As a teenager, I loved cars. All cars; it didn’t matter what it was, as long as you turned a key and it moved forward. My secret passion was for sports cars. Most likely this was the result of having read “The Red Car” by Don Stanford (1954), a tale of a teenage boy who discovers a non-running MG TC, restores and then drives it with the help of Frenchy Lascelle, a local mechanic. I was hooked. No idea how many times I read that book, but it was a lot. I desperately wanted my own “found” sports car and a Frenchy to help me get it on the road.
There were two
