All of us took the responsibility of lifeguarding seriously. We participated in rigorous life-saving drills twice a week, ran long distances most evenings, and followed a daily regimen of push-ups, pull-ups, and other exercises that kept us fit.  Once a week, we rode a motorboat a half-mile offshore and swam the distance back to land.  The last swimmer to arrive on shore was given the task of picking up litter left on the beach, most of which were discarded cigarette butts.  We swam as fast as we could to avoid the litter patrol.  One of the lifeguards, Chris, was condemned to the task once and vowed never to suffer it again.  So thereafter, he swam backstroke, for which he had achieved all-state status in high school.  He swam faster doing the backstroke than most other lifeguards swimming freestyle.  His face was always above water and looking backward when he swam, which allowed him to wink at us as he passed by.

There were some challenging circumstances during our crew’s time as lifeguards.  Most often, however, time hung heavy on us as we sat for hours on the stand, surveilling the water and counting the heads of the swimmers in our area.  There were always two lifeguards on the same stand, which was good company during the long periods of monotony.  I particularly enjoyed time on the stand with a lifeguard named Howie, who became one of my closest friends.  We were car nuts.  We read cover-to-cover every issue of Road and Track and Car and Driver and discussed all aspects of motorsports.  When our 15-minute break time arrived at the stand, Howie and I forfeited the opportunity to sit in the relative luxury of the lifeguard house and ventured out to the vast, sunbaked parking lot to look at cars.  We were delighted when we saw a BMW 2002 and ecstatic when we encountered a BMW 2002tii.  The Alfa Romeo 1750 GTV was also a favorite.  We typically walked around the cars and looked at their interiors, imagining how we would have configured them.  Despite their reputation for poor reliability, I was smitten at the time with 1960s Jaguar 3.8 sedans, primarily because I liked their coachwork.  One day in 1974, Howie and I saw Rod Taylor, a member of the U.S. Olympic ski team in the late 1960s, in the parking lot with his unrestored 1955 Mercedes Benz 300 SL Gullwing.  It was the personification of cool, reminding us of the unrestored, rusted Porsche 356 Speedster that Paul Newman drove in the movie, “Harper.”

The pinnacle of our car explorations occurred in 1974 when Howie and I were working for pin money at a private party on a Saturday night, which was part of our routine for four years.  Howie was parking cars; I was stationed nearby at the party’s entrance.  One of the regular guests, an elderly gentleman with whom we had become friendly, drove up in his rarely-driven 1966 Shelby Mustang GT350 in the classic color of Wimbledon White with the Guardsman Blue stripe combination.  The car was in original condition with a 289 cubic-inch V8 and Holley-4-Barrel Carburetors.  Howie and I knew the man owned a Shelby Mustang but had never seen it.  We rushed over before he shut its doors so we could see the interior.  Our fascination was apparent.  Then, to our surprise, the owner invited us to “take it for a spin” as he handed the key to us.  Later that evening, we drove the Mustang for approximately 15 miles, most of which were on I-95.  It was an experience that neither one of us will ever forget.

A few weeks after our excursion with the Shelby Mustang, Howie and I saw a beautiful Silver 1974 911 2.7-liter Targa during one of our usual walks in the parking lot.  We talked briefly with the owner of the car, who appeared to be in his late twenties, as he prepared to drive away.  He explained the Targa was only a few weeks old with fewer than 200 miles on the odometer.  The MSRP of the Targa was $10,800.  The price was well beyond our reach, which explains why our aspiration remained a BMW 2002.  Nevertheless, that silver Targa ignited my interest in Porsches.  Parenthetically, the car I owned at the time was a Volkswagen Beetle!

The next generation of AutoX enthusiasts is in rich evidence at every event, where driving and conviviality intersect.  It is often a family affair.  Randy, Paul Kudra’s son, is an accomplished driver, as well as Tony, Ed Bogue’s son; Jeff, Brian Fournier’s son; and Eric, Gene Frohman’s son.  Seamus Brown is an expert AutoXer as well.  Parents and children also share the joy at Coffee Runs that take them through the suburbs and hinterland of Connecticut and beyond.  In addition, I was pleased to see children across three generations accompany their parents at our special events that took place this year at Lime Rock Park and Lyman Orchards.

It is delightful for me to meet many CVR members at the approximately 65 club events that occur every year.  Getting to know veteran members, newer members, and their families encourages optimism about the vitality of our club’s future.  The founders of CVR and PCA would be proud.

Truly Yours,