Dear Members, Sponsors and Friends,
Many years ago, during the 1950s, my family vacationed every summer on the shores of Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. Our vacations were memorable times of pine scent, clear water, wild blueberries and warm temperatures. My parents always rented the same cabin owned by an ancient man, Mr. Davis, who built it himself during the first years of the 20th century. A primary characteristic of the cabin was its location, approximately 300 feet from a railroad track. A freight train of irregular schedule passed the cabin a few times every summer during predawn hours.

My two brothers and I learned one day that the freight train was going to pass our cabin early the next morning. I do not remember which one of us had thought that it would be interesting to put some coins on the tracks to find out what would happen when the train traveled over them. Years later, my brothers claimed it was my idea; however, as the youngest of three boys, I have often been the victim of their revisionist history. Nevertheless, I remember that both of my brothers put a couple of pennies on the track. Unfortunately, I could not find any pennies, so I carefully placed a quarter on it. It was a big decision to sacrifice a quarter to satisfy my curiosity about the effect of great weight on a small coin, especially when twenty-five cents purchased back then two raspberry one-sticks from the Good Humor man, with some change left over.
We did not tell our parents about our little physics experiment. We did not want to risk their telling us not to do it. So, my brothers and I placed the coins on the track in the darkness of the moonless night after our parents went to bed. When we returned in stealth to the cabin, my seven-year-old mind began to wrack with worry. Could the coins derail the train? Could the derailed train find its way to our cabin? Could the wheels of the train squeeze the coins with such force that they would launch them like bullets, maiming everything in their trajectory?
I could not sleep. I needed help. I woke up my oldest brother, Ned, and told him that we had made a mistake and that we should tell Mother and Dad what we had done. We should solicit their help in retrieving the coins as quickly as possible. Ned reminded me that, with similar pangs of conscience, I told them a month earlier that he and I smoked cigarettes in the woods behind our house. I regretted my mistake and wanted to come clean by telling them. My parents thanked me for being honest and proceeded to cloister Ned in his bedroom. So, he made it clear to me. Any damage that might be done by the train would not be nearly as noteworthy as the damage he would do to me if I, once again, turned informant. I thanked Ned for his guidance.
I sentenced myself to a sleepless night and waited for the train to come. I waited and waited. Then, I finally heard it laboring on the track; its wheels squealed loudly as they rubbed the rails around the corner near our cabin. At first light, my brothers and I ran to see our coins. Their transformation was amazing. They were wafer-thin and one-third wider than their original size. The images of Lincoln and Washington were elongated but recognizable. The three of us were awestruck by the force that created such changes. The coins became prized possessions for us. We showed them to everyone. Old man Davis nodded approvingly; however, it seemed to us that they were not the first such coins he had seen.
I brought my special quarter to the first day of school the following month. When it was my turn to tell classmates about my summer vacation, I showed it to them. It was the center of attention as it glinted in the sunlight reaching through the window blinds. Miss Alshowski, my second-grade teacher, announced to the class that it was unique, even magical. She was a bit like Auntie Mame, always animated and pleasant, always making life in the classroom enjoyable. She had the great idea of making my special quarter into a necklace.
Miss Alshowski greeted me at the doorway of the classroom the following day and handed me the beautiful but simple necklace. She asked the shop teacher to drill a hole at the top of my quarter the previous day, and she looped a string of rawhide through it. She tied the string around my neck, and I proceeded to wear the necklace proudly. I wore it for months. It reminded me of Lake Sunapee; it reminded me of Miss Alshowski. One day, she told me that my classmate, Ernie, was having a difficult time in school and could benefit from my magical necklace. She said that people should always do nice things for other people when they could. I gave Ernie the necklace to wear. He felt better. I felt better too.
Ten years ago, I cleaned out one of the closets at my mother’s house shortly after her death. I dug an old shoebox from the back of the closet and investigated its contents. At the very bottom of the box rested my old necklace. I had not seen it in more than fifty years. The rawhide string was frayed; the quarter was tarnished. I held the necklace in my hand, flooded by the memory of Miss Alshowski. The necklace is a memorial to her kindness. Although she passed away a quarter of a century ago, her goodwill still touches me.
I was reminded once again about the power of kindness three months ago in Southbury. A young man, perhaps in his early thirties, exited a coffee shop before me and walked toward his car, a subcompact that showed years of use. I noticed that it had a small Porsche Club of America decal on its back window. I introduced myself as a PCA member and complimented him on the decal. He was not a PCA member but a big fan of Porsches since childhood. He explained that he had approached the entrance the PCA/CVR tent in early morning at a Lime Rock Park event a few years ago, just to see the setup. He was warmly greeted by a woman who explained that admission to the tent was limited to members. Rather than simply dismissing the young man, however, she talked with him about PCA and CVR for a “good five minutes” and gave him the decal, telling him that she hoped to see him someday as a member. The kindness of the woman, impressed him. He said that it intensified his positive attitude about all things Porsche.
The kindness of the CVR greeter at Lime Rock did not surprise me. During my twenty-eight years of club membership, I have witnessed many members’ generosity. They have often graciously provided technical information to both members and nonmembers about the value and maintenance of various Porsche models, sometimes offering them a ride in their own Porsches. Instructors at driver education and autocross graciously sacrifice their time to train novice drivers. Veteran rally drivers offer guidance to beginners about the complexity of course instructions. A friendly greeting to new club members is a priority at Monthly Meetings. Our Peoples’ Choice Concours is organized to embrace the full spectrum of owners, no matter their experience in concours or the condition of their cars. The guests of members at our Coffee Runs are welcomed warmly. Accommodation of participants and friendly interactions among them are the central focus of all CVR special events.
Mutual respect, assistance to nonmembers and community service are characteristics of the club’s culture. Over the years, CVR has donated money and food to people in need. Autism Families CONNECTicut has received the proceeds from our Wayne Carini events. The Spooner House in Shelton benefits annually from our members’ donation of food and financial support.
CVR evokes mainly the images of beautiful Porsches; however, it also evokes the kindness and the goodwill of many of its members – – individuals who have behaved in the best manner of human nature. Like Miss Alshowski, they will be remembered fondly.
Yours truly,

Allen,
A very well told, touching story. One of many and you are very kind to share them. Best to you in 2022
Thank you for the compliment, Dan. I hope you are enjoying your new home. I miss seeing you at CVR events.
Allen
Heartfelt comments, Allen, at a time when we all need to reflect on kindness as we enter the new year. Your comments echo our PCA motto: It’s not just the cars, it’s the people.”
Frank,
Thank you for your comment. I look forward to our continued partnership at CVR events.
Allen
Allen – another well-written story about situations that developed while growing up with your brothers. I always wonder whether their recollection of events mirrored yours, but it doesn’t matter – it’s just fun to read and your writing style puts us in the scene…..at least the one you remember, and that’s all that matters. I also wondered how you would tie that story to CVR. However, once again, you have managed to do that. I love it! Have a great 2022!
Tom
Tom,
There are many versions of the stories I tell. As you might expect, my version is always the most accurate.
Allen
Alan,
Thank you for sharing those great memories. Thank you, also, for being a gifted writer. It’s been many years since we met at the brisk crack of dawn, working the LRP Main Gate for a PCA event.
My son worked for LRP this summer, and bought his first car, a classic German (B, not P) 5 speed *ahem* project car… He too has the classics bug, rare in teens today.
Thanks again, looking forward to more great content from you & the Challenge team.
Thank you, Chris, for the comment. I remember you fondly.
Hi Allen,
After 16 months of waiting the 2022 C8 came in.