There’s a tale that is told in a small northwestern town about a man and his Porsche, and the day he was forced to protect his steed. I have no idea if the story actually happened, and I’ve always suspected that the teller of the tale was actually, in fact, the owner of the Porsche. I’ve never been able to verify either, but here is the tale as it was told to me, as I best remember it…
My buddy is a peaceful, likeable, funny guy…we’ll call him Jim. Jim owned a Porsche Targa, circa mid to late 70’s that he saved for a long time to get. He loved the car and loved driving it…it really was his baby.
Back in the day, Jim lived in a small town where Porsches are not common, and everything closed down by 6 pm. One day while out on a back country road, Jim pulled up in his Targa behind a fella in a big ol’ truck at a single lane stop light. After just a few moments the light turned green. Jim put the car in gear and was ready to go, but the truck didn’t move, so he did what any normal fella would do.
He honked his horn.
He only meant it as a friendly reminder that the light had turned green, but The Man In The Big Ol’ Truck apparently did not see the need for a reminder of any sort. He turned off his rig, opened the door, reached down beneath his seat for something, and exited the vehicle.
“I guess you are a little impatient, eh?”
Before Jim knew what was happening, the angry fella produced a crowbar, and brought it down hard and fast on top of the front left quarter panel of his beloved Targa, right above the fender. “Well, I guess I need to teach you some patience then,” the man yelled as he rared back to take another swing. Obviously looking to bring the message closer to home, the big fella changed the angle of the crowbar, and looked as if he was going to go right at the windshield next.
In addition to his love for Porsches, Jim was a collector of firearms as well. He would later say he didn’t remember even thinking about it, but before he knew it, he had his Colt 1911 .45 caliber drawn from beneath his seat, and aimed squarely at Crowbar Bob.
“That doesn’t scare me,” the man hollered, stopping the crowbar just before it hit the windshield.
“Well, it should scare you…because I’m on THIS side of the gun, and I’m scared!” Jim replied.
And with that, the confrontation was over, ending as peacefully as possible between a guy with a crowbar and another with a gun. Reports were filed with the police, and I’m sure there were some less than exciting consequences, but to this day, that story is still told whenever there are a few minutes to kill in the shop, and a new set of ears is present.