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S 4 : Ep 37

Enjoy Porsche stories, opinion, and features from across the car world - Hagerty Media

When Johnnie Yellock stepped off the airplane in Nashville, he wasn’t even sure he would be able to drive the car he had come here to buy. So unsure was Yellock that his legs and ankles would answer his call, in fact, that he had brought a friend along to help him drive. You know, just in case.

Only a few years earlier, Yellock had had to install hand controls on his car in order to drive himself to work, on errands, and to the seemingly endless string of doctor and physical therapy appointments that constantly awaited him across Texas. And yet, here he was, on his way to buy his dream car, a 1984 Porsche 911 Targa that would require him to use all four of his limbs if he was to drive it back home to Dallas.

Johnnie Yellock's 1984 Porsche 911 — Aaron McKenzie

That Yellock even has all four of those limbs is a testament to the wonders of modern medical science. That he can use them to operate a manual transmission is nothing short of miraculous. Fresh out of college and inspired by both his parents’ military careers, Yellock joined the Air Force. His goal: to become a Combat Controller, a special operations soldier whose duty is to embed with special forces teams from across the U.S. military—Green Berets, Delta Force, Navy SEALS—and control air-to-ground combat operations. Suffice it to say, this is no paper-pushing desk job.

In 2011, while on his second deployment in Afghanistan, Yellock’s convoy hit an improvised explosive device in Paktika Province. The explosion ripped through the MRAP (mine resistant military vehicle) in which Yellock was riding. When Yellock regained consciousness and looked down, he could see the soles of his feet staring back at him. After applying tourniquets to himself to staunch the bleeding, and then supervising a helicopter MEDEVAC landing for himself and his interpreter, Yellock was rushed to a military hospital and eventually evacuated back to the United States. For his actions on that day, Yellock received the Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and Combat Action Medal.

Yellock also received words from his doctors that he would, in all likelihood, be a double, below-the-knee amputee. Even if they saved his legs, the doctors said, he might never run again, much less drive a manual transmission.

“I felt at that point that I’d run enough,” Yellock says. “I think we’ve all run enough, but at only 24 years old, it was a difficult prognosis to know that I might never be able to use my feet again [to drive a stick shift].”

Thanks to modern limb-salvage techniques—and 32 surgeries—Yellock not only has both of his legs but now uses them to do everything from play golf to, yes, drive his classic Porsche. Sure, he will have to wear adaptive braces on his legs for the rest of his life but this, for Yellock, is a price worth paying if it gives back to him these simple pleasures he once came so close to losing.

Driving a manual transmission is no longer something Yellock takes for granted. It is not an afterthought, or an experience to which he feels entitled. Every time Yellock slides into the driver’s seat of this 911, it is a reminder of his perseverance, his good fortune, and his unbreakable optimism that keeps him moving forward into the future.

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When looking for a fun-to-drive drop-top, Keith Hamersma was pretty focused. It had to be a Porsche 911. Certainly, there are many options for open-air driving, but Hamersma fell in love with the 911 decades ago, so when he finally reached a point in his life where he could afford one, he really didn’t have a choice.

Interestingly, as we learn in the latest edition of Why I Drive, Hamersma didn’t jump straight into the air-cooled cult. Instead he elected to purchase a cabriolet from the 996 generation, which started in 1999. Liquid coolant courses through the innards of the flat-six engine, which is blasphemy to the purist, but Hamersma doesn’t get caught up on it. He chooses to enjoy the drive.

Hamersma even eschews a manual transmission in favor of the six-speed Tiptronic, which allows him to sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s all about the fun of driving, which is a highly personal thing and doesn’t always require three pedals.

While Hamersma loves his water-cooled 996, he elected to add a slightly older sibling to the garage when he grabbed an air-cooled 993—also a cabriolet. The pair represent the end of an era and the beginning of another, but that is merely a bonus to the driving enjoyment they bring Hamersma.

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Whenever McKeel Hagerty drives his 1967 Porsche 911S, an overwhelming sense of joy is accompanied by a flood of memories and emotions. The Porsche was his first car. He restored it with his father. It provided his first taste of freedom and adventure, and it now serves as a getaway car from the pressures of everyday life. Nearly four decades after Hagerty’s CEO bought the dilapidated 911S as a project car, he still drives it on the same northern Michigan roads that he did as a teenager. He says he’d never sell it.

“The most rewarding part is that I still have it,” McKeel says in an outtake from our latest Why I Drive video. “I spent a lot of years away from the car when I went away to college and then on to grad school, and the fact that I didn’t experience a moment of panic or feel the need to sell it is really a gift. Not many people can say they still own their first car, let alone say their first car was a 911S that they paid $500 for. I know how fortunate I am, and believe me, I do not take that for granted.”

As McKeel explains, he bought the car when he was 13. “My dad prompted us—me and my older sisters—to pick out a car and restore it with him in the garage,” he says. Although McKeel was a fan of the early James Bond movies and naturally dreamed of owning an Aston Martin DB5 like 007, finding one in northern Michigan (and in his limited price range) wasn’t realistic. He did locate a decent alternative, however.

“There was this older gentleman who ran a body shop in town, who had worked on some of our family cars and who had two Porsches [the 1967 911S and a 1966 912] sitting in an unbuilt garage foundation,” McKeel says. “Starting when I was about 11 years old, we started paying visits to this guy, [trying] to convince him to sell. Right around Christmas when I was 12, he called and said, ‘Get ready, you’ve got to come and get the car.’ But it was the middle of winter. We had this big challenge, in early January, of figuring out how to extract the car from under this cover of snow.”

