Dig those Beatle-boots! The total-denim mechanic’s outfit, complete with flared-jeans – what any self-respecting VW whiz was wearing. What?
1976?
Apparently, Volkswagon was a little late to the Tune-In-Drop-Out-Flower-Power 1960s. Or maybe they were simply hanging on to the Herbie the Love Bug thing.
The Peterson’s Complete Book of VW was a little large for the Beetle’s glove box, but carried such indispensable tips as “At-Home Lubes,” “Disk Brakes for Early Beetles,” and “Transaxle Swaps.” (The latter is now a reality show featuring significant-others on the History Channel.)
The issue came in with a batch of books and brought back a couple of memories. Who remembers the Thing? That strange-looking VW was introduced in 1969, as a reworked version of the wartime Kubelwagon – sort of like a version of the US military’s Jeep. Readers got to look back on the history in a four-page article.
Some models even I barely remember (not being a VW owner, perhaps). There is an article about Adding Dash to your Dasher. The only Dasher I recall had reindeer-power instead of horsepower.
My buddy Craig had a Bug as his first car, back in the Big Mac High School Daze, but we won’t be recalling our adventures in that thing. (Some things are best as lost to history.) Folks from McAlester – where there were plenty of unpaved county roads on which to drive Volkswagons for fun – will surely remember Mr. Isbell and his collection of VWs. I believe he was retired by the time I met him, but he might have worked harder trying to stay ahead of the mechanic work that came his way. The smiling pic of the VW ace is courtesy of Steve DeFrange.
Mr Isbell was quite patient with me, back when I was trying to repair my British sports car, and my admiration for his mechanic’s knowledge has never wavered. He put up with my interruptions in the garage at his home, where he always had a stack of newspapers to use as hand-towels.
When the engine was – at last – returned to the car (deftly lowered into place with the Stizza family’s truck and crane), the darn thing would not start. I cranked it until the battery died. We pushed it up and down the street. Nothing. I was so sure I had done it right, I couldn’t believe the engine wouldn’t fire up. Finally, I called Ken Isbell. Again with the patience, and without hesitation, he told me to remove the timing gear, flip it around, and try again.
Less than five minutes later – Vroom vroom.
Man. You gotta admire anyone who knows their stuff like that. Looking at the guy on the magazine cover, I don’t get that same feeling.
Never did see Mr. Isbell in a pair of Beatle-boots.