'63 RagTop Deluxe by Paul Greco

Proud owner (circa 1972) in front of the local hangout It was love at first sight — or was it an act of pure desperation. That medium blue metallic paint and California license plate set against the background of activity in Manhattan’s theatre district instantly caught my eye. I thought, "Could this be the car I’ve come to see?" I climbed the stairs of what seemed to be the only residential building around and rang the bell. A lovely young lady, tall, tan, and blonde answered the door. "I’ve come for the Volkswagen" I said, and even before I had the chance to finish, she launched into a frenzy; "Another guy who wanted it just brought it back because the paperwork was not right and he could not register it and I really need the money so I can fly back home to California." She seemed distraught, but any capability I might have had to empathize was clouded by my total enamoration with the car and now, her. I insisted that she sell me the car anyway and shoved money at her. She gave me the keys and the papers she had and I was off, California license plates and all. I myself happened to be in tight situation. I had bitten off way more than I could hope to chew in the form of a commitment to manufacture 100 Tattoo Machines for a fellow who went by the name "Philadelphia Eddie". I needed transportation and I needed it now! I received the bug gratefully as a blessing. The fact that in my eyes, this car was sooo cool was only an additional bonus. The metallic blue re-paint reminded me of something I might have used on a model and brought back feelings of childhood innocence. It had just the right amount of orange peel and was about as dull as sun-drenched oxidized paint could be. The chrome on the over-rider equipped bumpers was nicely scratched and equally dull and the droop, sag, and contortions of those appendages just screamed "I’ve been through a lot, but I survive!" All together, the whole car had an aura about it that set it apart from anything on the road, something I was constantly reminded by the old ladies that worked with me in the factory. Because of those tattoo parts I so desperately needed to fabricate, every day I would arrive hours early at the job to work for myself first. This resulted in the fact that this lovely automobile was always parked in the first spot in the parking lot, prominently displayed in front of so much corporate opulence. I routinely fielded such comments as "Paul, we don’t mind that you have the poorest car in the lot, but do you have to park it up front like that every day!!!" These things didn’t bother me, as I knew the world to be full of prejudice and that little Bug would not escape unscathed. Back then, I was able to practice tolerance and when I found a bumper sticker that said "Poverty Begins At Home" I immediately stuck it on the car. Even I didn’t quite know what that meant, but it seemed to fit with the theme. That summer, having completely burned out from over-work and pressure and having been terminated from that job (I wonder why) I was enjoying a mid-week mid-afternoon cruise to the Hamptons. The sun was bright and the canvass was rolled back as I tooled down sunrise highway heading past Westhampton. I noticed a stunning Rolls-Royce in my rear-view gaining on me. As it passed, I nonchalantly glanced over my shoulder and my eyes met a young couple, dressed to the nines, riding windows down, enjoying life just as I was in that moment. I felt the irony of those two cars side-by-side and smiled the biggest smile which.was returned by them. I wondered if thoughts that were racing through my head were similar to what they might have been thinking (yeah, I was young and naive). That car served me well, having never bothered to register it, and I drove it everywhere with those California plates and never got a ticket! I loved that car and the joy I felt every time I rolled back that sunroof top kept my spirits high during a difficult time. One can only imagine the emotions I felt sitting at that light when I saw a car in my rear view mirror coming at such a rate of speed that I could only think "Hey, I don’t think he is going to be able to stop!" CRASH!!! I was so overwhelmed by the moment that I just withdrew, sent this fellow on his way and went to work. I didn’t look until later that day. It was the beginning of the end as the sheet metal wasn’t too bad, but as I found out later, the engine was toast. Well, really, this was only one of many, but this time I thought it was true love. With a heavy heart, I took it home and proceeded to remove every part I could conceivably save, including that sliding roof which I cut out with a can opener. I stripped it bare, even took the wheels, leaving the poor dear lying on it’s belly in the street at the front of my house. My approach to the disposal of used up Bugs had taken a new approach; just leave it on the street until the city sent someone to pick it up. Of course, that took some time and I had to endure my neighbor’s complaints as well as the anguish of having to see that car suffer. But, life can go on, and it was one of those balmy Saturdays again, hanging out in the garage where the final chapter took place. My girlfriends parents and the rest of the kids were away for the weekend and for some reason, she did not go with them and for the first time, they left her home on her own. Her father also assigned me the task of installing an accessory on his pickup truck. He was a construction contractor, of Italian descent, and wasn’t the type of person you could say no to, so I agreed. The usual gang was present and the pipe was passed around as I proceeded to complete the task. I did my best to ignore the goings on and stay focused on this project, knowing that if anything was wrong, I would be a candidate for a new set of shoes. The crew was fighting over who would get to use the "Stereo Chair"; a wing chair rigged up with a Sapphire FM Stereo and some top-mount speakers fixed at ear level. This was my home-brew version of the then popular "Stereo Egg". You have to remember that this was the beginning of the stereo revolution, and the experience was quite intense! When the installation was finished, I kicked back with the rest who by now were pretty far gone. It was then, as I sat there soaking up the ambience of the moment, that gazing out the driveway at the truck and the crippled and embarrassed VW sitting on the street beyond that I had the brainstorm "Let’s drag the Bug a few blocks away so we (I) won’t have to look at it anymore!" I could have suggested that we take a trip to the moon at that point and they would have went for it. In a flash the Bug was hooked to the back of that pickup with a short length of chain that was handy. It was then, in a rare moment of lucidity, I thought, "This thing doesn’t have any wheels on it!" No matter, too late now! I turned to one of the ever-present young kids on the block I was mentoring and said, "You drive". The look of delight and awe on this kids face gave away what he must have been thinking: "What, he wants ME to drive!!! I’m going to drive!!! I’m going to DRIVE!" I jumped into the pickup and almost before he got into the Bug, slammed it into gear, popped the clutch and felt the power of that big V-8. Now, in those days the roads where I lived weren’t exactly paved. It was more like a series of filled potholes with rocks and pebbles strewn around on the sides. The noise emanating from behind rose above the roar of the pickup and caused me to turn my attention rearward. The picture I saw caused my emotions to race between total hysteria and pure terror as the Bug fishtailed back and forth, it’s little brake drums spinning at 90 MPH ! A look of complete loss of control was on the face of that kid as he continuously turned that steering wheel back and forth in what he thought might actually be having some effect on the pandemonium in progress. I hoped and prayed that any parked cars would be spared but didn’t slow a bit as this was a situation which had to be completed! We reached the spot where a few large houses were peacefully situated across from the edge of the hospital complex where I figured no one would mind another abandoned vehicle. I was wrong! A man was cutting his hedges at one of those houses, and could not notice (hear) what was happening on his doorstep. I jumped out of the truck and undid the chain as he was exclaiming "You’re NOT going to leave that HERE!" To which I replied, "Why not?" His voice rose a few octaves but I wasn’t necessarily listening to what he was saying, but I did notice that he was still holding the hedge clippers! By now, the kid had the sense to disappear and I was about to do the same when I did notice the words he was saying, "I’m a state assemblyman and you’re not going to get away with this." He also turned and noticed the large lettering on the side of the truck — my girlfriend’s father’s truck. I started to realize the urgency of the situation and frantically made my exit. As I was headed back, I couldn’t help but notice the scrape mark witnessing the route right back to my house! I hurriedly stashed the truck as best as I could, grabbed my girfriend out of the garage, and told my friends to close the door and get out of there. I hid out in her bedroom for the rest of the weekend. Photos by Dominic Cosentino (in his loving memory) who by the way, drove a very clean bright red Karmann-Ghia.