To keep the Porsches relatively safe and secure, the owner had bricked the doorway of the foundation, “so the only way we were going to get them out was to rent a crane and lift them out,” McKeel says. “There was a lot of snow. It was like a blizzard out, and it was super cold. Unfortunately, the engine from my car was sitting in the corner in a long line of engines. The old man kind of walked over and said, ‘Hey, under this pile of snow is the engine to this car.’ I’ve often wondered what other engines were sitting there [since] he was supposedly a bit of a racer.”

McKeel says the deal was done for only $500, equal to about $1650 today, and over the next several years he spent another $1800 for parts—just the basics, mind you, nothing extravagant or performance enhancing. Of course, the experience itself was priceless.

“My dad was constantly working on all sorts of projects. If you wanted to spend time with Dad, you were in the garage and you were fixing cars,” McKeel says. “There are pictures of me [at] two years old holding a handful of nuts and bolts for him to put something back together. So from my earliest memory, spending time with Dad was spending time in the garage.

“This car really became [the basis for] some of our closest bonding moments. It took years for us to put it back together… I will never forget the day when we first got it running,” McKeel says, pausing a moment to fight back tears. “We hugged each other. It was a really cool thing. You’ll never stand as tall as when an engine runs for the first time. It was just a special moment for us. We both cried. He was a softy… and I guess I am too.”

After spending nearly 40 years behind the wheel of his 911S, McKeel says the experience never gets old. It has, however, changed over the years.

“From the earliest part of my life, driving has always meant something close to freedom,” he says. “I really connected with this idea that I could operate this machine, and I could make it go where I wanted it to go, when I wanted it to go. And that was just a super powerful feeling that just became really wired into me.

“I think I’ve gone through phases of what driving means. Later in life… alone time in a car—especially this car—is a time for me to completely unplug.”

McKeel, 51, had the Porsche restored a second time several years ago, and among the changes was returning it to its original red after he and his father painted it black the first time around. McKeel describes the car as “slightly breathed on. When I had it professionally restored, I put bigger pistons in it, so it’s almost running at 2.8 [liters]. It’s so cool. Of all the cars I’ve driven, it feels like an extension of my body when I drive it. The responsiveness of the throttle in this car is absolutely remarkable. It’s just instant, instant response.”

Although McKeel now has an extensive car collection, the Porsche is the only car he could never part with. It holds a special place in his heart—and in his automotive rituals.

“This is the first car that I take out in the spring—the first fun car I take out in the spring. And it gets the last drive in the fall,” he says. “I grew up in northern Michigan and still live here, and the roads I’ve been driving on are really special to me. [There are memories] around every corner. When I take this car out in the spring or I take my last drives in it in the fall, it’s these roads that I go to, because they just feel like home.

“It feels like the car is just settled in its place. And I’m certainly settled in my place when the two of us are out there.”

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Go ahead, ask. Tyler Hauptman loves this question. Of all the possible Porsches to inspire his passion, why on earth is he so enthusiastic about the 914?

“The 914 has always been one of my favorite cars because of its mid-engine, air cooled, horizontally opposed motor,” Hauptman says with grin. “When you look at the history of Porsche, and all the cars that they’ve produced for racing, in particular—the 550 Spyder, the 904, 906, 907, 908, 910, 917—all the coolest Porsches are in that configuration. That’s why I love the 914.”

Co-developed with Volkswagen and originally intended as a replacement model for the four-cylinder Porsche 912 and VW Karmann Ghia, the 914 has spent much of its life as the much-maligned kid brother of its air-cooled older sibling, the 911. The Karmann-built body invited ridicule almost from the time it debuted and despite some respectable performance bonafides (especially by the hopped-up 914/6 models), for many years the 914 suffered insults that it was just a tarted-up Volkswagen. In recent years, however, rising prices for vintage 911s and 912s have prompted enthusiasts in search of an air-cooled experience to look with new eyes on the 914.

1974 Porsche 914 3/4 front driving — 1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 door tool belt — 1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 steering wheel — 1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 3/4 rear driving — 1974 Porsche 914

Hauptman, for his part, was flogging 914s on California’s rural canyon roads long before anyone else thought they were worth a moment’s thought. He bought his first one, a 1973 model, for $1200 two decades ago and proceeded to teach himself how to drive a stick shift on the roads of Malibu. From there, he found a quiet stretch of twisty road and set about learning the intricacies of vehicle dynamics.

“I just went through one corner, over and over again, until I got it right,” Hauptman recalls. “From there I learned heel-toeing, matching the revs, and how to treat the car mechanically.”

Any given weekend is still likely to find Hauptman pushing a 914 through the Malibu canyons. Now, though, the car is a little green 1974 model with big fender flares framing the rear wheels, a remnant of the car’s time as a Porsche Owners Club race car back in the 1980s. Hauptman stumbled across the car 2014, rough and haggard from its many track days, in Arizona. An engineer by trade, he has worked tirelessly to upgrade the car’s mechanics, even as he has kept it as raw and unrefined as ever—just as he prefers it.

1974 Porsche 914 3/4 front mountain background — 1974 Porsche 914

“Everywhere I go, I bring the ruckus,” he says. “The car is loud, it’s obnoxious, it pops, it makes people startled and unsettled. But at the same time has a pretty lovely charm, being green and so low to the ground. Everybody loves the car.”

Once was the time when finding anyone who loved a Porsche 914 was a tall order. Times, however, have changed, and public opinion might finally be catching up with what Hauptman has known about these plucky little cars all along.

1974 Porsche 914 fixing on the ground — 1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 rear driving mountain — 1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 sunset — 1974 Porsche 914

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Enjoy Porsche stories, opinion, and features from across the car world - Hagerty Media

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