
If Johnny ever thought counting the days to Christmas was tough, it was nothing compared to waiting for his ride in the Spyder. Photo by Hugues Vanhoolandt
The following true story is based on the recollections of John Wiech, who bent my ear for a few hours at a car meet last year. Our apologies for a story about Porsches but it’s the truth and it’s a sin to tell a lie, particularly at Christmas time. [Ed.]
The subject had started another family argument. Johnny had become enamored with a rare foreign car but no one knew exactly how to pronounce the name. It was German, or no, not really, “…it’s Austrian,” said his Dad. “But it’s made in Stuttgart,” said Johnny, being careful to put the “sch” in. He reasoned that the sch in the car’s name might sound the same and the vowel at the end be pronounced. His older sister said otherwise. “It’s Porch, as in front porch or back porch, without the e.”
She always thought she was so smart.
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