Old Dodge trucks were, let's face it, not the best sellers in truckdom. We Dodge owners are few and far between, so trying to get information on how it looked back then is often an exercise in frustration. This book is packed with information for the rebuilder or restorer: which parts were used for which years, which engines, options, brakes, trannies, etc. Has been a great reference for getting my 55 and two 57 pickups roadworthy again!

This book really details the history of the Dodge pickup trucks through the years. I found it very useful when trying to distinguish the years in which parts could be interchangeable in my Dodge truck. The balance of pictures and text creates an enjoyable reading experience.

My mother gave this book to me for Christmas. She taught with Mr. Dodge several years ago and is a fan of his NPR pieces. I didn't start it right away and wish that I had. It is a light read - short bits so you can pick it up and put it down. Unfortunately, I don't want to put it down. It is thoroughly delightful! I'm familiar with the places and Texas authors he mentions in the book so it is great fun. I'm going to buy several for my other family members and friends who are also Texas born - and for a few of those friends that aren't.

I had read Mr. Dodge's book of short essays and thoroughly loved it. I purchased this book at NorthLake College where I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Dodge speak. My father died of colon cancer a year ago and spent a month in dementia at the end, and my mother has recently moved my 94 year old grandfather into her home. Due to these circumstances I could really appreciate Mr. Dodge's experiences dealing with his mother's situation - and understand the stress. But the beauty - and the mystery - of the story is his search for his father's identity. I kept turning pages because I couldn't wait to see what information he would discover - or extricate from his mother - next.

Oedipus Road by Tom Dodge is wonderfully engaging. I think I read it in three sittings. Normally I don't find mysteries my cup of tea, but when they are about birth rather than death and occur on a spiritual-emotional plane rather than a physical one, the drama changes entirely; this tea is just the right cup and just the right flavor.

The narrative's subtitle, "Searching for a Father in a Mother's Fading Memory," captures a basic irony of this tale with its classical allusions and provides the basis of its form. The author, stubbornly searching for his lost father in his mother's lost memory, begins each chapter with a candid recollection of his mother in her own voice -- setting the tone for her son who recalls his own childhood in parallels that oddly match his mother's memories on some level. However, Plato and Sophocles hover behind this story of small town life in Cleburne, Texas during the fifties with its insistence on knowledge, especially self-knowledge. In a sense, the author travels the long read that we all travel from the time we're old enough to question our identity. How can we make wise choices unless we know who we are? His mother, a victim of Alzheimer's disease, would seem to be little help on his path; however, the past is as vivid to her mind as the present is dim. Her lively language fairly vibrates off the page as she recalls her own childhood, evoking yet another generation, that of her beloved parents, in whose home the author is reared. We see life spanning generations, socially, politically, economically -- a history of the United States for three generations on a personal level.

As the author outlines his struggles with his mother's mental deterioration and his search for his father, we get not only only a book of changing times but one of morals and mores also. Unlike Jocasta, the author's mother knew who his father was, but as he says of his mother and gradmother: while they could bear any tragedy, scandal was indefensible. And thus never mentioned, ever. Dodge says he was the scarlet letter his mother refused to wear. It's not a bitter story, however. Despite the author's pain and ever-present anxiety, he recalls the pleasure of his small-town doings with nostalgia, great fondness and affection. And always there to guide him, like the chorus in ancient Greek plays, were his grandparents, his aunt Bernice and his mother's husband, kind beacons along the way.

Finally this mystery, aptly begun on Mother's Day, is solved, but it's a who-done-it until the very end. I was breathless by the end of one of the last chapters when the author has led the reader to believe that, if ever, it will be now, and his mother, like a character in a badly dubbed foreign movie, says the name for which so long he has searched. And oddly there is no blame. Because Dodge has allowed his mother to speak for herself, his story is her story too. Tragedy bequeaths itself only because it is inevitable, not because someone is to blame. Thus it is that Oedipus Road does what the best stories do: teaches us compassion and affirms life without ignoring its tragedy or folly.

I met Tom Dodge in 1980. He was the somber, bearded, denim-clad intellectual who collected and sold vintage books in his relaxed little store downstairs from my wholesale office in a restored 200 year-old jailhouse in Waxahachie, Texas -- a great place to work and to hang.

On balmy afternoons, when business was slow, I would venture downstairs, browse the bookshelves, drink some coffee, and swap a few stories. I did most of the talking. Our conversations would round many curves, some serious, many amusing, but none very invasive in a personal sense. When we laughed, I noticed that Tom's demonstration was subdued, as if a gnarled hand from deep in his soul had reached up, pained his features, and choked his laughter.

One day, I felt confident of his trust, so I asked him about his parents. He was forthright, but hesitating. He described his mother and her life in sparse detail. He tried to share some insight about the person whom he thought was his father. Finally, he confessed that he really did not know who his father was. I cannot recall our finishing that point, because I had to take a phone call upstairs. We continued our visits, Tom's justified preoccupation with a recently injured son diverted me from trying to "get into his head."

My company closed the Waxahachie office in 1984, and I relocated my work to Dallas. Although we did see each other occasionally, Tom and I really did not keep in touch until 1995. One afternoon, I gave him a call; he was talkative and enthusiastic, in the middle of writing another book -- a personal account, this time. By then, Tom was trying to "manage" his mother -- not only her home and finances, but also the aftermath of some of her bizarre behavior in and around town, the result of a diminishing mental capacity.

I found out that, while growing up, Tom had shoes, clothes, shelter, and food. And, he had the love of his mother's parents, who raised him. But, all through his life, he wanted -- needed -- to know who his father actually was. But, Tom's mother could not tell him -- especially as he grew to adulthood -- because he represented a shameful indiscretion with someone to whom she was not married. He tried to reach out to her, but she was running too fast, pursued by ghosts from her past. They never had a deep conversation; it was just too risky for her. Time was running out; Tom's mother would not be able to tell him, because she was losing her mind. One great day, however, Tom got his answer -- a simple, straight answer. His world changed after that.

Oedipus Road is an interesting book in which Tom Dodge deals with his frustrating journey into self-realization in a sensitive, but dignified, way. He does not try to pull the reader into a maelstrom of grief; Tom, himself, is too reserved. Rather, he takes you along on a sensitive, realistic tour of time and life in a couple of small towns in Texas; he guides us with reflection and awareness. Oedipus Road involves the reader through a captivating story and empathy for a man seeking significance.