LFS: The Storyteller

Do you remember when the car horn was a metal ring or half-ring inside the steering wheel of your dad’s car? If you do, you’re old like me. My dad’s car horn was in a 1957 Dodge Custom Lancer with a gold and white paint job. There was no shift on the steering column or on the floor. The automatic transmission was a series of big buttons on the dashboard to the left of the steering column. I borrowed that car late one Saturday night in 1962 – all 15 years old of me – and taught myself to drive. I was doing fine for about 20 minutes until I turned onto Elmont Road, just across the New York City line into Nassau County. After I made the legal right turn the light turned green and the next thing I see is a blue and orange Nassau County cop car right behind me. I panicked and with shaking hands immediately pulled over to park on the right. So did the cop. Yup That's Me  It was a costly misadventure. Besides the citation for driving...

Car Tales ©2010 by LeeZard Fans of LeeZard (Both of you) know well his love affair with The Blue Streak (sigh). Cars play a big part in our lives. We remember our first car, our first family car (infant seat won’t fit in a roadster, dammit) or our mid-life crisis car. I remember them all, from the lemons to the lemonade. I’m not quite a motorhead. Oh, I could change the oil but I choose not to. I remember my first best friend, Arnold Feldman. His dad owned a gas station (and bought Arnie a cream-colored 1960 Volvo for his 17 th birthday) and we used to help out on weekends. I tried working on the engines but hated the weird angles at which you had to twist your hands and wrists; hated the resultant scraped and bleeding knuckles. Nonetheless, I love anything on wheels or tracks and want to drive ‘em all. I read Motor Trend, Car & Driver, etc. to stay current on trends, styles, road tests and the like. As you all know, I dreamed of owning a Porsche since teenhood. Each...