Beauty and the Beast (Still life with Porsches)

Somewhat recently, I fulfilled a desire of many, many years standing, repressed consumer recidivist materialist that I am: I acquired a Porsche 914-6. First, you must know that I am something of a life-long Porsche enthusiast. Before you summarily write me off the books as having sold out my more refined (transcendent) aesthetics for a filthy environment polluting, NOX-spewing icon of American consumer capitalism, know that I am, after all, a socialised, card-carrying member of the California car culture I was born into. I won't try to defend this rather contrary predilection to any great length in the face of my otherwise anti-materialistic, anti-car sentiments, since that's simply a tedious exercise and boring as well. Suffice it to say that this attachment to Porsches is very likely linked to the fact that when I was an impressionable youth, the German air-cooled Porsche was an exciting and perhaps even revolutionary alternative to the humdrum rituals attendant to the hoi poloi's worship of traditional monstrously sized American hunks of Detroit steel that predominated in the 60s and 70s era I grew up in. As to the conflict between my inherent Earth-friendly eco-philosophies and my love for high-tech machines, let’s just say that I am a rather complex person on many levels and leave it at that.

Consider that Dr. Ferdinand Porsche's little air-suckers, from the first rear engine KdFwagen prototypes of the 30s through the more refined and sporty roadsters of the 70s, were in fact a very singular expression of that individual's unique interpretation of sporty automotive élan. A further attraction for me was the fact that the air-cooled Porsche roadster was an upstart contender in the then-dominant culture of American marque auto-racing. Admittedly it did have the special and exclusive cachet of being an underdog vehicle with Euro-style verve, pananche, sang frond, and the fateful appeal of counter-culture, Euro-sophistication. However, my initial reasons for being attracted to the Porsches in particular were linked to the fact that the lady-love of my post-adolescent life drove one. Subsequent to this primary draw, I came to appreciate Porsches on their own merits and free of testosterone-tinged sentiments of primal psycho-sexual lust.

Although my original love was for Spyders, Speedsters, and 356 ‘bath-tubs’ (in that order), the costs of those toys were just enough out of my functional reach to perpetually postpone any serious efforts on my part to acquire one. Enter the Volkswagen-Porsche 914! Sort of a Karman Ghia (with a mid-engine) on steroids the 914 was a brilliant concept, however fatal its liaison with Wolfsberg would be in the eyes of the American auto enthusiast crowd. While actively racing Fiats X-1/9s in G Production class in the San Francisco Region of SCCA (Sports Car Club of America), I regularly witnessed the brilliant handling capabilities of the mid-engine 914 at Laguna Seca and Sears Point (now renamed the Infinion Raceway). Amazingly, the 914 was a perpetual sleeper, a somewhat-on-the-outside-of-favored, and fringe object—just my meat, since I inherently take the opposite course away from whatever is popular with the common ‘herd’ (read: be a bit condescendingly snobby). It wasn’t long before I gave up my mid-engine Fiats and gravitated to the Porsche 914 camp, where I have remained for the rest of my life (if you’ll overlook an equal passion for the 1972 Dino 246GTS and the Lotus Super-Seven, hello Patrick McGoohan!).

This fascination with the 914--a car that one either loves or hates (there is no middle ground regarding feelings for its aesthetics and styling)--continued throughout my life, probably only further enhanced by the fact that even the Porsche purists themselves (those cultists who fawned over the 911 car) regarded it as a bastard child of the illustrious Porsche design family…this despite the fact that the very first Porsche (Porsche #1) was a mid-engine design, rather than a rear-engine exercise.

As mentioned before, the Porsche 914 was originally conceived as a replacement for the Volkswagen Karman Ghia Type 34 in the late 60s and an informal agreement between Volkswagen and Porsche AG resulted in its birth in 1969. Production was started initially in two versions, a 4-cylinder car made by Volkswagen (the 914-4, using the basic VW Type II/Type IV engine), and a 6 cylinder, 2 liter version entirely made by Porsche (utilising a Porsche 911S engine for its powerplant). Production continued from 1970 through 1976, resulting in many thousands of the 4-cylinder version being manufactured, but only 3700 of the 6 cylinder version were ever made (from 1970 through 1972 only). Of those small numbers of the 'legitimate' Porsche 914-6 version, a mere 1750 were brought to the United States. Thus, the Porsche 914-6 roadster is a somewhat rare and decidedly unique vehicle, even amongst its 4-cylinder look-alike brothers. With its bigger 6-cylinder engine, the 914-6 was far and away a more formidable performer than its milder 4 cylinder VW powered sibling, obviously enough.

