It all started before I was born when my father was racing cars for the MG factory during the late s. He had a highly modified and tuned MG-TD, which had been sorted by an Italian mechanic called Pennante who had actually machined engines for Enzo Ferrari. Pennante and Marshall after a win in the rain. I like that my dad has Pennante holding the cup.
I know from my past that he always orchestrated photos so he would look his best, and he succeeded. And all was well until a hill climb race at Mount Equinox in Vermont. This really irked my dad. I knew the car must be vastly superior. But it had one major flaw. The idea of denting such a machine was unthinkable. He never really understood people at all since unlike a good machine they did not always give you back the care and love you put into them. And he never liked Hoffman or his idea of a Porscheโthe Speedster, which, of course, has become the most valuable and coveted of all s.
As an aside, Porsche also offered my father the dealership for Canada, but when he tried to raise the needed money, the German millionaire he approached nicked the soon-to-be-prized dealership away from him. I have one remaining copy of the business card my dad must have had printed, a sad reminder of a failed dream.
If only I could find the grave. Helpful in a crash? But 30 years at silly speeds, so lucky! His next Porsche was a B, picked up at the factory in Zuffenhaussen. I was about five and still remember the frightening banging of body panels at the Reutter factory. I much preferred the quiet of the upholstery area and engine assembly plant. When it was time for my father to exit in his new , the keys were presented by Ferry Porsche himself.
A number of white-jacketed mechanics were standing about watching, arms crossed, the fjord green coupe immaculate. Green, we certainly do not need to explain the operation of a Porsche to you!
