I am the only child of divorced parents being raised by my mother in North Wildwood New Jersey around the Italian side of my family, who only cared about family, church and food.
For those that don’t know New Jersey, NWW is a barrier island about thirty miles south of Atlantic City and roughly 80 miles South of Philadelphia. My Island was famous for summer parties and music prior to gambling in AC. It was known as “Little Las Vegas”, performers like Count Basie, Tony Bennett, Bobby Rydell, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Little Richard, Chubby Checker and many more were common.
In the 70’s and 80’s when I was growing up and roaming the streets, tens of thousands of people in their cars were coming into my town on any given summer weekend to soak up the sun and party at the clubs at night. People were coming in from Philadelphia, New York, Delaware, and the suburbs all around. Not to mention the two-week invasion of Canadians from Quebec wearing their speedos.
On a daily basis I would see any number of amazing American muscle cars and not take a second glance they were so common. Corvettes, Shelby Mustangs, Hemi-Cudas, SuperBirds, Grand Nationals, 442’s and countless others. My family had a few VW bug’s, a Chevy Nova wagon, a 1940 something Volvo with push Button transmission, an MG, a 289 Mustang, a Buick Skylark and a Coupe Deville. I learned to drive and parallel park in the Deville. They were all purchased used many years after new.
Now to the Porsche part. On my tenth birthday in November 1974 I received a model of a yellow 73 911RS. While I am sure a 356, 911, 914 came into town and I probably saw them, I had no idea what a Porsche 911 was let alone an RS. I thought it was a cool looking car and resembled my mother’s VW just cooler.
My Elementary/High school was just a few blocks from my home. My friends and myself would walk to school. We would walk East down the street one block to New Jersey Avenue and turn left toward the school. At the corner was a surf shop. In the spring of 1975 the owner of the surf shop bought a Bitter Chocolate 74 911S Targa. He parked it in front of the surf shop every day. I walked past that car for the next eight years until I received my driving license.
In the spring of 1981 I was volunteering to help a local dance school put on their annual performance. I had an ulterior motive. There was a girl or two or five I may have been interested in, so I lent a hand. We needed some supplies from a local hardware store. One of the dancer’s mothers offered a ride. I let “Mrs. Robinson” take me for a ride in her 1973 T.
In the summers of 1982, 1983 I owned four hot dog carts at the beach and was making great money for a 18, 19 year old. In the spring of 1984 the surf shop owner put the Targa up for sale. I have owned it ever since. I love that car.
We have gone through several transformations in our 30 plus years together. We are in the middle of our most recent. I often think about going back to original but we are both so far from what we once were. As they say I am not sure if you can ever go home.