Up until recently, I have only owned various examples of the 4 cylinder 914-4, but several months ago I finally found a 914-6 and plunked down the cash for it--an orange specimen whose pumpkin-colored orange paint strongly appealed to my sense of taste (I am particularly drawn to the color orange--a preference acquired while in the Air Force and associated with the use of International Orange as a high-visibility survival color for aircrews). This car, an early 1970 version, now shares the garage pad with my 1975 red 914-4.

Having finally had the chance to conduct side-by-side comparisons of their driving and handling qualities, the only really-apt analogy that comes readily to hand is 'Beauty and the Beast' ('Beauty' is the mild-mannered, but still quite sporty 75 914-4, and 'The Beast' is the more brutish 70 914-6, of course).

My impressions drawn from driving both are surprising: each is a unique and enjoyable car in its own right. When one wants to tear up the roadway, the 914-6 is the delivering instrument of that hormonal urge, but when one wants to saunter elegantly across the countryside, the milder, more 'genteel' 914-4 is the mount of choice. So much do I enjoy both of these cars that I value them both almost equally--despite the fact that one is worth about $6000 and the other roughly four times that. Of course, as a wiser, older, more mature person who understands the need to drive responsibly on today's cluttered, congested roadways, the opportunities for taking either of them to its limits on public streets are today almost non-existent (this was not as much the case 40-50 years ago, of course). Hence, I don't own them as much to drive them fast and recklessly as to now simply appreciate and aesthetically savor the brilliance of Dr. Ferdinand Porsche's unique vision of sporty vehicular genius.

Unfortunately, far too many younger people in the year 2006 do not understand the logical (and mandatory) road-rules that California's increasingly congested roadways impose on all operators of automobiles. Each and every day, I find myself infuriated by the blithe liberties assumed and taken by 'youthful' drivers on our streets and highways. Of course, these same youthful individuals probably haven't a clue as to what a 914 is anyway, since most of them were born well after the Porsche 914 went out of production in late 1976. In one sense, this is simply another damning indictment of the general level of ignorance today's adolescents have of the real world around them, since kids raised almost exclusively on video games and television fantasies have been socialised solely by these insubstantial elements of America's pop-culture world of the present. To appreciate the Porsche 914 and its place in the history of automotive engineering and motorsports design presupposes a greater awareness of history in general, but as we all know, one of the greatest deficits common to today's youth is an alarming, solipsistic lack of interest in anything that smacks of earlier times (i.e. history). Thus, given this general ignorance, the importance of the 914's design heritage and engineering precepts is likely completely lost among those who were born after 1980.

In fact, given my own observations today, the Porsche 'era' seems to today be the exclusive turf of us 50-somethings who were raised in an earlier decade when Porsche dominated the world's Euro-style auto-racing sports. People younger than 30 seem to be completely unmindful of the special and 'exclusive' cachet of the Porsche, entirely (excepting certain prescient individuals such as actor James Dean). Of course part of this is due to the fact that today's Porsches are no longer even marginally affordable, but cost many thousands of dollars more than the average younger person can even seriously consider (unless you factor in that great sucker-deal gimmick, the 'lease', which allows any fool (e.g. pimps and drug dealers, etc.) with no sense at all and even fewer dollars to temporarily drive any automobile he fancies--no matter how expensive or beyond his immediate means it may be). The simple fact is, it would seem to me, that the glorious era of the 'Classic Porsche' is now long gone--conceded to the shadows of history and now valued merely as a formative part of people of my age (geezers and fuddy-duddies, perhaps, but usually well provided-for, financially), who were growing up in the 60s and 70s.

