Chesapeake Region
Article: And So It Began...356 Steven Groh Restoring a 356, Part 1 “The cheapest way to restore a car is to have someone else pay for it.” I love this. Buy a fully restored car at a fraction of the price of doing it yourself! This has been true for years, however current trends indicate the prices for fully and correctly restored cars, especially early classic 356 Porsches, are now out of reach for most of us. The alternative? Swallow hard and take the deep dive into a “project.” Restoring a 356 is like reading a novel – each restoration chapter is sequential yet unique, consuming all of one’s attention, leading to the next, and striving to reach a rewarding end. It takes one on a global journey of both expected and unexpected travels through continual hope, occasional doubt, constant faith, financial “justification”, not to mention family buy-in (are we really taking out a second mortgage, honey?). I’m glad I did. In the process I’ve met fantastic enthusiasts, marque experts, made new friends, learned much about myself, my capabilities, and the world of automotive restoration. So this is an article about all those things – the challenges and the triumphs, the how’s but also, importantly, the why’s. Many of us still recall their first ride in a Porsche, and the doors that suddenly opened as a result. I remember mine it as if it was yesterday. On a late summer’s sunny Saturday morning in 1956 I was just finishing watching Rocketman on our black and white TV, when my dad walked into the den and simply said “Come with me.” Now, normally this meant I was about to enter a world of pain due to some misjudgment on my part, so I obediently and silently followed. Out to the driveway we went, but instead of some dreaded punishment, I was about to experience a life-changing event. Without another word, dad opened the passenger door of his white 1955 Porsche Speedster 1500 Super and motioned me in. I slid to the back of the seat and stared forward. Closing the door carefully, he circled the Speedster eyeing its curves and settled into the driver’s seat. Not normally a patient man, he nonetheless took his time, taking in the simplistic beauty of the dash before he turned the key. What in the world did I do to deserve this, I thought, my very first ride in his very recently purchased Speedster? And the top was down!! Was it my birthday? We eased out of our Fleetwood Terrace driveway in what was then a newly developed suburban landscape in Williamsville, New York, and motored gently through the sparsely populated countryside, warming up the mechanicals, as we headed to North Forest Road… Things were about to change. North Forest Road then was a two-lane winding blacktop strip of pure bliss, following a creek with a series of S curves separated by a few very short straights. Houses were widely spaced in those days, and since it was barely 9:00 in the morning, no-one was out. Without warning, he downshifted and planted the accelerator pedal to the floor. Pressed into the back of the seat and hanging onto the seat bolsters, a series of upshifts, downshifts, and what I later learned was the sublime presence of controlled oversteer, overtook my senses. I did not immediately know what to think, but I know I did not dare close my eyes. Is this what Rocketman feels like? Wait! I am Rocketman! A mile or so later, at the end of the S curves, dad slowed and abruptly did a U-turn. OMG, we’re going to do this again. He glanced over at me with just the hint of a smile, and we were off again. This time, however, I perched
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