CHCH News - "The Porsche"

The year was 1988. That was the year that I bought a lemon because of love for a friend…

I can’t honestly say I didn’t know it was a lemon, in fact I knew it was. Still, that 1971 Porsche 914 just seemed to scream for me to take it home. So here’s the story of how I wound up buying it from a friend and taking it home with me…

A divorced friend of mine, whom I had originally met answering an ad in the newspaper for a Siamese cat had spent some time explaining about the cat, even though he had already found a home for “Frisbee”. Being an animal lover, as we all know, I was invited to his home to see his remaining Siamese cat, “Tuko”. Because of two cats, a very long and trusting friendship formed between us.

After about five years into the friendship, he went to Florida where he picked up his “pride and joy” – the Porsche, from the family of a college professor he knew who had recently passed away. My friend had loved this car since the professor first acquired it. He drove it all the way from Tampa, Florida to his home in Fort Mill, SC. I didn’t know he had bought the car until the first time I saw it, on my first visit afterwards. How in the name of God this car made it all those miles is beyond me!

Upon seeing this adorable, little Gemini Blue convertible Porsche, I told my friend I would be highly angry if he ever sold it and didn’t give me first shot at it. Well, six months later, he got in a bind and I was told by him of his intention to sell it. He also informed me that he did not want to sell me the car. It wasn’t for safety reasons, but rather for mechanical reasons. The mechanical reasons are why my friend had wound up in a financial bind in the first place. I was so excited about the prospect of owning this pretty, little blue car that I raced home to tell Chip. Later, we went to my friend’s house. Chip looked at the car, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “You want that?” To which I replied with an emphatic “yes”.

My friend invited us inside to discuss the car and the price he wanted. During the conversation, I had to argue vehemently with my friend to sell me this car. He kept saying that this car was not meant for me, and he would not sell it to me for fear of breaking up our friendship. During our conversation about the car, he proceeded to show us repair order after repair order for various things he had spent money on since acquiring the little dreamboat. Engine overhauls, new brakes and steering alignments were but a few of the items worked on during this time. The entire time, my friend is showing Chip the repair orders, Chip is sitting there with an ever-increasing look of alarm on his face, and turning whiter than the most recent photo of Michael Jackson!

Despite the mountain of repair orders, and the possibility of a divorce, I am undeterred in my quest to bring the little blue Porsche home. After much arguing with both my friendand my husband, I won what I thought was the greatest battle ever waged in the history of all mankind!

The little blue Porsche was now mine. After work, the following day, I drove to my friend’s house, left my car there, and proceeded to drive my new play toy home. I noticed on the way home, it was running low on gas. I confidently pulled into a gas station, removed the nozzle, walked to the back of the car and tried to pull down the license plate to get to the gas tank, but the plate didn’t move. I spent ten minutes attempting to find the gas port, but to no avail. I had to call my friend to find out the location. Turns out, it was under the “bonnet”, which on American cars is known as a “hood”. The engine, however, was in the back (that much I knew). After finally filling the tank, I drove it to my Mother’s home and took her for a quick spin. She hated my little car. She said, “if I wanted my butt to drag the ground, I would hang on to the bumper of your father’s truck and let him drag me around!” She was, however, happy that I had gotten my new toy.

Now this is where the fun begins…

I had to go into work the next day. On the way in, I gave a co-worker a ride in who needed one. We decided to stop by Burger King to pick up our lunch. Now to understand how hair raising the next few minutes were, the Burger King drive-thru is set up in such a way that once you are in line, there is no way to get back out until you reach the front window for your order. My friend and I were four cars from the window when my little Porsche decided to stall. We had to let it sit in the drive-thru for five minutes for the engine to cool. The man behind us “offered” to push us straight through to the main highway with or without our food. Needless to say, his mood did not sweeten mine. My friend and I were ready to have a free-for-all right there in the middle of the Burger King drive-thru. After much screaming, the man got back in his car. Finally, the car successfully cranked back up, and Constance and I completed our fourteen mile trek into work.

Once I got to work, the car stalled again. I called Chip and asked him if he would come pick it up and bring me my car. By the time I would be getting off work and heading home, it would be dark, and we didn’t think driving this car at nighttime would be prudent. When Chip came to pick up the car, he had a time trying to get the car cranked, due to the pedals being so close together. His foot was nearly too big to depress either the gas pedal or the clutch alone. With much swearing and contortions, Chip finally managed to get it home.

Two weeks later, on a Sunday, I decided to drive it to work, again, as my boss wanted to see it. I had gotten dressed, and had a few minutes, so we decided to drive it over to our friends next door to let them see it. Now this is the point where true friendship comes into play. Upon trying to get the car started, it wouldn’t crank, so we tried the old straight-drive car trick of rolling it down the hill and popping the clutch to crank it. Success! At this point, I very confidently drove the car to our neighbors, who thought it was a really cute car. After visiting for a few minutes, it was time to leave for work. I said my goodbyes and got into my little dreamboat of a car. Upon cranking the car, the muffler exploded, scorching, and setting fire to a three feet circle of what was the neighbors’ beautiful green grass! Believe it or not, the car was actually still running, until I made the mistake of putting it in gear. Evidently, the car took offense at actually being asked to run, and promptly shut down. Chip, our neighbors, and I pushed the car back down the hill to its parking place in front of our home. I got out of the car, shut the door, and at that point, the driver’s side window fell off the track and down into the door. After all of this, I called in sick and stayed home. I’m not sure what Chip did – the last I saw of him for awhile he was uttering things that sounded like he may have been speaking in tongue.

Later that afternoon, we decided to take the car to a local muffler shop, to replace the now disintegrated muffler. As these cars are air cooled, a muffler is an absolute necessity. They didn’t have one in stock (of course), so we decided to take the car back home and park it, after two of the guys at the muffler shop pushed us down the incline to get it started once again.

Upon returning home, we decided it was in our best interest to sell this car. We placed an ad in a car trader magazine which was answered quickly. The guys who came and got it looked it over and decided they wanted it. The night before, we had done a little “prep” work. By this, I mean we hooked up the battery charger all night. We also, the next morning, went out and pumped up the leaky tire. Yes, in addition to the myriad of other “problems”, a bad battery and tire were also part of the car’s “personality”. I was under the impression from talking to the older gentleman, that they were going to haul it 150 miles on a flatbed. This was not the case, as it turned out. The man’s son decided he was going to driveit back. Amazingly enough, the car cranked, and even drove successfully around the block on the “test drive” they gave it. Upon getting the money safely in hand, we turned off the answering machine, left our home and spent the entire day seeing parts of the countryside in our area that we didn’t even know existed. If we could have moved then, with no forwarding address, we would have. Anything to be out from under that car.

As with any good story, there is always a bit of irony. The irony in this instance is that the boy’s father used to be the tennis partner of the friend who sold me this little “dreamboat” in the first place.

To this day, my friend and I are still good friends, and we all still laugh when we think about “The Porsche”. My friend is still fond of saying, “I told you I didn’t want to sell you that car.”

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