That's fine with me, however, since the roadsters and sporty machines industry now produces are well and truly described more as ground-bound, road-way fighter jets, complete with sophisticated systems and instrumentation, that are as far removed from the 'simpler' technologies of the 70s as the Earth is from the Moon. This is one of the reasons I enjoy the older Porsches, anyway, since any fool with money (or even those without, via 'leasing') can drive just about any state-of-the-art high-performance machine he wishes, some of them capable of speeds in excess of 200 mph on the road! Owning and appreciating a fine older Porsche of the 60s/70s era takes a special combination of qualities that includes maturity, disposable income, a sense of history, an appreciation for simpler concepts, a more basic (and broader) level of aesthetics, a healthy dollop of masochism and other qualities that are usually found only in older individuals.

Thinking about these perplexing nuances, I am reminded of Neville Shute's landmark tale of fictionalised world-wide nuclear doom, On the Beach, which first came out back in the 50s. In the book, one of the characters waiting for the shroud of fallout laden death to snuff out Australia's remaining survivors of the mutually destructive Soviet-American nuclear war keeps a last rendezvous with a special, exotic Ferrari race car which he has kept stored in his garage.

As the final waves of intense radiation sickness sweep over him, he sits in the car's cramped cockpit one last time, fires up the engine, and waits for the carbon monoxide to overcome him as the last precious drops of its petrol are consumed. That scene will ever remain etched in my memory as a formidable symbolic representation of the mind-set that was formerly appreciated with European auto enthusiasts (definitely not associated with the American, 'good-old-boy' muscle-car fans of NASCAR, naturally enough). It was an iconic scene truly remarkable to that earlier, simpler age, and as hopelessly out of sync with contemporary American fantasyland pop-culture as can be, today. Today, that sense of 'old style' savoir faire is also as out of fashion as manners, courtesy, broad cultural awareness, and individual insight.

All of this rumination on the Porsche mythos and 'Golden Era' of the 50s-70s decades brings other thoughts to mind as well. One favorite 'hot button' topic is roadway manners. Back in the 50 through 70s period, teenagers were exposed to mandatory driver training courses in schools; today, increasingly tight school budget constraints have all but eliminated such drivers training programs for teenagers in the United States and kids are left to emulate their friends' immature actions while driving (greatly reinforced by completely irresponsible advertisements used by automobile companies to sell their products on television). In those courses, the importance of things like proper use of turn signals was a basic skill to be routinely and universally understood and put into practice. Common knowledge held that a turn signal was there to indicate your intentions to the oncoming of following traffic, so that other drivers would anticipate your intentions and safely yield accordingly; many clueless older souls on our highways today wonder with intense frustration why younger drivers fail to use turn signals at all.

The reasons are certainly clear enough, I feel, to anyone who spends a few minutes reflecting on this seeming paradox. This elimination of basic adolescent driving awareness in schools is certainly furthered by an almost complete abnegation of parental authority to instruct and supervise their offspring while driving.

Simply explained (a la Occam's Razor?), adolescents and today's 'younger' (not necessarily young in terms of age, but rather in terms of their awareness) drivers don't use turn signals because that would prematurely "tip their hand" to other drivers around them. With the fast-paced and highly aggressive (read 'adolescent') driving styles that obtain on today's streets and roadways, indicating your intentions to turn, merge, or otherwise move from one vector of travel to another is actually severely self-defeating, since the minute that other driver opposite to and/or ahead of you perceives you wish to come into his lane, turn in front of him, or otherwise maneuver near him, he will predictably try actively to prevent you from being able to carry out your intentions (usually by speeding up or blocking your efforts).

Why is this? Part of the response is undoubtedly natural: latent Homo sapiens mechanisms unconsciously linked with deep-seated instincts of survival and self-advancement; much more of it, however, is probably a manifestation of today's intensely self-centered, self-gratifying spirit of immaturity that prevails throughout American society. I call it "Me-first-ism" and it is largely a direct result of soulless American marketing and advertising. The best caricature of this 'adolescent mind-set' to me is symbolised by that infuriating (and childish) bumper sticker quite often seen at the rear of ponderous and slow-moving personal recreational vehicles on twisty, meandering rural roads that says "I may be slow, but I'm AHEAD of you!"

