The One That Got Away
MY DAD IS SHAKING HIS HEAD IN GENERAL DISGUST: So much for the interview. I had this nice interview with my dad all typed out on here. Went to save the thing and instead of hitting “Command-A” to grab it all, I hit “Command-Q” and quit out of the browser, losing all the words. Not cool.
So to make a long story short, here’s a condensed version of what we lost.
My dad bought a used Porsche in 1966. He was 25. He fixed the thing up. Drove it like the wild bachelor he was for a number of years. Then he got hitched. Had me. Had my sister. Had to sell the thing. This was 1976. Sold it for $12,000. To someone from Detroit. Bought the thing a decade earlier for $780 bucks, or something close to that. A good investment. Okay, so, I’ll spare you how us kids grow up, and the peaceful life we lived, opting to fast forward to a summer day in Petoskey, Mich., in like 1985. We were walking along and dad saw a Porsche Speedster. I remember him losing his shit, pacing around it, sweating, and finally kneeling down to look underneath a wheel well, and him announcing, “This is my Porsche.” Happenstance. Dad, so excited, and a little bummed he ever let the thing go.
Okay, fast forward again, this time, to, well, now. Dad is digging through his latest issue of Hemming’s, and comes across a little classified selling a Porsche Speedster. Oddly enough, the 40 or so words sounds pretty familiar. He has mom look up the link, and there it is, his old Porsche. At the asking price of $175,000. Uh, wow.
Dad knows his old serial number by heart. And there it was. Serial number 80693.
Get a good look at that beauty before that link dies.