The Beginning

First a little family history. My mother was a war bride (WWII for you youngsters reading this) from Bavaria, Germany who came to this country with my dad in about 1952. Her younger brother Bob, a.k.a. Bodo, followed shortly thereafter. My folks settled in the Washington, DC area, while Bodo eventually settled in Toronto, Canada, possibly because he was a known hell-raiser and womanizer and couldn't get US citizenship.

As a child I have great memories of Bodo driving down from Canada to visit us at Thanksgiving and other holiday times. Bob was a car mechanic specializing in body work on European, mostly German cars: VW's, Porsches and the occasional Mercedes, although I remember seeing a 12 cylinder Ferrari in his shop in Toronto on one of our family's trips up north. Everytime Bodo came to visit us he would be driving some wild European job that none of us had ever seen before. I swear once he pulled up in a gull-wing Mercedes, to our utter amazement (this was the mid '60s and such cars were rare even then). I can only imagine how fast he must have gone in it on the trip down, because he was notorious for driving at absolute top speed with us kids careening unbelted in the seats. The stares we got as we pulled up in that car directly in front of the door to the grocery store to pick up my mom from work!

As kids, Bodo was always encouraging us to learn to 'work with our hands' as, according to him, that was the only 'real' kind of work. My brother and I reluctantly tried our hand in his shop on one visit to Toronto when we were in our early teens. We were bored silly and were dismal failures at all but sweeping the filthy floor and sanding bondo off of a Beetle fender. When we entered the shop he would typically greet us with CV Joint grease up to his elbows as he reached to hug us or stuck his hand out for a hand shake. Despite (and possibly because of) all Bob's rogue antics, he is probably the inspiration of my passion for VW's and my desire to learn something about working on the darn things.. Somewhere his advice to 'work with my hands' must have stuck.

My first car, at 17, was a '68 Karmann Ghia coupe, for which I paid $180 paper-route dollars. My brother drove it home from the place in Northern VA where I'd found it, 'cause I didn't even know how to drive a stick. We parked that sucker in the driveway of my brother's apartment. It was in such bad shape that I couldn't manage to get it through State of Maryland Vehicle Inspection with my meager mechanical skills and limited funds. Later on, my brother's landlord made him call for a wrecker to haul it off after I abandoned it to go off to college in Cincinnati. I'd never even driven the darn thing - but somehow, I knew a KG was the car for me.

My next car, during the summer of my Junior year, was a '68 Sunroof Standard Beetle, Auto-Stick. Three forward gears plus reverse, and no clutch pedal! Shift just by moving the stick shift! A very cool car, in excellent condition, and I have some fine memories of summer love in that thing. But my lack of mechanical skills was still apparent: I can remember making an emergency pit stop into a local VW dealership because I could suddenly no longer shift gears (not that you really had to shift in an Auto-Stick, but I didn't know) - alas, the service counter clerk found that it was simply a loose wiring connection, and off I went! Another learning experience...

Sadly, I ended up frying a valve in that Bug in Lafayette, Indiana on a hot August day in 1978 tooling up I-65 towards Chicago. I had to abandon that great car just like the first, as I couldn't make, nor afford, the repairs. You'd think I would learn!

Next up, after college, my first 'real' new car: a 1977 Sunroof VW Rabbit (nee Golf), bought slightly used from the dealer (Autohaus Tischer in Laurel, MD). Notice a trend? Nice and of course, a real manual transmission, so I learned what a pile of fun it is to drive a 'stick'. The Rabbit had heat! And you couldn't stop it in the snow! My mechanical woes continued: I distinctly remember the clutch cable breaking through while driving some back roads at night in Northern Kentucky with my then-girlfriend. If only I'd known to keep a spare cable, as that is a simple fix for someone who knows how...it would have saved the embarrassment of having to call her father to 'fetch us out of that holler'.

The VW trend continues. My first family car was a 1983 Vanagon Wasserboxer, and later our second car was a 1984 Jetta Diesel (great mileage, and only slightly noisy). The Van and the Jetta were where I really started to learn about cars in general, and got the 'bug' for at least maintaining and attempting simple repairs myself. For example, I replaced the exhaust manifold on the Van (twice), the water pump, numerous hoses, a blown head gasket, etc., etc. Adjusted the valves on the Jetta, brakes, and so on. Thanks to Recycled Jack's Parts Place of Pontiac, Michigan for all their help during that time.

Time shift to circa 1989. I'd started a family, was finishing my graduate degree, working second shift at the soap plant, and of course, I was bored and was feeling ready to take on a project car (a guy's gotta do something with his hands, right?). Something with a little sass but affordable, and something that wouldn't challenge my shop skills too badly; rather, might actually help improve them. What else but a Karmann Ghia? They had great Italian body lines, they were relatively cheap (a Porsche 356? - no way), there were a lot of them around at the time, they shared mechanical and electrical parts with the ubiquitous Beetle and lo! I had some history with aircooled VW's (not a great one, I was willing to admit). I settled on finding a convertible a.k.a. 'Cabriolet'- such a car would have the sex appeal and the potential resale value (as if) I was looking to justify the purchase and the effort to my wife.

The Cincinnati Enquirer eventually yielded up an ad from Wyce Westbrook on Hedge Avenue in Kennedy Heights. He was asking $500 for his 1970 KG convertible, which sounded in my price range, but upon inspection, my elation at finding a Ghia 'vert was turning south. This car was rough - really rough. It was sitting in an doorless garage as I recall, and because of the lack of a door and the leaky roof the car had been getting wet both inside and out. There was Rust, and more Rust. But - holy smokes, it was an Automatic! and the engine and tranny had recently been rebuilt, Wyce had the receipts to prove it. The car didn't drive and it wasn't even currently registered. So here was my offer: if it started, I would offer $200, not more. Guess what? It started after a few turns, on a jump from the battery in my tow vehicle, and Wyce accepted the offer! It must have been fate. I took the plunge and boy, did I have a Project! A colleague from work (Scott Jones, a certified muscle car/Mustang freak who had plotted and schemed the whole project car idea with me) helped tow the Ghia home to my recently cleared-out two car garage in Westwood. From here, I'll let the pics tell more of the tale...