The program partnered with local schools and community workshops to introduce young people to automotive engineering, mechanical preservation, and the importance of documenting technical work.
It wasn't an enormous institution.
We began with weekend sessions.
Small groups.
And volunteers from the museum and local engineering companies.
Students learned basic diagnostic principles, how to read technical drawings, and why careful documentation mattered when repairing or preserving equipment.
They also learned that engineering history included people whose contributions weren't always acknowledged publicly.
My father had understood that long before I did.
He worked in places where talented technicians often remained invisible behind corporate names and executive titles.
I wanted the next generation to know their work could matter even if they never became famous.
The teenage neighbor became one of the program's first volunteers.
He helped organize equipment, set up presentations, and document interviews with older mechanics.
Sometimes he asked too many questions.
I smiled every time.
My father would've loved him.
Westbridge Estates changed too.
The new HOA board reviewed its enforcement policies, vendor contracts, and conflict-of-interest procedures.
The association established clearer requirements for notices, hearings, and decisions affecting private property.
It also revised how directors disclosed financial relationships with contractors and how vendors were selected for unusual or high-risk work.
Not every resident agreed with every change.
Some thought the new process was too slow.
Others worried it would make ordinary enforcement more expensive.
But the board understood that speed couldn't justify ignoring ownership rights or basic authorization.
The neighborhood had experienced what happened when one person claimed emergency authority over a problem that wasn't an emergency.
The cost wasn't merely financial.
It damaged trust between residents.
And rebuilding that trust required procedures people could examine rather than promises they were expected to accept.
One evening, the younger accountant who had become interim board president stopped by my house.
He stood beside the garage.
For a moment, he looked toward the open door.
Then smiled faintly.
"Feels different without the Phoenix."
I nodded.
"Yeah."
He hesitated.
Then asked whether I planned to display another car.
I looked toward the workshop.
For a moment, I considered the question.
Then answered.
"Eventually. But not as a replacement."
He nodded.
I continued.
"The garage is going to be used for the education program too."
His expression brightened.
"That's great."
Then he looked toward the driveway.
For several seconds, he seemed thoughtful.
Finally, he said.
"I still wish we'd stopped her before it happened."
I nodded.
"So do I."
He looked toward me.