All thoughts of cooperative roadway interaction have long since gone the way of the dinosaur, with the demise of etiquette, manners, basic courtesy, and all other manifestations of more 'genteel' (read: slower paced, more relaxed) times, as corporate America has rushed to co-opt the spirit of youthful rebelliousness to sell youth-aimed products with total disregard for the consequences. Regrettably, far too many adults are so instinctively unreflective as to be totally unable to understand the need for maintenance of these cultural tools (manners and courtesy) that reduce interpersonal friction and enable smoother social interactions. These same clueless adults are often the ones who at the age of 50 and 60 affect commercially produced 'gangsta style' dress and mannerisms that have been lifted right out of the subcultures by commercial interests, intent on selling more stupid (and needless) 'stuff' to the masses. When they take their 'fuck you cool' attitudes onto the roadways and streets, life simply becomes more frustrating and aggravating for those of us who do appreciate the nuances of what is happening within these cultural and social contexts. Unfortunately, when everyone goes around saying "fuck you" in every other breath (as is the case today), you have the basic recipe for social disintegration--signs of which are all around us today in modern America.

At any rate, whereas driving used to be far more fun and enjoyable in California (the 'ground zero' of America's car culture), the present combination of intense social rudeness, aggressive refusal to cooperate on streets and roadways with other drivers, abrasive display of recurring, flagrant disrespect for other roadway users (particularly for non-automobile traffic, such as bicyclists, and I am one myself), and myopic perpetuation of childishly immature attitudes by many while operating motor vehicles, adds up to spell frustration for everyone.

Despite the fact that it isn't always safe to take my Porsche 914s out onto the highway to run them up and keep them fresh, I retain these relics of my former days out of nostalgia and remembrance of kinder, simpler times in my home state. A number of years ago, I thought I'd reached what a UC Santa Cruz professor of mine termed "sportscar menopause" in his book of the same name; today, somewhat to my chagrin, I find that I haven't. While the opportunities for fully enjoying these wonderful machines no longer exist in their former abundance, they still constitute a link with memories of happier times and youthful dreams of life lived fully. I'll probably keep them till I die simply as adored icons of those years of my life when I still had a few untainted dreams and a remaining handful of harmless, if optimistic, delusions.

A few years ago, I joined the local chapter of Porsche Club of America (PCA), thinking that it would be nice to share my appreciation of classic Porsches with other latent James Dean wannabees. Imagine my surprise to find that so many of the members were overweight, gray-haired old fuddy-duddy lawyers, politicians, physicians, dentists, hedge-fund managers, real estate speculators and other wealthy bourgeois boors—married to out-of-shape, buxom blondes with ETOH pickled brain cells. Not only that, but they almost all drove the very latest and most expensive Porsches (average price about $70,000, but ranging to $200,000, and water cooled at that! Blasphemy!). Double boring!

As I mentioned earlier, any dipshit (read: outlaw bottom-feeder, et al) with unlimited wads of cash can buy the latest Porsche, but it takes a special kind of archetypal, masochistic misanthrope to support and maintain a stable of finicky, high-maintenance air-cooled 914s! Needless to say, after one year I bailed out and never looked back (at the PCA). [Note: until about 2024, when I again became a member.]

The term "Beauty and the Beast" (the 914-4 and the 914-6) has many other symbolic aspersive connotations, I suppose, since youth is traditionally full of idealized beauty and older age is the often-bitter preserve of beastly resignation and broken dreams, but further rumination on this subject would takes hours to wade through. I could say that if I had to draw an apt analog, driving a 914-6 is somewhat similar to loving a high-strung, brilliant, and very beautiful woman with a pronounced and dangerous (but fatally alluring) dark side to her complicated soul.

Having said that, I'll leave the subject there, before the women's movement Valkyries materialises out of the Yahoo-360 woodwork to attack me, and go out to listen to the wonderful music of my 914-6's characteristic Porsche whine as it idles in the driveway…waiting for me to take it to its orgasmic mechanical threshold like a favorite Husky dog eager to hit the Iditarod Trail. Richard Wagner or Jean Sibelius could not have penned sweeter notes, I think!

(PS: At the risk of serially repeating myself, next time you hear the far-too-civilised muted rumble of a water cooled, late model Porsche, remember the favorite old saying of us 914-6 nuts: “It if ain’t got an air-sucker stuffed up its ass, it AIN’T a real Porsche!”)