as a rooster’s comb, and that thing rattled like my knees after a long show. We’d pile in, six of us—don’t ask how, we was skinny back then—and zip to the drive-in. Felt like “a paradise lost,” like in “Tabu,” cruisin’ with no cares, just laughin’ and prayin’ it wouldn’t stall. Surprised me how it kept goin’, tough lil’ bugger! I’d holler, “This car’s got more heart than me after three whiskeys!”

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And btw, let me spill some lesser-known bite-sized facts: Did ya know that near the old Windmill Square, some families still meet for impromptu picnics? Yessir, right under the giant oak that’s seen more generations than any museum could ever claim. I used to hang out there after sessions – crackling bonfires and deep, raw convos made me feel so damn alive.

Bernard "Doc" Ozinga Obituary